Grand Budapest is an arresting pastiche of romantic comedy, its symmetry and quirkiness a perfect foil for the genre’s clichés, but it never settles into genuine emotional depth. If you’re looking for an analytical treat, the mise‑en‑scène and structural nods to silent cinema are more worth noting than the romance itself.

Exactly, the romance is a neat garnish while the real banquet is in the composition and the way light plays off the set pieces, but if you pry beneath the surface you’ll find a commentary on class, loss, and the fragility of hospitality that makes it more than just a visual spectacle.