A helium-tickled beach ball of a movie that struggles to stay inflated, Wes Anderson's lumberingly titled new film is all absurd-ironic concept: the fairy-tale misadventures of a Jacques Cousteau–style oceanographer-documentarian, more of an aging brand-name icon than an actual scientist, embarking on an impulsive final mission. Steve Zissou (Bill Murray, in a Grizzly Adams beard and red Calypso cap) is a tireless self-mythologizer enduring a waffling sort of midlife crisis, but since it's an Anderson movie, Zissou's obsolescence (nobody cares about his films anymore) hardly impinges upon the full-frontal whimsy. The perpetually stoned hero is confronted with an affable grown son (Owen Wilson) he didn't know he had, endures the peccadilloes of an eccentric multiculti crew (led by snit-throwing papa's boy Willem Dafoe), calls for an impromptu midnight beach shoot when hundreds of glowing jellyfish wash ashore, encounters Henry Selick–animated fish you'll never see in any aquarium. (The first, a Froot Loops–colored seahorse, must be transferred to a champagne glass amid a black-tie gala scuffle.) We're introduced to Zissou's... More >>>