The French Dispatch movie, collector's issue by Wes Anderson

No tears, please.

The deceased hated it.

In his office, a poster proclaimed “No crying”.

Just because the director of

has just died doesn't mean you have to break the rule.

Another of his mottos was:

The editorial staff, based in Ennui-sur-Blasé (France), pays tribute to Bill Murray.

The film is presented in summary form.

It will be, according to the will of its creator, the last issue.

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A good smell of the provinces rises to the nostrils. The coffee servers are in livery. Cigarettes are called Gaullists. We drive in 2 CV. The commissioner's son has just been kidnapped. Amalric organizes fine dinners prepared by a Japanese chef. Tilda Swinton, all in orange, who has looked like Margaret Thatcher, with her teeth forward, delivers a lecture on a brilliant artist locked in prison for murder. Léa Seydoux poses nude for Benicio Del Toro, bearded, rough, wary of gallery owner Adrien Brody. There is a billionaire collector a la Peggy Guggenheim. Owen Wilson travels the region on his bicycle. Frances McDormand has a crush on Timothée Chalamet, a student protestor with a sparse mustache and messy hair. The jukebox plays

by Christophe in an offbeat version.

The revolt is brewing.

Cobbles fly.

Tear gas smells of nostalgia.

The events of May 68 did not prevent chess players from continuing their game.

It does not drag on.

Farewell to a fled world

This collection of vignettes makes you dizzy. Wes Anderson is the king of miniature, a fan of detail, a follower of elegance and precision. His meticulousness touches on poetry. His homage to the

multiplies the references, buzzes with quotes. Everything is overflowing with ideas and invention. It sometimes borders on overflow. Black and white succeeds color. A car chase is carried out in cartoon style. The Tractions Avant zigzag through the streets of the imaginary city. The music is inspired by Érik Satie. A gallery of characters scrolls past at a crazy pace. It is about opening the eye to spot Cécile de France, Liv Shreiber, Benjamin Lavernhe, Edward Norton. Elisabeth Moss draws equations on the board with chalk.

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Anderson recreates a magical France, with cops in caps, old-fashioned gastronomy, teenagers in milleraies velvet.

It's like a box of chocolates: you don't know which one to grab first.

The trick is to see

, the image is so full of surprises, and not necessarily in the foreground.

Looks like a delightful Prévert-style inventory.

There reigns over this farewell to a fled world a joy, a fantasy that reminds Alexandre Vialatte.

The temptation is not slight to look on the maps for the location of Ennui-sur-Blasé.

The GPS is silent on this.

Wes Anderson has built a universe that is his own.

It is especially important not that someone tries to imitate him.

And that's how Anderson is great.

Discover the trailer for the film "The French Dispatch" - Watch on Figaro Live