The Darjeeling Limited (2007)
I have watched and written about a lot of Wes Anderson by now, enough to call him one of my favourite directors, though I would stop short of calling him one of the best, and I think that distinction matters. The two are not the same thing. A favourite is personal, emotional, almost irrational. The best implies something more objective, a consistent reaching beyond comfort zones, a restless ambition. Anderson, for all his extraordinary gifts, is not that. What he is, reliably and rewardingly, is himself.
What that means in practice is films built from the same immaculate dolls'-house symmetry and deadpan melancholy, with wounded, over-articulate men-children at their centre, needle-drop soundtracks that could soundtrack your life, and a visual language so recognisable you could identify a frame of it from across the room. You always know more or less what you are going to get. The Darjeeling Limited is a near-perfect example of exactly that: good to very good, and not a great deal more.
It sends three estranged American brothers on a train across India in the wake of their father's death, ostensibly on a spiritual pilgrimage, really on a bickering, baggage-laden attempt to become a family again. It is all present and correct: the storybook framing, the gorgeous Indian locations shot with that characteristic Anderson flatness that somehow makes everything look more vivid, and a soundtrack that is, as ever, an absolute highlight. The snag is how familiar the whole enterprise feels. This is well-trodden territory, the dysfunctional-family-in-matching-outfits story he had already mapped out so brilliantly in The Royal Tenenbaums, and Darjeeling never quite steps out of that film's shadow. It offers a slightly by-the-numbers version of a story he had already told better.
The cast, though, is a joy, and I want to be honest about something: I generally cannot stand Owen Wilson. I have called him a fair bit worse than that in reviews past. And yet, as the domineering eldest brother forever laminating everyone's itinerary and steamrolling his siblings with cheerful, controlling certainty, he actually won me over here, which almost never happens. Credit where it is due. Adrien Brody is quietly excellent as the middle brother, carrying a particular sadness around with him that never quite tips into self-pity, and Jason Schwartzman slots into Anderson's world as though he were born in it. The three of them bicker and wound and slowly, painfully reconcile with a lived-in brotherly chemistry that is comfortably the best thing the film has going for it. Their dynamic carries scenes that the script alone might not.
If you have never warmed to Anderson's particular brand of whimsy, this will not be the one to convert you. The quirk is fully operational, the artifice is fully visible, and there is a nagging sense throughout that he is coasting on hard-won goodwill. Compared to the anarchic warmth of Fantastic Mr. Fox, or the glorious clockwork precision of The Grand Budapest Hotel, Darjeeling feels like a director in a comfortable groove rather than one pushing at his own walls.
But here is the thing. A minor Wes Anderson is still a lovely way to pass a couple of hours. The brothers alone are worth the fare. The music will stick with you. The images are beautiful. And there is something honest, if a little melancholy, in a film about men who cannot stop carrying their old baggage around, made by a filmmaker who, bless him, cannot quite stop carrying his either.
Three and a half stars. Good-to-very-good, from a director who rarely misses, even when he is repeating himself.
Rating: ★★★½ | Year: 2007 | Watched: 2026-08-23
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