I’ll start with a disclaimer: before I had settled into my cinema seat at the press screening of Pavements, Alex Ross Perry’s unorthodox new documentary about Pavement, I’d never really listened to their music. Of course, I’d heard a few songs, I’d heard the band name, but I’d never delved deeper. These things often fall into a trap. Who are music documentaries for? Only for the fans? The whole point of Pavements was to avoid that, so I was sent in as a test. 

On Saturday night, singer Nezza sang a Spanish version of “The Star-Spangled Banner,” also known as “El Pendón Estrellado,” at Dodger Stadium, despite being told by an unnamed representative of the baseball organization that she sing it in English.

The 30-year-old pop singer, whose real name is Vanessa Hernández, uploaded the interaction on TikTok, where she proceeded to sing the Spanish version anyway. She captioned the video, “para mi gente [heart] I stand with you.”

In a tearful follow up TikTok video, she clarified that her decision to follow through with singing “El Pendón Estrellado” was in response to the ongoing immigration sweeps throughout Los Angeles

“I’ve sang the national anthem many times in my life but today out of all days, I could not,” Nezza said in the TikTok video.

The Dodgers did not issue a public comment on Nezza’s social media posts, but a team official said there were no consequences from the club regarding the performance and that Nezza would be welcome back at the stadium in the future.

“I just don’t understand how anyone can watch the videos that have been surfacing and still be on the wrong side of history,” Nezza told The Times.

Nezza’s performance has also sparked conversations about the origins of “El Pendón Estrellado,” resurfacing the legacy of a trailblazing Latina composer, Clotilde Arias.

“The lyrics and the story are the same,” said Nezza. “We’re still saying we’re proud to be American.”

In 1945, the U.S. State Department looked to commission a Spanish version of the national anthem, per the request of President Franklin D. Roosevelt, who looked to strengthen political and business partnerships with Latin American countries amid World War II. His cultural efforts aligned with his 1933 Good Neighbor Policy, a Pan-Americanism objective that he implemented at the start of his first term to distance the U.S. from earlier decades of armed intervention.

Although “The Star-Spangled Banner” had already been translated to various languages by the time that President Roosevelt entered office, including two Spanish versions, no versions of the anthem were considered singable. In 1945, the Division of Cultural Cooperation within the Department of State, in collaboration with the Music Educators National Conference, invited submissions for the song in Spanish and Portuguese to promote American patriotism throughout Latin America.

Composer and musician Arias — who immigrated to New York in 1923 at the age of 22 from Iquitos, Peru — answered the call.

At the time, Arias had already established herself as a formidable copywriter for ad agencies, translating jingles and songs in Spanish for companies like Alka-Seltzer, Campbell Soup, Ford Motor Co., Coca-Cola (including the translation version of Andrews Sisters’ “Rum and Coca-Cola”) and others.

She submitted “El Pendón Estrellado,” which included singable lyrics that conveyed the original patriotic essence of “The Star-Spangled Banner.” It was accepted as the only official translation of the national anthem allowed to be sung, according to the National Museum of American History.

However, Arias would die in 1959 at age 58, leaving the song’s existence publicly unknown until 2006, when Roger Arias II, her grandson, dug out drafts of the sheet music and drafts hidden in the garage.

The unexpected find caught the attention of Marvette Pérez, the late curator of the Smithsonian National Museum of American History who at the time was programming Latino exhibits like “!Azúcar!: The Life and Music of Celia Cruz.”

To honor Arias’ legacy, Pérez organized an exhibit in 2012 titled “Not Lost in Translation: The Life of Clotilde Arias,” featuring real documents and photographs of the songwriter. The exhibit also commissioned the first-ever recording of “El Pendón Estrellado,” sung by the a cappella ensemble Coral Cantigas under the musical direction of Diana Sáez. The DC-chamber choir also performed during the exhibit’s opening day, which Arias’ son, Roger Arias, age 82 at the time, came to see.

“I was there when she was writing it,” Roger Arias told NPR at the time. “She’d sing it in her own way to see if it fits, and she would say, ‘How does that sound, sonny?’ And I would say anything she did sounded good to me. So, yes, she struggled through it, but she made it work.”

For Nezza, Arias’ “El Pendón Estrellado” is not only a symbol of American pride, but also a living piece of forgotten Latino history.

“Latino people are a huge part of building this nation,” said Nezza. “I think [the song] shows how we are such an important piece to the story of America.”

The title of Wes Anderson’s latest film offers a hint about the main flaw of this mostly delightful movie. The eponymous scheme is a convoluted business deal that never has a chance of making sense to most viewers. This deal amounts to nothing more than a diversion — and it’s often a distraction from what makes the film so charming. If you like neat, satisfying plots, skip this movie. But if you’re a fan of Anderson or perfectly executed deadpan performances, seek out this film at once.

Although the plot has as many wrinkles as the protagonist after one of his long baths, it can be boiled down simply enough: In 1950, ruthless, globetrotting tycoon Anatole “Zsa Zsa” Korda (Benicio Del Toro) pursues a career-capping business deal while attempting to reconnect with his devout, strong-willed daughter, Liesl (Mia Threapleton), and make her his sole heir.

Del Toro and Threapleton are a marvelous comedy duo, their verbal jousts a wonder to behold. Liesl faces daunting challenges striving to compel her father to conduct business with some regard for morality, and Korda exhibits unflagging elan in resisting Liesl’s civilizing influence, staying one step ahead of his rivals, and evading would-be assassins. Liesl’s refrain, “on a trial basis,” and Korda’s signature phrase, “Myself, I feel very safe,” are deliciously ironic.

The conflicts between this pair over contracts, tactics, and, most significantly, the sad fate of Liesl’s mother reveal their need for each other, and herein lies the film’s substance. While the first half of the narrative tends to keep that substance front and center, most of the second half becomes entrenched in the big scheme and other contrivances, and the whole artistic enterprise suffers as a result. In particular, a goofy disaster sequence involving quicksand and a climactic fight scene left this viewer cold. Finally, though, Anderson’s denouement brings us back to the film’s core concerns in richly satisfying fashion.

Beyond the subtle brilliance of Del Toro and Threapleton, Michael Cera, Riz Ahmed, and Hope Davis all perform nimble Andersonian supporting work. Unfortunately, his script shortchanges the estimable Jeffrey Wright and Scarlett Johansson, whose characters are poorly developed, and Anderson uses several other great actors to slight effect in forgettable fantasy sequences. Of course, the movie has impeccable production design and is a visual feast that rewards close attention to detail. For example, the opening credits are displayed on an immaculate overhead shot of Korda’s enormous bathroom, and among many subtle touches here, Anderson and his team slip in a clever joke with their placement of a bottle of wine. Later, Korda’s reading material on his lavish but minimalist private planes is also a source of humor and subtext; one of his books is titled “Questionable Authenticity.” Another captivating element of the movie is the score music by Alexander Desplat, whom I regard as one of this century’s best composers for film.

Returning to the title, I might have noticed a pattern with the names Anderson gives his creations. The titles of his best movies refer to settings (“Moonrise Kingdom” and “The Grand Budapest Hotel”) or people (“The Royal Tenenbaums”). While “The Phoenician Scheme” has both intriguing settings and endearing characters, the title refers to a very prominent element of the film that is also its most disposable: the plot. It’s as if Anderson is trying to keep his viewers at arm’s length, but he shouldn’t be afraid to draw us in closer. I’d rather he called the movie “Liesl and Zsa Zsa” or “Chez Zsa Zsa” (a section title from the movie), though I doubt he would ever risk using such earnest-sounding names.

In terms of character depth and emotional impact, which are often question marks in this director’s work, “The Phoenician Scheme” is several notches above 2021’s “The French Dispatch” but falls short of “Asteroid City,” his 2023 film. Still, unlike some critics, I resist the urge to turn sour on Anderson, even though his halcyon days may be behind him. He has a sophisticated, quasi-European sensibility that we could use more of in contemporary American cinema. To borrow a key line from “Asteroid City,” he should “keep telling the story.” Perhaps, however, he should take a brief sabbatical and return when he’s ready to tell a more focused, authentic tale.

“The Phoenician Scheme” plays at the Savoy through June 19.