Wes Anderson is an acquired taste. But those who liked The Royal Tenenbaums and even the grossly uneven The Life Aquatic may find this serio-comic tale about three brothers on a train journey through India a satisfactory diversion from everyday reality.

The brothers, who haven't spoken to each other since their father's funeral and appear to be after some sort of spiritual enlightenment, are an odd lot. There's Owen Wilson, who has just had a near-death experience in a car crash and is swathed in head bandages throughout.

There's Adrien Brody, who is no longer in love with his wife and now discovers she is pregnant. And there's sad-sack Jason Schwartzman, who is coping with the collapse of a relationship.

The other main character is a fantasy India, painted in the bright and glowing hues you never actually see in its dusty villages and polluted towns. The film looks a treat throughout. It also sounds good when they take the rock off the sound-track and substitute some of Satyajit Ray's music.

Strange things happen to the brothers on and off the train. There's an unlikely stewardess (Amara Karan) not averse to having sex with the passengers. Brody fails to save an Indian boy from drowning and presents him tenderly to his peasant family who dress up in white for the funeral. And for no apparent reason we see Bill Murray riding in a cab.

Finally the boys come across their mother (Anjelica Huston) who became a nun and now appears surprised that she has three such peculiar sons.

I have no idea quite why I found the film so irritating and inconsequential. Possibly it was because none of the principals appears very fascinating and the India I know seemed a long way away. If you can tell what Anderson is up to, feel free to tell me. I don't honestly know.