(4 of 4)
That balance works for actors too, explains Revolori. "It's a bit like he makes a tailored suit and he makes it exactly the way he would like it, then finds someone to fit it," he says. "When you put it on, you're able to walk wherever you want with this great suit."
Which is appropriate, because a suit is the only concession Anderson will make to the idea that part of him is, indeed, reflected in the movie. This particular train will leave the station eventually. After a dinner at the U.S. ambassador's residence in Prague, there'll be Copenhagen, Amsterdam, Paris, New York City and Los Angeles. He won't discuss his next big project, but he wants to go to Japan soon, maybe to shoot another installment in a series of shorts he's made for Prada. So this particular chance to observe that Anderson's life looks like a scene from The Grand Budapest Hotel will vanish like the past the movie recalls.
Except for one thing, something the filmmaker will carry with him even then. During the shoot, it was cold. The Zweig stand-in character had a warm suit in a nice herringbone fabric. Anderson had another one made. For himself. "There's an identification with that character based on the fact that I actually stole his wardrobe," he says with a laugh. "Other than that, I don't really see anything."