Just recently, idiosyncratic director Wes Anderson released his latest mini world, “The Grand Budapest Hotel.” The film tells the story of an aging writer’s youthful encounter with fabled hotelier — and more precisely, the story of the latter’s adventures with his young pupil, the orphaned lobby boy Zero. It’s a layered, ornate dream-meets-slapstick vision of the end of an era (the death of true — perhaps always fanaticized? — grace and hospitality) due to the rise of fascism. Anderson takes us down a winding, Faberge egg-styled path — seeping inspiration from the stories of Viennese author Stefan Zweig and drawing us into a mood that is at once as surreal and oddly, hyper-imaginatively stylistic as it is vulnerably, sincerely (and to it’s own delight, comically) melancholic. In other words, “The Grand Budapest Hotel” is characteristically Anderson. The film is whimsical, grandiose, a quirky visual feast, and so is the intricately designed early 20th century Eastern European-influenced aesthetic of its protagonists’ apparel. Just take Adrien Brody’s character Dimitri’s dark, immaculately tailored, slim cut black suits, for example. His look is resolutely evil — the midnight black palette, the waxed mustache, the ZZ (i.e. SS) inscribed on his later costumes. You haven’t seen suits this sleek before, an aura so dour. It’s all built to fit Dimitri’s dark mastermind persona, and so chicly so.