The Many Faces of Bill

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He is far too obstreperous to sit still and be deconstructed, but after a long day of promoting The Life Aquatic in interviews for local newspapers from around the country, Murray, with a glass of Scotch in his hand and an empty New York City hotel suite at his disposal, seems relaxed. Not just for the moment but in life. Even his failure to win a 2004 Oscar for Lost in Translation was, he insists, no big deal. (As a spoof of his supposed disappointment over losing the Best Actor award to Sean Penn, Murray appeared on the Late Show with David Letterman a few weeks later, wearing his tuxedo while rolling in a gutter.) By then, Murray had begun work on The Life Aquatic, which opened to mixed reviews but mostly warm ones for his performance. While he has described the hours on location off the coast of Italy as a scuba version of the Stations of the Cross, Murray believes he has found a true artistic comrade in Anderson, who also directed him in Rushmore and The Royal Tenenbaums. "I don't think most people know what's happening to them while they watch his movies," says Murray. "With this last one, he doesn't hit you with big punches, it doesn't end with an explosion, but it works on your emotions in a really fascinating and complicated way."

As Steve Zissou, a mix of underwater explorer Jacques Cousteau and infomercial king Ron Popeil, Murray again plays a middle-aged man disappointed by what he has become. The actor has tremendous admiration for Anderson's ability to write flawed characters that have reservoirs of humor and dignity. For example, it takes a while for Zissou to get on the road to redemption because his ego is so achingly monumental. When he tells his wife (Anjelica Huston) about a grown man who may or may not be his illegitimate son (Owen Wilson), Zissou says, "I believe in the boy." "Why?" she asks. "Because he looks up to me," he responds.

On film sets Murray's dedication to an inner code of ethicsand his demand that others follow ithas earned him a reputation for being difficult. (During the making of Charlie's Angels, he and Lucy Liu engaged in a feud over creative differences, reportedly causing production to shut down for a day.) For someone who has built his life around the idea of team play and who continually mocks all pretense to self-importance, difficult is a word that cuts deep. "If it keeps obnoxious people away, that's fine," he says defensively.

"It makes me think of that lineyou catch more flies with honey than vinegar. People say this to you with a straight face, and I always say, 'Who. Wants. Flies?'" A moment passes, and Murray changes his tone. "Oh, difficult. You know, difficult. Well, I have this avenging-angel side, and it is not always a good thing."

Murray, who grew up in a blue-collar family, suggests that his outbursts are generally spurred by a still fiery sense of class resentment and empathy for the underdog. On the set of his new film for Jarmusch, Murray got into a fracas with the location manager when he arrived at a rented house for a scene with child actors and discovered that there was no heat. When he started a fire in the fireplace, the location manager told him to stop. "'Who are you?'"

Murray says, whispering, as he recalls the story, in the same intimidating hush he used at the time. "She said, 'I'm locations.' I said, 'Well, if locations had done their job and made sure it was warm enough for these people, we wouldn't be lighting a fire in the fireplace.'" But at the wrap party, Murray approached the woman again. "I said, 'You know, we had our moment, and I don't apologize for that for a second.'" But she had excelled at other aspects of her job, and Murray told her so. "I wanted to let her know I could see it both ways."

"He's not malicious," says Harold Ramis, who directed Murray in Caddyshack and Groundhog Day. "He's just a ronin or a samurai in his commitment to no existing authority. I don't know what the standard is he's upholding, but when someone is acting outside of it, he will do whatever he feels is necessary to bring them into line." Ramis continues, "But it's also very hard being the kind of star he is. Few scripts are perfect, and every movie Bill's been in, he's put on his shoulders and made infinitely better. That's an incredible burden on his creativity and leadership, but he's so suspicious and his standards are so high that he allows very few people to help carry the weight."