The Phoenician Scheme: A Still Charming Misstep (Early Review)

In search of reinvention, writer/director Wes Anderson found that answer with The Phoenician Scheme. Initially conceived as a spy thriller starring Benicio Del Toro in every frame, he abandoned that radical idea—realizing he couldn’t escape himself—and settled on making more of a prototypical Wes Anderson film. After years of narrative and visual experimentation, the director has since retooled his newfound sensibilities, abandoning framing devices and returning to his roots with a more “traditional” story. But rather than honing his craft into something sharp or innovative, the film feels like Anderson throwing targets at the wall and seeing what sticks: a misfocused, slight entry in a stronger body of work, emotionally short-handed by what might be his most narratively dense film yet—a tough climb with little reward.

The story follows Del Toro’s Zsa-Zsa Korda, a wealthy businessman not unlike Royal Tenenbaum, father of nine sons (many adopted), one nun daughter, and survivor of six plane crashes—each disguised as assassination attempts. After opening with the hilarious sixth attempt, a deadpan Zsa-Zsa goes straight from the crash to his will, where he decides it might be time to start planning for an heir to his estate. He picks his nun-in-training daughter, Sister Leisl (Threapleton). Forging an ethically questionable plan to build a city in exchange for 5% of its profits over 150 years, Zsa-Zsa and Leisl begin a globe-trotting search for funding on projects like the Trans-Mountain Locomotive Tunnel, Trans-Desert Inland Waterway, and Trans-Basin Hydroelectric Embankment—if that doesn’t sound exciting, well, the jargon-heavy exposition is delivered with Anderson’s trademark deadpan enthusiasm.

Despite its jargon-heavy exposition and sprawling plot, The Phoenician Scheme aims to tell a story about father-daughter bonds, self-reflection, and existential searching for meaning but often indulges in misguided directorial choices. Periodic black-and-white dream sequences interrupt the narrative, placing Zsa-Zsa in a spiritual trial for his soul. Rather than enriching the story, these cutaways feel visually flat and thematically thin—cliché by Anderson’s standards and emotionally disconnected from the surface drama. A general carelessness emerges as darker jokes are tossed in for quirks rather than insight, and the emotional pivot—Zsa-Zsa’s supposed embrace of his family—rings hollow when he’s abandoned nine other children along the way.

Beneath the chaos, Anderson gestures toward his own place in the world, drawing a parallel through Zsa-Zsa, a man willing to build his utopia on the backs of others, yet one who questions whether his wealth is worth it. On paper, this is a compelling arc—both for the character and as a continuation of the cultural themes Anderson previously explored in The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar. In execution, however, Anderson seems uninterested in seriously engaging with ideas of political corruption, communism, economic exploitation and child abandonment, splashing in this imagery for humour between a barrage of vignettes and celebrity cameos more concerned with showcasing its ensemble than developing its emotional core.

As per Anderson’s sandbox of actors, there’s a healthy dose of returning faces from the past few years, alongside strong newcomers. Del Toro not delivering his usual low-energy persona takes some adjustment, as Zsa-Zsa is a role slightly outside his wheelhouse of believability, but he finds his footing before long. Appearances from Tom Hanks, Bryan Cranston, Jeffrey Wright, and Scarlett Johansson follow in some of the film’s funniest scenes—Wright being the most naturally attuned to the rhythm, humour, and cadence of Anderson’s dialogue, with Johansson, unfortunately, being emotionally checked-out on this go-around compared to her knock-out role in Asteroid City. It’s easy to imagine fresh faces like Threapleton and Cera sticking around, with Threapleton shoe-horning nicely as a young-Aubrey Plaza, dry-wit type as Liesl and Cera feeling like a particularly natural addition as Bjorn. Cera’s gentle presence, awkwardness, and recent mainstream absence—which has made his performances feel like a joke in itself—are written to perfection here, making him an easy audience favourite and the candidate for the film’s funniest and most surprising moments.

That being said, the film is unlikely to convince detractors or jump to the top of anyone’s Wes Anderson lists, but even when the director is batting at a lower average, he can reliably deliver a fun flick with beautiful, distinct imagery, hilarious writing, and enjoyable performances from a solid roster of actors. While it lacks the emotional precision and narrative cohesion of his best work, there’s still undeniable craftsmanship in Anderson’s visual style and a charm in the cast’s commitment.

Ultimately, The Phoenician Scheme feels more like a misstep—a film made by a director who’s still wrestling with his legacy—than a fully realized statement. It’s a flawed, uneven detour after half a decade of some of the director’s strongest work, but there’s an undeniable ambition and spark that’ll be sure to satisfy fans.

Score: 65/100

still courtesy of Focus Features

If you liked this, please read our other reviews here and don’t forget to follow us on Twitter or Instagram or like us on Facebook.

J.A. Birney

letterboxd.com/nonameno5/