Absolutely fantastic movie. This is the movie that helped me learn how to actually appreciate movies. I read this review in Reddit and it was so well written, I wanted to share it here:
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This is by far my favorite Wes Anderson movie. The plot unfolds at a leisurely pace, more a vehicle for the complex character interactions than anything else. But it's a pleasure just to sit back and soak it all in. The all-star cast is brilliant across the board, and the dilapidated Belafonte is almost a character in itself. Each scene is packed with detail and love, from the subtle visual gags and flourishes, to the clever callbacks and foreshadowing, to the wonderful Portuguese David Bowie covers, to the telling little quirks of personality which accompany nearly every movement, such that a returning viewer can drop in anywhere in the runtime and allow themself to be swept away in the absurdity. The film's particular brand of humor aims for the dry, weird, clever little joke over the big or obvious one everytime, and while this won't land for everyone, it serves to make the film exceptionally quotable. At the same time, there's a pervasive undercurrent of melancholy to the whole affair, and the way it weaves beats of real, sobering emotion into lighter scenes is masterful.
This is perhaps Wes' darkest and most thematically mature story at its core, a surreal exploration of subject matter which taps into our human awareness of the impending void, including mortality, defeat, and obsolescence, and how they weigh on the mind of a man moving past his prime. My preference really comes down to that titular character himself. For all its dazzling sights and madcap action, The Life Aquatic is a character study, and damn, what a one he is. Steve is a former legend of the deep sea documentary scene now washed up and burned out after yet another failure, having lost his friend and partner while making a film to a creature that may not even really exist. Zissou clings on desperately to the past and all its baggage, channeling his grief into anger toward the animal and anyone else who comes near.
Spoilers ahead.
A perfect encapsulation of Steve's character comes when he attempts to save time by leading the ship through unprotected waters and gets the crew taken hostage by pirates. Surrounded by loaded firearms on all sides, Steve blocks the aim of one hostile pirate and says without hesitation, "Don't point that gun at him; he's an unpaid intern." It's a whirlwind moment which simultaneously captures his every extreme of courage and stupidity, selfishness and selflessness, and pride most of all. He accepts that every member of Team Zissou might die, but they accepted those risks with their paycheck. He won't stand by and allow this unpaid intern, basically a servant just along for the ride, to suffer the same fate under his leadership. Steve ultimately retakes the ship in a mad rush of energy, represented by an audible burst of electricity and a brief shot of the opening scene where he contracts "crazy eye" upon watching his partner die. The color palette changes to warmer tones, and in a suicidal rampage he singlehandedly runs the pirates off his boat in nothing but a speedo and bathrobe, although not before they kidnap the so-called bond company stooge who stuck his neck out to save them all.
Steve makes mistakes throughout the movie, and they aren't innocent ones. His mistakes are borne from narcissism, and have real consequences. But subtly, little by little, he changes from the problems he creates. The aformentioned pirate takeover in particular colors every scene from there on out. Steve's emotional barriers and ego are broken down until there's nothing left of the famous Zissou image but a sad man struggling to keep afloat. The progression feels earned as he comes to terms with the death of his partner, gradually overcomes his own bleak worldview to set right what he can, and eventually allows himself to open up and connect with Ned, the stranger who may be his son. He probably isn't when all is said and done, but by that point the biological relation doesn't matter. Their relationship is messy and complicated, and doesn't move in a straight line. But Ned needed a father, and Steve needed a son. They both mature from their time together. And in growing up, Steve strikes a balance between the wisdom of lessons hard learned, and the eleven and a half year old oceanographer inside who still wishes he could breathe underwater. Much of the credit for this complex character should go to Bill Murray's disconcertingly raw and nuanced performance.
The film's charming, off-kilter style and cartoonish stop-motion animation project a magical quality onto real life which evokes a sense of nostalgia in viewers for a time they never knew, but nonetheless occupies considerable estate in the mind of our lead character. We see the world through the eyes of a child who has never witnessed such marvels of nature before, the way Steve remembers but is unable to replicate in mid-life after those sights have become mundane. This both highlights the character's inner emptiness and the sense of wonder as he rediscovers his passion for the sea; the underwater world he fell in love with was always there, he just couldn't see it.
In the end, he finally catches up to the mysterious shark that killed his friend, and before letting his nemesis slip away delivers the simple line which not only sums up his character growth, but focuses every preceding moment of triumph and failure and sadness and joy throughout the story to a single heartbreaking point: "I wonder if it remembers me."
To go a little deeper, Steve uses his job as a documentarian to frame his experiences into a filmic narrative in order to manufacture a sense of direction in his life as it spins out of control following the death of Esteban, his friend and partner. Esteban is the Spanish form of the name Steve, reflecting the protagonist's own loss of identity. Early on, Steve touches a small television screen displaying old footage of his deceased friend. A symbolic spark made physical springs between them for the last time, and then it's gone. Steve has lived at sea sheltered from the world in his carefully constructed adventurer fantasy for so long that he's unable to face the reality of adulthood when it comes time, so when subjected to criticism for things he really did say and do, he dives deeper. When he butts up against the harsh truths of mortality and his own fading celebrity, he brushes them off as if it's not even happening, the same as he does the power outages on the Belafonte. When he threatens to have a genuine moment with another person, he consciously reduces it to just another beat in his documentary which he can edit until it suits him. Steve surrounds himself with memories of better days, yet he seems offended when others remind him that those days were indeed better. As long as he can focus on making his movie about hunting the shark, the easy object of vengeance, he can ignore his own situation, and even the loss he's avenging. However, these efforts ultimately fail to convince anyone, even himself.
It isn't until later, after Ned's beautifully directed, chillingly peaceful death which results from Steve's obsession forces him to accept life in all its chaotic splendor, to appreciate the opportunities he's had and the people who have cared for him in his life that he finds any measure of peace. It's clear in all fairness that Steve shouldn't have been the one to walk away from that helicopter crash, the bitter old man instead of the optimistic young one, but that's what happens. And having reached a mutual understanding and connection with Ned at long last, Steve understands this. The universe isn't out to get him. It doesn't even know that he's alive, and yet he's been given a pretty damn good deal all things considered.
With the discovery of the shark's location shortly thereafter coinciding with another power outage, Steve once again moves to isolate himself and leave the rest of his motley crew in the dark. But instead, against all expectations, he turns around, gets the lights back on himself, culminating the previously mentioned electrical symbolism throughout the film, and invites the surprised group of onlookers to come along with him. His newly reconciled surrogate family literally and figuratively behind him in his most vulnerable moment, he confronts the embodiment of death he arrogantly sought the whole movie to conquer in his desperation to reassert control, and realizes with newfound humility that their fleeting encounter was nothing personal. Sometimes things just happen, and there's nothing you can do but keep going. It was an animal that killed Esteban, like any other sea creature the two of them relished studying over the years, only doing what it does. That's just the way death is: an impersonal beast lurking beneath our feet at all times, ever closer, reminding us that life is to be savored, to be well and truly lived, however it comes.
Months later, sitting alone with his award outside the theater as his documentary concludes to thunderous applause, Steve is joined by the adoring young boy he met at the outset of the story and paid little mind. They linger awhile before Steve gives him Ned's old Team Zissou ring. Then he lifts the boy up on his shoulders, leaves the award behind, and in his final line summarizes the thesis of The Life Aquatic: "This is an adventure."
Actually, this isn't just my favorite Wes Anderson movie. It's one of my favorite movies, period. That it was panned by critics and flopped in theaters is an absolute crying shame.
