With, more factually, Bill Murray in the role of Zissou, an over-the-hill, or over-the-wave, oceanographer cum filmmaker, a cut-rate Cousteau: "What happened to me? Did I lose my talent? Am I ever going to be any good again?" Director Wes Anderson, a critical darling and "indie" bellwether for Bottle Rocket, Rushmore, and The Royal Tenenbaums, took a lot of money from Disney for the sake of some animated marine life and a marvelous cross-section set of the oceangoing vessel, the Belafonte (shown off to excellent effect on a single-take trek from the belly to the deck). To his credit, he hasn't let the larger investment alter the size of his ambition. He still goes after the muffled chuckle in a quiet corner; and he aims, foremost and hindmost, to please his loyal followers instead of the anonymous crowd. The action scenes, either beyond him or beneath him, are so ridiculous (one-man-army Murray against a boatload of cut-throat pirates) that they play as if they must be fantasies, except they're not. Maybe they're a "comment" on contemporary action films in general. The bonding between father and long-lost son (Owen Wilson with an uncertain Kentucky accent) takes an unexpected turn at an unexpected juncture. And the quest for revenge against a man-eating sea monster ends not with a bang but with an ooh-ahh. Willem Dafoe has more than his share of good moments as a German crew member with a thin skin; and Seu Jorge as another crew member, endlessly strumming a guitar and singing David Bowie tunes in Portuguese, and Cate Blanchett as a pregnant journalist with a two-shades-too-dark suntan, have their moments, too. The whole thing, though, seems quite daftly pointless. Or pointlessly daft. Anjelica Huston, Jeff Goldblum, Michael Gambon, Bud Cort. (2004) — Duncan Shepherd
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