The opening scenes of The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou find the titular oceanographer/filmmaker screening his latest underwater documentary to a royal audience in a palatial opera house on some unnamed Italian province, and throughout the duration of these scenes, fans of director Wes Anderson will be entranced. They'll recognize with glee all the stylistic mannerisms of the director of Bottle Rocket, Rushmore and The Royal Tennenbaums, his esoteric sense of conversation and the warmth with which he introduces his main characters. The most strident amongst his followers may even recognize Zissou's film, which harkens back to a fake Costeau-esque documentary in Rushmore called The Living Sea.

The pleasure will continue unabated as Zissou declares his plans to embark on one more voyage, so that he might take Ahab-style revenge against the shark that ate his best friend; as he frets with his estranged wife Eleanor (Angelic Huston) and adoring first mate Klaus (Willem Dafoe, doing a wonderful German accent); and as he meets a young Air Force pilot named Ned Plimpton (Owen Wilson, doing a terrible Kentucky accent) who introduces himself as Steve's illegitimate son. And then, during Ned and Steve's introductory conversation, something happens. Steve Zissou excuses himself. He walks to the bow of his ship, the Belafonte, and looks out at the horizon while the song on the soundtrack swells. When he's done surveying the view, he returns to Ned and quickly finishes their conversation.

His diversion is unexplained, of course; it's a random, momentary diversion that doesn't make sense or serve a narrative purpose, but works well on an subconscious emotional level and, even better, on a symbolic level. Consider that Zissou, while filling the gruff father figure role so prominently featured in Anderson's previous two features, is also an avatar for Anderson himself, who, in the rest of the film, is about to embark on a stylistic journey quite unlike the deeply felt familial drama with which he's excelled in the past. Of course he needs a moment to think things over.

If you can buy that level of metaphor, then you may agree with me that The Life Aquatic is in many ways a masterpiece; Robert Altman once said that everything in cinema is legitimately "readable-into-ish," and indeed I think it's mostly safe to say that this work may be qualified at least partially on a symbolic level. It is a film about Wes Anderson breaking out of the type of movies that Wes Anderson is known to make; failing to entirely do so; and reconciling with that failure and moving on. Thus, the beginning that is so wonderful and 'classically' Anderson gives way to something far colder and odder and sometimes jarring, full of random pirate attacks and beautifully surreal stop motion sequences and a narrative that never really feels like its the movie's raison d'etre, before coming to a conclusion that offers bittersweet remembrances to the past while looking triumphantly to the future.

Each of these levels may click into place when you see the film. Or you may think I'm full of it. What can I say? I don't believe I'm straining to appreciate what this movie has to offer, nor am I making excuses for its inaccessibility. I might not recommend it to a person simply looking for a good time at the movies, just as I wouldn't recommend, say, Michaelangelo Antonioni's L'Aventurra or Fellini's 8 1/2; I would wish that person would broaden their horizons to the point that they could appreciate films that weren't made entirely with audiences in mind.

But aren't all films made with audiences in mind, given that an audience is the point of the very existence of the art form? The answer is yes, but here's the catch: when filmmakers like Anderson (who, for all the charm of his work, does not make mainstream movies) are given the means to indulge in their own interests on film, it's generally because they've proven their ability to, in telling stories and presenting visions that interest them, make a strong, personal and even important connection with viewers. But in many cases a bit of reciprocation is involved; the reason films like this are called art films is because, like a great abstract painting, the connection requires the viewer to invest his or herself in the film, to question the intent, consider the context, and look beyond the surface.

And in that regard, while Anderson's previous films were warm and comedic enough to attract more general audiences, he also displayed the sort of singular artistic vision that often leads to more challenging fare, which The Life Aquatic most certainly is. It's gorgeous to look at and listen to (oh, to hear Seu Jorge singing David Bowie songs all night long! I must procure the soundtrack), and there's the frequent ironic or inexplicable line of dialogue that will warrant a familiar chuckle, but once the Belafonte sets sail in the opening act of the film, a different sort of filmmaker emerges at its helm; one who's interests and intentions are as insistent and consistent as they are vague and abstract. Perhaps it's a bit of subconscious prescience on his part that, in the film, Steve Zissou's latest documentary is met with a cold reception by fans who compare it unfavorably to his previous work? Or that Zissou plows forward with his follow-up effort anyway, undeterred?

If Rushmore and The Royal Tennenbaums confirmed the arrival of a wonderful filmmaker, this film marks the advent of a great one. Or in other words: while it may not be the best Wes Anderson film, it is Wes Anderson's best film. Or maybe it's the other way around. David O. Russell marked a similarly inaccessible passage earlier this year with I Heart Huckabees, a film I loved as much for Russell's defiance of conventions and concessions as for his personalized focus. I love The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou even more; it has the same internalized qualities, and there's something exciting about being given the opportunity to explore the fascinations of a filmmaker I've grown to trust.