Starring: Bill Murray (I), Owen Wilson, Anjelica Huston, Cate Blanchett

8 out of 10 stars

Technically, in the strict sense of the term, The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou is Wes Anderson's most ambitious and successful film to date. So militantly artful is Anderson's objective that I can look beyond his sketchbook of a screenplay and measure the picture as a whole; Aquatic is proof of a director who, while exploring the themes of his previous films, is arcing out further in search of deeper significance. (If the size of Aquatic's bulging cast is any sign, he's aiming for an emotional impact that's three times that of Rushmore's.) The film is also an indication of Anderson being less concerned with the shrewd management of his audience's emotions -- you know, the hey-that's-me underdogs and their spastic romantic gestures, the too-perfect accompanying music -- and more focused on the subtleties underlying the grandeur. This approach spills over into the ensemble acting; in particular Willem Dafoe, who revels in his character's insecurities and empty threats. While it is true that this is one way to draw attention from the underdeveloped story idea, the production is nonetheless a remarkably chichi affair.

A colleague has said that Bottle Rocket, Rushmore, and The Royal Tenebaums have all made her embrace pretension, and I think that's one of the most penetrating ways to assess the feelings belonging to those of us on this side of the Anderson Divide. (I'd add to it the notion that it's somewhat pointless to critique his films -- particularly this one -- after only one viewing; each of his pictures takes time to work through your system.) Yet by the end of the first scene of his latest, The Life Aquatic already surpasses the initial promise (and overall pretension) of its predecessors.

At an Italian film festival, oceanographer Steve Zissou (Bill Murray) introduces his new documentary, a bloody, tragic production that claimed the life of his longtime partner, Esteban du Plantier (Seymour Cassel), who was eaten by a mythical Jaguar shark. During the Q&A session that follows, Zissou announces his team will hunt down and kill the shark on their next adventure. This declaration, and Zissou's presence at the afterparty, are met with relative disinterest, thus framing his current status as a man in decline. While his producer (Michael Gambon) works the crowd for Team Zissou funding, and his wife, Eleanor (Anjelica Huston, may she be in every Anderson film to come), seems taken with his professional nemesis (Jeff Goldblum), Zissou is approached by Ned Plimpton (Owen Wilson), a pilot from Kentucky (and possibly Texas and Louisiana, as Wilson's accent slips throughout) who may or may not be his son.

Here, Anderson sets the tone for the rest of the film, where the members of Team Zissou endure money woes, ego clashes, an attack and kidnapping in unprotected waters, and near-mutiny. You can choose to get drunk on the heady first fifteen minutes of the film (or don the blue Speedo and red cap, you pick the metaphor) and ride that buzz for the duration of the adventure, or you can cling resolutely to one of the "abandon ship" warnings currently employed by the Anderson haters and spend the rest of the film sober, with a frowny face and your arms crossed. But if you do, you'll be shut out of the fun inherent in Anderson's patented techniques: the way his characters move through a scene, how he cuts dialogue, his color palette, and his soundtracking -- here mainly Bowie songs, performed live and in Portuguese by Seu Jorge, who plays Team Zissou member Pelé. And you'll feel like an outsider while Anderson conducts tours of Team Zissou's ship, the Belafonte, which feature some of Robert Yeoman's most innovative camerawork to date -- gorgeous long shots through an inspired cutaway-style model, the work of production designer Mark Friedberg and his crew. Also, you'll remain unaffected by the final act, a beautifully realized sequence that begins with the crew deep under the sea in a primary yellow submersible contraption and ends at the same film festival, one year later.

Most importantly, you'll allow yourself to feel alienated from Murray's performance. Steve Zissou is more defeated than Herman Blume and Bob Harris combined, and Murray makes every scene better than the one before. And if you're not knocked out by his explanation of why he never wanted to be a father, I envy your upbringing.

Sure, Murray's presence, combined with the clever lines, teeny swimsuits, and behind-the-scenes magic, can't hide the fact that Steve Zissou is essentially an aged Max Fischer, and that Aquatic's narrative is based on recycled themes, but Anderson -- via his star -- continues to explore the mechanics of father/son relationships with an increasing sense of humanity. And beauty.