DO U LIKE ROYAL TENENBAUMS?
If you don't, you'd best be avoiding The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, Wes Anderson's latest fillum. For the uninitiated, Anderson defines "quirky" US independent cinema. His first film, Bottle Rocket, kick-started the careers of the Wilson brothers, Luke and Owen, and set the template for his subsequent efforts. Awesome set-design, kitsch costumes, estranged familial relationships, black humour, top notch soundtrack. His next effort, the magnificent Rushmore, established Bill Murray as a serious indie actor and set him out on the path to critical redemption.
The Life Aquatic takes all these qualities and builds on them, has Murray as the titular lead, but yet somehow still falls short of Anderson's best work. Zissou is a world-renowned oceanographer, not too-far removed from Jacques Cousteau (sufficiently similar to him, in fact, to merit the producers having to make a substantial donation to the Cousteau Society) who is down on his luck and punting his latest film around the European festivals in an effort to pick up some funding. The rushes from the film at that point show how his partner, Esteban (Seymour Cassell, another Anderson regular) fell victim to an attack by an undescribed fish which Zissou dubs the "Jaguar Shark".
Zissou makes it his public goal to track down and kill the shark that killed his friend. "What would be the scientific purpose of this?" asks a festival compere. "Revenge", deadpans Murray. The remainder of the film follows Zissou as he sets out to achieve this aim. Another couple of Anderson's rep company pop up in supporting roles - Owen Wilson as Zissou's long-lost son and Anjelica Houston as his wife. The best bit-parts belong to newcomers to Anderson's world, though. Willem Dafoe shines as Klaus, Zissou's cantankerous German mechanic, Cate Blanchett is excellent as a pregnant reporter shadowing Zissou, and Michael Gambon camps it up as a Greek film producer, presumably in an homage to Dino De Laurentis. Best of all is Jeff Goldblum as an effete rival oceanographer whom eventually has to rely upon Steve to save his bacon.
Despite the engaging performances from the cast, the film lacks an emotional warmth. Murray phones in a detached display and you find it hard to care about him and his travails as a result. This picture turns the quirkiness of Tenenbaums up to 11, but never comes close to having the earlier film's heart.
The good things about the film, still, are legion. The soundtrack is ace, Zissou's Brazilian accomplice Pele dos Santos (geddit?) contributing Bowie's greatest hits in Portuguese and Bowie himself makes more than one appearance. The final two scenes in the movie are the only ones that come close to tugging at the heartstrings and telling, those are accompanied by the best two songs in the soundtrack, Sigur Ros' Staralfur sighing in the background as Team Zissou confronts the Jaguar Shark, and Bowie's Queen Bitch soundtracking the reunification of the team as the credits roll.
Better still is the wardrobe and the set design. One particular shot of the crew working in a cross-section of their ship is awe-inspiring. It probably speaks volumes, though, that those are the aspects of an Anderson film that always shine.
One for Anderson fans only.
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