Surf's Up For "Life Aquatic" and Vintage Murray

Wes Anderson and Bill Murray may be comedy's answer to the director/actor bond that Martin Scorsese and Robert DeNiro have forged in that each compliment the other while still maintaining their trademark professionalism and creativity. What I'm basically trying to say is they were made for one another.

Anderson continues to plumb new depths for visual and storytelling devices in this movie, arguably his most ambitious endeavor in a John Cheever approach to comedy of irony, self-deprecating geniuses and a microcosm of human nature all intertwined in the buoyantly ebullient and surprisingly emotional tale about oceanographer/misanthropic mensch Steve Zissou (a suitably grizzled Murray with his deft aplomb of making the deadpan a deadly weapon for hilarity and his carefully measured, underplayed tweaks with dialogue at full tilt here), a Jacques Cousteau manqué (and
valentine) whose latest expedition/documentary has him on an Ahabian quest to vanquish the horrific death of his beloved first mate and longtime friend Esteban (Seymour Cassel) who was gobbled up by the mythic 'jaguar shark'; which has Zissou coming to terms with his status with the sea faring scientific community and suddenly - fatherhood.

The first takes the very pregnant form of intrepid journalist Jane Winslett-Richardson (the beatific Blanchett) whose supposed 'puff piece' has a few jagged darts aimed at the fearless skipper and the latter the comical presence of one Ned Plimpton (Wilson in a subdued Southern gothic turn), a
Kentucky co-pilot who shows up at the latest red-carpet premiere of Zissou's claiming to be his long-lost son. Zissou inexplicably accepts this for the most part and takes the pipe-smoking young man under his wing by making him
an official member of "Team Zissou" which consists of Teutonic Klaus Daimler (a hard-to-believe funny Dafoe who really should do more comedies) and a motley crew of interns and assorted oddballs.

Zissou is facing a possible twilight of his life/career as his wife Eleanor (Huston, the film's only realist) - the brains behind the entire operation - may or may not be leaving him for her ex-husband and Zissou's arch nemesis/competitor Alistair Hennessey (a suitably nasty Goldblum) whose
expensive, state-of-the-art scientific equipment Zissou promptly pilfers during the expedition.

Along the way Team Zissou encounters a bond company stooge (typecast Bud Cort), an infiltration by Filipino pirates (!) and some wonderful 'exotic' undersea denizens (whimsically conjured by animation genius Henry Selick). Anderson allows all of his eclectic cast to fade into and out of the proceedings at hand (just like his just for the hell of it inclusions of David Bowie covers on the soundtrack) but truly lets Murray shine with his melancholic angst boiling under his red watchman's cap and Hemingway beard while sizing up whatever pitfall comes his way in his journey at redemption.

Although it is not a masterpiece like Anderson's first film
"Rushmore" which peeled away the veneer of loveable goofball Murray to uncover a valuable thespian with much more to give to his audience. Here he has a field day in low-key mode yet just beneath the surface of a primal urge to lash out (at one point Murray channels his old SNL Weekend Update anchor's "get outta here" swarm in chastising an elderly autograph seeker!). It's vintage Mr. Bill.

Film Rating: êêê1/2  (out of 4)