Opening with documentary footage of the Cousteau-esque oceanographer Zissou's latest film "The Jaguar Shark (Part One)", my eyes started to ache as I tried to focus on the many characters filling the colorful screen above me in a film within a film that introduces the oddball crew of the beat up '70s sea vessel the Belanfonte and the overblown and self-serious craft of the washed up Zissou (who might as well just be called Bill Murray).

With a tight close-up of Zissou as he takes questions inside a majestic Italian theater for the documentary's sophisticated black tie film festival premiere, he unleashes his plan to seek revenge on the jaguar shark (never shown in the film because, according to Zissou, he dropped his camera out of fear) in part two. The problem is: part one tanks so much no one is willing to fund another suicide mission.

Enter Ned Plimpton (Owen Wilson), a pilot for Air Kentucky (hubbed in Louisville as he proudly explains to anyone who cares to ask) who tracks down Zissou at an after-party on the Belanfonte and calmly explains that he may or may not be his father. His mother, Ned explains, recently died of what we later learn is a combination of suicide and ovarian cancer. It also just so happens that Ned inherits the $270 million needed to fund the voyage, which the thin mustache wearing baby face sheepishly offers after getting an invite to join Team Zissou following one turn as a boom operator where he makes a foolishly witty comment about electric jellyfish turning up on shore in the middle of the night. It turns out the jellyfish aren't even jellyfish; they're actually man 'o war, which a ravishing pregnant reporter named Jane Winslett-Richardson (played by a pregnant Cate Blanchett) points out as she turns up on the shore of Zissou's island compound virtually out of nowhere.

Individual stylized introductions ensue, though much more naturally than the lengthy "Hey Jude" music video technique of "Royal Tennenbaums." Anderson does take a page out of his previous work and expands on it slightly with a cutaway dollhouse tour of the Belanfonte, which a narrating Zissou gives to his new "probably his son" friend Ned. With his deadpan tongue planted firmly in cheek, the introduction to the life of the $900 million floating movie studio, Zissou's tour guide monologue seems to serve as subtle commentary about Hollywood itself. There's the group of unpaid interns, who later organize a mutiny following a bloody attack by a gang of Filipino pirates in "unprotected waters", the onboard masseuse, the fully stocked liquor cabinet, two "annoying" dolphins who swim beneath the ship with video cameras, a library, a recording studio, etc. and above deck the Deep Search, the yellow submarine formerly known as Jacqueline (Zissou's first wife).

Always a stickler for detail and notorious for filling every scene to the max with color and hip British Invasion era soundtrack (which here mixes classical, bouncy techno in scuba diving scenes and at its climax the Icelandic sounds of Sigur Ros), Life Aquatic sticks to the retro formula of all three previous films. In place of the yellow jumpsuits in "Bottle Rocket" and the matching jogging suits in "Royal Tennenbaums" are red beanies, speedos and a host of other fashion statements that could easily launch an entire line of sellable merchandise. I'd probably buy myself an Air Kentucky shoulder bag and a Team Zissou T-shirt if they were available.

Working for the first time without writing partner in crime Owen Wilson (wearing only one hat literally and figuratively this time around), Anderson and co-writer Noah Baumbach use sparse and witty dialogue to fill in the gaps, which include the reoccurring musical interludes of Seu Jorge (Knockout Ned in "City of God") singing David Bowie songs in Portuguese and action scenes where the psychotic Zissou decked out in a speedo and flip-flops single-handedly takes out pirates with a glock strapped to his thigh Rambo style. The much talked about inclusion of stop-motion animation by the brains behind Nightmare Before Chistmas (Henry Selick) serves its purpose by adding to the other wordly fiction universe of Anderson's daydream fantasies and keeps with the feel and style of the film's wacky humor without becoming a distraction. Meanwhile, the new additions to Anderson's revolving ensemble cast ‹ Willem Dafoe as the extremely German and very strange second mate Klaus, Jeff Goldblum as the "half queer" kind nemesis Alistair Hennesy, Zissou's estranged-better-half Eleanor's (Anjelica Huston) ex-husband ‹ prove their weight in gold.

Overall, the departure from past works is overshadowed by the elements Anderson's cult following have come to appreciate so much they could be considered worshipers. It's doubtful those who hated or misunderstood his previous work will "get" this one, but it will certainly appease Anderson's legion of fans who are already rushing to create fan pages inspired by their favorite film references and making their own replica Team Zissou Fanclub rings.

I doubt anyone like myself who Fandago'd themselves into the theater on opening night in New York or L.A. expected anything less. Being a bit of a Anderson fanatic myself, I will no doubt be returning to a theater closer to home where the rest of us will finally get to see it starting on Christmas Day and purchasing the DVD to get repeated exposure to the ironic humor that keeps giving (once you're sucked into the Anderson cult the jokes only grow with repeated viewings).

Still, as much as I appreciated it even from a vantage point that theaters should not be allowed to charge $10.50 for, I won't be surprised if the Oscar hype is just that and the "What's the point?", "I don't get it", "Where's the plot?" and the other comments typical of the uninitiated crowd shoehorn this film into a moderately successful but weird sub-category.

I don't know about you, but I'm perfectly okay with whatever allows Anderson to stay the course and paint his odd 11-year-old fantasies onto the canvas of film.

posted 12.14.04