This film could be treacherous if anything significant happened. Myself, I feel very safe.

Zsa-zsa Korda (Benicio Del Toro) is a ruthless businessman who considers himself nationless, doing as he pleases and with more lives than a cat. If he can pull it off, his new master plan will create an empire of wealth lasting a century and a half, but the U.S government won’t hear of it. Suspecting he may not survive to see his plan succeed, Korda summons his only daughter Liesl (Mia Threapleton) from the convent she was left at since the age of five, asking her to become his living heir (on a trial basis). Liesl doesn’t like her father, but she sees an opportunity to exert a level of control upon him in his desperation, setting terms so he’ll be forced to make uncharacteristically humane decisions. After drafting a newly hired tutor named Bjorn (Michael Cera) to travel with Liesl and himself, Korda is forced to renegotiate previously settled contracts with each of his business partners to shield his assets from financial ruin or lose everything. Will Korda succeed? Can Liesl change her father? Help yourself to a hand grenade?

If you don’t recognize a Wes Anderson film on sight by now, you’re either not a fan or can’t be bothered, and that’s okay. They embrace an artificiality hewed into focus, and it’s not just the squared-off perspective shots, choreographed 90-degree camera turns, and intentional stage presence where over-arranged prop tables go to die. The deadpan delivery and two-dimensional blocking echo a dress rehearsal more than an opening night, and yet it’s charming how actors and production designers play within these rules for their director. In his twelfth film, there’s no existential lifeline provided for viewers uncomfortable with the W.A. formula (as was done for Asteroid City) where each character was also an actor searching for their own motivations in a story within the story. Mr. Anderson is 100% all in, but will the audience continue to go along for the rest of Korda’s diabolic plan?

Set in the 1950s and stocked with retro-futuristic James Bond-like tech (that all rich men have access to, of course), the photography, lighting, and scenery invoke the adventure films of the time… except for how rarely the camera ever moves from its precise framing. The story of a stern man hellbent on defeating his enemies while his daughter tries in vain to thaw his heart is complex enough, but enduring so many subsequent successes and defeats with the same tone and beats wears thin by the third encounter. There’s also a tendency for Wes to jump over expected scenes and refer back to the missing rhetoric, refusing to drag the proverbial lady onto the stage to insist that she sing. The 100-minute run time feels closer to two hours, and the most memorable part is the artistry of the end credits… perhaps even ironically. Anderson fans may enjoy this for completion, but after the misodered anthology of The French Dispatch and the much-improved Asteroid City, this particular scheme ends up dull and contrived.

When Wayne Campbell said those immortal words, “Can’t we get a better actor? I know it’s a small part, but I think we can do better than this,” Wes Anderson listened. Del Toro is a good fit for Korda while Threapleton’s Liesl plays his perfect foil, but Cera surprises in his part as Bjorn and understood the assignment. With a stable of ready-to-play actors rivaling Mike Flanagan, no bit part goes uncast, and no one hams it up quite like Benedict Cumberbatch as Uncle Nubar doing his best Jafar from Aladdin. There are a few bits of amusement, but the time between these treats is like an Easter hunt during an egg shortage, never mind one or two “what am I seeing here?” moments — not the good kind. Too short to seem rushed and too sluggish to feel fulfilling, too much of it comes off as trite.

There’s a genuine surprise right at the beginning at the film which showed amazing potential… but nothing really ever lived up to that moment again. There’s something there worth exploring perhaps, like applying “the formula” to a full-blown R-rated horror film in the vein of Rosemary’s Baby, and I would so be there for it. My reasons? I’m not saying.

The Phoenician Scheme is rated PG-13 for violent content, bloody images, some sexual material, nude images, smoking throughout, and closing the bloody gap.

Two skull recommendation out of four