Nobody ever laughs their ass off at a Wes Anderson comedy. You might chuckle. You may titter. You’re liable to smirk. When you get really into it you might even nod your head or say “huh” to acknowledge a clever moment, but you don’t come apart. You don’t wake up anyone else in the house. You keep your composure. We’re used to that with this Tom Wolfe’s-lesbian-daughter-looking writer/director, but in The Darjeeling Limited the effect is almost numbing. I have half a mind to guess that Anderson made this mostly because he just wanted to make a movie in India. The scenery is beautiful, right down to the interiors of the train cars that three estranged brothers ride on a trip to re-connect and have a good ol’ spiritual time in the way out east. The bold colors in Indian designs are a perfect match for Anderson’s own bright visual sense. That’s the best reason to see this. Otherwise, not much else happens. To get anything out of these three dysfunctionals who spend most of the film in their own head-spaces, you need to be very serious about your Wes Anderson titters and smirks. For creepy guys like me, we’re mostly hoping that Natalie Portman shows up and gets naked again as she does in the prologue scene (warning: she doesn’t).