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MOVIE: THE LIFE AQUATIC WITH STEVE ZISSOU (2004).
An aging oceanographer seeks revenge on the mysterious Jaguar Shark that killed his favorite shipmate. You could say that this film is more of the same from Wes Anderson, with its tale of redemption, its lovable bastard of a main character, and its meticulously crafted dollhouse sets (that cutaway ship soundstage, just, wow) , but in Anderson's case "more of the same" is hardly anything to worry about. In fact, it only produces more delightful things.

That's the feeling I had as my eyes crawled over every tiny set detail, or narrowed to notice a telling, vulnerable tic from one of the actors: delight. Life Aquatic isn't a great movie really, and I suppose some film student will one day draw one-to-one relationships between the characters in this film and those in The Royal Tenenbaums for a dissertation (it's easy to do), but every author approaches their Lifelong Dramatic Questions from many angles &cetera, and weren't those underwater scenes beautifully fake, with their plastic anemones and claymation fish? How about Bill Murray, dressed like a chipmunk in his sateen wetsuit, dancing a tiny, tiny dance to the tiniest of electroclash grooves?

See? Delight. That's all. Anderson could probably set the same story over and over again in a different millieu and still have no problem getting me in the theater. Although something tells me his next film will be headed someplace different. Because by now, he's gracefully and thoroughly answered this particular Lifelong Dramatic Question with a gentle "It's never too late, you big dummy."

Oh, it's beautiful alright. I hope it remembers me.


 
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PHOTO DIARY.


Me, One, Jung, and Nicki had dinner with mom yesterday.


Afterwards, we went to a neighborhood by Mile Square Park in good ole Fountain Valley to see the decorated houses, including this nativity scene.


It was a pretty random affair, and not as mind-blowing as I remember from high school.


Disney characters, for instance. And note the tasty fake snow staplegunned to the lawn.


There was a lone Jewish house.


One amazing decoration was this working miniature ski lift, built out of bicycle rims. Note the wiggling elf legs poking out of the snow on the lower right.


The crown jewel of the neighborhood had to be this tree, decked out with ornaments and thousands of lights.


 
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PHOTO DIARY.


We had our holiday party over the weekend, at the Argyle Hotel on Sunset.


Everyone wore their swankiest garb. Here's fellow designer Debbie and Kristina.


Tad and Chris.


Jongo, Mack, and Nicki.


Casey and her boyfriend Jordan.


Chris Bass (fresh from the Detroit home office), Kristina's husband Michael, Tony, Jongo, and his hard-drinkin' fiancee Caroline.


An unknown, Tony, Denise, and Tamara.


The party had an open bar, so we all got dancing pretty quick. Thankfully, no one collapsed on the dance floor.


Mike dancing with our VP Selina, egged on by Tamara.

 
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PHOTO DIARY.


Good-looking "no soccer" sign at a public golf green. Nothing beats hand-painted typography.

 
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PHOTO DIARY.


Now here's something. Racing gasoline, being sold for $5.93 per gallon at a gas station in wealthy-ass Brentwood. Because your Mclaren won't run on anything else.

 
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