In the wake of an assassination attempt, wealthy industrialist Zsa-zsa Korda feels it might be prudent to establish a succession plan.
Though Korda is in the habit of cheating death—he’s lost track of how many times spies and assassins have tried to take his life—he fears this particular talent may have run its course. After his last near-death experience, he had a disconcerting vision of a spiritual council weighing his worth.
Korda knows he needs to act while he still has time. His duplicitous business tactics have made him many powerful enemies over the years: banks, industry titans and national governments among them. He’ll be in the crosshairs again, soon enough.
So he enacts a two-part plan.
First, he summons his estranged daughter, Liesl, and names her as his sole heir. At first, Liesl refuses—she is a novitiate in a convent, soon to take vows to become a nun—but is nevertheless convinced to take the role on a “trial basis.”
The second part of the plan is to launch the titular “Phoenician Scheme,” a convoluted web of business dealings with enough moving parts to make Rube Goldberg blush. Ultimately, the deal will industrialize the Phoenician region and expand Korda’s riches beyond measure.
But Korda’s enemies haven’t been idle. They know enough about the scheme to through a sizeable wrench in the works, driving up the price for materials and creating a gap in funding. Now, Korda must venture out with Liesl (and new assistant, Bjorn) on a world tour to visit his industrialist frenemies in the hope of getting them to cover this new financial gap, all while dodging the bombs and bullets of a cadre of mercenaries.
And maybe in the process, Korda can get to know his daughter a little better, too.
Liesl tries to steer her father away from his more cutthroat business instincts and toward a more ethical approach (defined, at least in part, by a sense of Christian morality). Over time, Korda grows more receptive to these humanitarian principles and even sacrifices substantial financial resources to adhere to them.
When Korda admits his part in causing the death of Liesl’s mother, Liesl sincerely forgives him. When Korda expresses wonder at the swiftness of her forgiveness, she explains that it’s what she has been taught to do at her convent.
The pair grows close over the course of the film to the point that, even though it seems Korda isn’t Liesl’s true biological father, he asks for permission to adopt her anyway. (She happily agrees.)
A man takes a bullet for his friend. Another character risks his life to save another. Someone gives his own blood to a man in need of a transfusion. A group of characters give up a life of vast wealth and questionable morals to instead lead a simple, honest life—and seem happier for it.
The Phoenician Scheme may be Wes Anderson’s most religious film yet, with Christian faith and morals serving as something more than mere visual artifice. The movie contemplates questions of faith, prayer and even presents something of a conversion story for Korda.
That story is far from perfect, however.
Korda decides that he wants to become Catholic, mostly due to the influence of Liesl. He seems sincere but also notes that this newfound faith runs opposite to his personal convictions. A generous reading of this exchange might liken it to the biblical account found in Mark 9:14-24 (“I believe; help my unbelief!”), but I felt it held a more cynical undercurrent, given some of the other ways the movie handles the topic of faith.
As mentioned, Korda experiences visions of a heavenly realm when he has a near-death experience (a frequent occurrence throughout the film), but it’s unclear if his visions are real or simply lucid imaginings. In most of the visions, Korda stands on trial as spiritual beings debate his actions, giving the impression that his salvation is dependent on whether he was a “good person.”
In one vision, Korda speaks to a bearded and white-robed God the Father. God states that the “fruit of Adam’s loins crucified my only begotten Son,” to which Korda replies, “I know, I know: Jesus.”
Liesl, in part, agrees to work with Korda because she believes that “God has called her [there] for a purpose.” She is a good influence on Korda’s other children, her half-brothers, teaching them to pray and having them read the book of Genesis. She prays frequently throughout the film, often with rosary beads in hand, and one such prayer seems to result in a miraculous turn of events. She tells Korda that “prayer is not witchcraft” and that “what matters is the sincerity of your devotion.” Later, however, she admits that “no one answers” when she prays and that she simply tries to do whatever she thinks God would want her to do.
Mother Superior, the head of Liesl’s convent, tells Liesl that she shouldn’t become a nun, but instead provide financial patronage to the Church with her father’s fortune. It seems that the Pope is involved at least tangentially in Korda’s business dealings, and Korda offers him the souls of his children (through becoming Catholic) as part of a negotiation.
Liesl, as a prospective nun, is referred to as a “bride of Christ.” Korda refers to his brother, Nubar, as “biblical” in reference to the man’s evil. Bjorn says that as a scientist, he doesn’t believe in God.
Slavery and the causing of famine are referred to as “damnable” sins by a handful of characters. Someone sprinkles holy water on a dying man while praying. People cross themselves. A mention is made of confession, and someone emphasizes the commandment, “Thou shalt not kill.” A crucifix is seen. A woman says, “God is not in this house.”
A communist revolutionary speaks unfavorably about religion, though we see one of his men praying to a shrine that features a statue of Jesus Christ. Korda claims to not have a conscience.
Bjorn is attracted to Liesl, commenting on her beauty and flirting with her throughout the film. When Liesl asks him if he’s chaste, he responds negatively. Later, before a dangerous deed, the two of them kiss.
Korda has had romantic relationships with several women, resulting in a number of children, Liesl among them. He tells Liesl that he was fond of her mother, although he “didn’t know her that well” and that she took other lovers.
Wes Anderson has a frustrating habit of inserting nudity into many of his films, even those rated PG-13, and The Phoenician Scheme is no exception. The nakedness that appears in this film is illustrated, contained within various works of art: paintings, etchings or otherwise. Saying that, it’s important to note that the nudity here is not presented in the manner of classical works such as Delacroix’s Liberty Leading the People. Instead, The Phoenician Scheme’s nudity is consistently presented in an erotic, even pornographic, context. For example, one suggestive illustration (which intrigues Liesl) shows a topless woman whipping a man.
Korda proposes marriage to his distant cousin, Hilda, and she accepts—though this is more a business arrangement than a romantic one.
We see another man propose to a woman. A marriage is annulled. Someone comments about going to a brothel. A man recovers from his injuries while shirtless in a bathtub. A child describes a moment seeing her mother’s “naked breasts.”
There is plenty of violence in The Phoenician Scheme but, by and large, it’s played for laughs. For instance, the movie opens with an explosion on a plane which blows a man in half—the aftermath shows a streak of blood in the place his upper body had been. The blood looks (intentionally) very fake, like red paint.
Korda and others survive several assassination attempts, including a handful of plane crashes. He is always quite bruised and bloody after every crash, and at one point he even holds what he calls a “vestigial organ” which was formerly inside his body.
Liesl has been told that Korda killed her mother. He denies this claim, but admits to some responsibility for the woman’s death, convincing the dangerous Nubar that she was unfaithful to him. Korda also says that he has “never personally killed anyone,” but admits to employing “violent men to do violence.” Because of the many assassination attempts, Korda carries around a box of hand grenades because, as he says, they’re cheaper than bullets.
One of Korda’s spiritual visions involves him carrying a deer that’s been shot with many arrows. He places the deer on an altar and cuts open the body—in place of viscera, golden coins spill out.
Two characters engage in a cartoonish brawl that includes punches, smashed pottery, a tumble down some stairs and, finally, an explosion.
We hear about two scientists who invented an aerosol poison that made them rich and killed many soldiers. A few characters are shot. A man plucks the bullet from another’s wound. Someone says that he was beaten by his father.
Revolutionaries rob a swanky club and fire their guns wildly. A plane passenger discovers a bomb, and another is threatened with a grenade. Someone falls into and is quickly swallowed by quicksand. A pilot’s drink is poisoned. A woman slaps a man. Two men engage in brief fisticuffs. An assassin takes a “suicide pill.” A child fires several crossbow bolts at his father.
One s-word is uttered. There are two misuses of God’s name, both paired with “d—.” “H—” is heard once. There is also one use of “geez.”
Korda smokes cigars frequently throughout the film. Liesl smokes a pipe as well. People drink in a few scenes. Beer, wine, champagne and whiskey are mentioned. Someone pretends to be drunk.
A running gag revolves around assassins attempting to poison Korda’s (mostly alcoholic) drinks.
Korda is known disparagingly as “Mr. Five Percent” for his habit of weaseling a profit out of almost any deal. He has also developed a bad reputation for changing agreed-upon contracts for his own gain.
The original plan for the Phoenician Scheme involves slave labor and famine, both of which Korda is perfectly comfortable exploiting. (This changes after his time with Liesl.) Korda is not above trying to strong-arm his business associates to get what he wants. This ruthlessness seems to have been passed down to Korda from his father, who would tell his son, “If something gets in your way, flatten it.”
When Liesl complains that Korda has been spying on her all her life, he replies that it’s not spying “when you’re the parent.”
Korda pressures Liesl to leave her convent to become his heir. Some of his sons are adopted, which at first sounds virtuous. But Korda explains that he’s simply “playing the odds,” and he says some of his adopted children might be “better” than his biological ones. He also says he has no need for his “human rights.”
A character is revealed as a spy. A man uses marriage to further his business interests.
Those familiar with Wes Anderson, a director who has become something of a style unto himself, will know what to expect from The Phoenician Scheme: quirky characters. Sharp, often funny, dialogue delivered with deadpan rapidity. A precise, pastel style. And a persistent underlying sadness.
So, yes, The Phoenician Scheme is very Wes Anderson. And that’s both a pro and a con.
Anderson’s films are quite unique, and it’s clear that a lot of care and craft go into each one. And the director’s penchant for pensiveness prevents his works from feeling vapid or artificial, despite their artful construction. Anderson’s movies often tackle big, worthwhile topics, such as grief and faith. Behind the colorful and carefully crafted wallpapering resides a beating (if melancholic) heart.
But there’s also a biting cynicism back there, too, along with a childish desire to sneak in suggestive nudity when the opportunity presents itself.
And The Phoenician Scheme’s spiritual messages are often muddled as well, despite their prominence in the story. While we might laud a character like Liesl for her persistence amid spiritual silence, and while we can appreciate Korda’s transformation from unscrupulous businessman to reformed family man, I’m not convinced that the film really thinks those situations have much to do with God.
Consider Liesl’s confession, near the film’s end. She says that when she prays, “no one answers.” It might be an honest admission about her spiritual walk, and there are certainly times when it seems God is silent to our pleas. But the way this revelation is presented felt more akin to saying something like, “Faith isn’t real, but it can at least be an excuse to treat each other better.” From this point of view, it can feel as if God is simply a tool for a humanistic outlook, rather than the real and present source of meaning for humanity.
The Phoenician Scheme is an offbeat and entertaining story that posits some good questions about faith from within its pastel playhouse, but it’s still struggling to identify real answers by the time the credits roll.
Bret loves a good story—be it a movie, show, or video game—and enjoys geeking out about things like plot and story structure. He has a blast reading and writing fiction and has penned several short stories and screenplays. He and his wife love to kayak the many beautiful Colorado lakes with their dog.
