From the completely superfluous Bill Murray cameo in the opening scenes through to the Everyone's (Sort Of) Happy conclusion, Darjeeling Limited is terrific enough to offset any Wes Anderson backlash that might be looming.

It's a road trip flick set on a train, a tragicomedy about family ties, and a collection of slo-mo set pieces set to predictably perfect classic rock backdrops. Anderson translates the wonder and confusion of a foreign culture in a way that Sofia Coppola flubbed in Lost In Translation. A heartbreakingly detailed Indian funeral rests perfectly alongside the trademark deadpan dialogue and farce, and the Brothers Whitman are believable, laudable American tourists: ham-handed, sure, but ultimately willing to hanker down at the old ashram for a bit of non-denominational prayer. Owen Wilson's so lovably vulnerable that you almost feel bad about all the suicide jokes these past few weeks, and Adrien Brody's inexplicably grown into the role of poetically virile leading man. Jason Schwartzman rounds out the brotherly trio as a depressed Lothario with a porn-star mustache. All three share a somehow-charming addiction to illegal Indian painkillers, the unofficial lubricant of their surreal family reunion.

There are very few missteps here, save a confounding and recurrent product placement for the iPod and Bose. Yes, it's a film about the emotional lives of overly privileged, middle-upper class, wealthy Caucasians who've decided to go seeking a spiritual awakening in a Third World country. But Anderson's well aware of that, and half the joy of Darjeeling Limited is his exploration of the idiocies and, um, limitations of such an experiment. (In this way, the film is a close relative of Dave Eggers's excellent novel, You Will Know Our Velocity!)

And as you may have heard, this new project starts off with a bang that Wes is reserving for film festival attendees and DVD special-features watchers. I'm talking, of course, about Hotel Chevelier, the 13-minute Darjeeling Limited precursor that's notable for showcasing a very real Natalie Portman really naked. Anyone who's nursed an illicit obsession for Portman ever since she perfected her precocious sexpot act in Beautiful Girls will appreciate the palpable lack of body doubles. And at least Anderson (unlike fellow perv-o Zach Braff) didn't cast himself in the role of seducer here.—Scott Indrisek

LINKS
• The trailer