Critic Reviews



Based on 35 critic reviews provided by
A picture that certain Brits and connoisseurs of British colloquial English might call "a grower" ... more moving and funny the more I think about it.
Anderson is like Dave Brubeck, who I'm listening to right now. He knows every note of the original song, but the fun and genius come in the way he noodles around. And in his movie's cast, especially with Owen Wilson, Anderson takes advantage of champion noodlers.
All the acting is exemplary. Brody, new to Wes' World, is revelatory as Peter.
This is familiar psychological as well as stylistic territory for Anderson after "Rushmore" and "The Royal Tenenbaums." But there's a startling new maturity in Darjeeling, a compassion for the larger world that busts the confines of the filmmaker's miniaturist instincts.
A spiritual quest can take many forms. One could argue that all of director Wes Anderson's movies focus on a sense of personal melancholy and directionlessness that often fuels such an odyssey. And they do so with a dark and offbeat wit.
A movie about people who literally carry a lot of emotional baggage, metaphorically unpack it, and spiritually lighten their loads. By the end, I felt lighter. Which is closer to enlightenment than most movies get.
Chicago Tribune
Spiritual journeys, even if they're comedies, don't really lend themselves to the extreme, anal-retentive formalism found in every frame of The Darjeeling Limited.
The Globe and Mail (Toronto)
As always with Anderson, the comedy is neatly embedded in the jaded banter, where the insecurities and rivalries bubble up -- here, all within the bell jar of that shared sleeping compartment.
The film as a whole operates in Mr. Anderson's patented, semi-precious zone of antic and droll. It's not as if the filmmaker has gone off the rails. He's just not solidly on them.
Wilson, Brody and Schwartzman have their charms, but the script gives them little to work with. Anderson and his co-writers have come up with an ordinary road movie.
A frustrating movie, a work of immaturity from a director who should be past the empty gestures and self-protective distance of his early work.

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