I have a complex relationship with Hallowe’en. I love the spookiness, but I hate the commercialization. I love the costumes, but I hate the way they often reinforce stereotypes. And whatever happened to the apostrophe? I still use it out of sheer determination.
Not that I’m recommending it, but as a kid growing up in a rural area, Hallowe’en meant pitch black dirt roads and indistinct costumes thrown together in the hour before trick or treating began. As I got older, it also meant late-night pranks and subsequent escapes through moonlit cornfields.
With that in mind, I decided to celebrate Hallowe’en by throwing a party with a Wes Anderson theme. If you haven’t seen his films, do so. (That’s an order.) While The Grand Budapest Hotel isn’t my favourite of his films, I certainly adored the character of Gustave. I could go into the many reasons why I feel such an affinity for him, but I’ll let his words speak for me: “There are still faint glimmers of civilization left in this barbaric slaughterhouse that was once known as humanity.”
