“We’re being led on a suicide mission by a selfish maniac.” So says a perennially topless female crew member as things take a turn for the worse aboard The Belafonte — maritime compound of legendary, anachronistic, dope-smoking oceanographer Steve Zissou. She’s right — Zissou is an egoist and more than a bit unbalanced, and as portrayed by the inimitable Bill Murray he’s one of the most wildly appealing movie characters imaginable. That’s got a lot to do with the guy who imagined him, Wes Anderson, the droll mastermind behind “Rushmore,” “Bottle Rocket” and “The Royal Tenenbaums.” This, Anderson’s fourth feature, is the plus ultra of whimsical cerebration, and fans of his work will no doubt be lifted into the empyrean. Others, though, might prefer something less high-reaching, like “Blade: Trinity” (And, yeah, you know who you are.) Cut from the Jacques Cousteau mold, Zissou’s “suicide mission” is to find the fabled Jaguar Shark that ate his best friend. He’s joined on that quest by a team of dreamers that includes Ned Plimpton (Owen Wilson) a southern gentleman who may or not be son Steve never knew; pregnant journalist Jane Winslett-Richardson (Cate Blanchett), an adoring German engineer (Willem Dafoe) and his brilliant wife Eleanor (Angelica Huston). Also sailing along are Jeff Goldblum as Zissou’s arch nemesis and the always-brilliant Michael Gambon as venerable documentary producer Oseary Drakoulias. The stellar cast is absolutely delightful, as is the film’s score (by long-time Anderson collaborator and Devo frontman Mark Mothersbaugh), production design (Mark Friedberg) and, well, just about everything. It’s an olla podrida of odd from a visionary filmmaker. (Rated R for language, some drug use, violence and partial nudity. Running time: 118 minutes)
Originally published in the Santa Monica Daily Press print edition on December 10, 2004. Read the original PDF.