There was a moment when I was in a Westwood theater watching L.A. Story where the plot amiably loped toward a weekend getaway at an upscale resort hotel. The hotel's name slipped out of Steve Martin's mouth so stealthily that, when the establishing shot showed the name "El Pollo del Mar", I exclaimed out loud, "Chicken of the Sea?" And the entire audience erupted. The French Dispatch is full of moments like that, and even though I have much less experience with French than Spanish, it's a big part of the buffet of little comedic moments that constantly wash over you.
The action centers on Bill Murray, who plays mainly a supporting role as Arthur Howitzer, Jr., the publisher of The French Dispatch; around him is one of the most talented ensembles I've seen in years, including Benicio del Toro, as the homicidal painter Moses Rosenthaler who eventually seduces his prison guard Simone (Léa Seydoux, who somehow manages to be naked and funny at the same time). Frances MacDormand gets another typically dissolving character role as the crusty Lucinda Krementz. The third act utterly belongs to Roebuck Wright (as Jeffrey Wright) and Steve Park (as Nescaffier, one of the film's many punning names) in an absurdist kidnapping and culinary caper. I laughed almost the entire way through it, and harder than any film of the last decade that I can immediately recall. Run and see this one.
