Wes Anderson’s films have always essentially been cartoons for adults but it has never been clearer for me than here in The Grand Budapest Hotel. It is gorgeous, with lush colours from Anderson’s usual palette. The sumptuously appointed yet endearingly retro hotel of the title is as important a character as any played by its star-studded cast. The overt use of miniatures reinforce its child-like playfulness. Most of all, while it holds both grief and death, it is undeniably first and foremost a fairy tale.

We’ve watched a fair few of Anderson’s films over the past two years. The best of these was easily The Royal Tenenbaums but I also have a soft spot for Moonrise Kingdom. In general I’ve always found every one of his films that I’ve watched delightful, beautiful and at least mildly funny. This is no less true of The Grand Budapest Hotel and yet while watching this I couldn’t shake a feeling that I’m starting to get bored of his usual style.

The celebrity cameos that once felt like fun shout-outs now feel familiar and even a touch annoying. Look, here’s Ed Norton. Again. There’s Bill Murray. Again. The conceit of it being a story within a story within a story feels one layer of remove too many. The beautiful visuals feel like an attempt to distract one from the fact that the story is rather pedestrian, lacks weight and feels inconsequential. Most of all, there is the frustrating sense of how a light and cheery tone permeates everything at the expense of drama. It feels appropriate for Moonrise Kingdom to feel like a fairy tale given that it’s a film about children. Given that this film involves gruesome murder, miscarriage of justice and senseless tragedy, the light tone sits oddly with me.

The main reason why I think I care so little for this story is that I find myself not caring about the characters at all. Ralph Fiennes is great in the role of Gustave H. He owns the screen whenever he is on and is fantastically entertaining to watch. But he is so flamboyant that it is hard to think of him as anything other than a cartoon character. His relationship with Zero Moustafa should really be the heart that carries the story but the relationship is so one-sided, with Zero being so passive and so clearly a subordinate, that there’s no interesting dynamic there. The romance between Zero and Agatha feels tacked on and doesn’t have much screen time. Let’s not even get started about how elderly Zero seems to be a completely different person from young Zero.

To be fair, there are some flashes of brilliance here and there. The use of Willem Dafoe as a murderous henchman is inspired. Jeff Goldblum’s gobsmacked disbelief at his cat being thrown out the window skirts the line between groan-worthy and laugh out loud funny. Tilda Swinton’s makeup deserves a special mention. Odd how she is notable for similar reasons in Snowpiercer. Aficionados of cinema more learned than me have pointed out how Anderson consciously channels the work of famous directors, the stalking scene being the most obvious example.

Combined with the rich visuals and a perfectly executed caper structure, I can see how this can be a great experience who anyone who still hasn’t gotten enough of Anderson’s style. For my part this film is merely okay. I’m entertained well enough but I find myself wishing that the film had a more substantial core and that Anderson would stretch himself beyond his usual comfort zone.