After I finished watching Wes Anderson’s latest delicacy, I made the following note. It came back to my mind afterwards, and I retrieve it here hoping to learn whether others felt the same way about it.
I believe the deeper meaning of THE GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL hides in the tribute to those stories that mean everything for those who were their protagonists and then passed on to others, and disfigured and diluted over time, as if obscured by layers and layers of dust, [faded] until they became only endearing anecdotes to those who heard or read them. Enchanting, but meaningless.
Footnote: I thought Moonrise Kingdom superior to The Grand Budapest Hotel, but I still enjoyed the latter immensely.