St. Vincent Review By: Brandon Wolfe The film career of Bill Murray has become neatly bifurcated over the last couple of decades. Murray started out as the droll wiseacre in comedy classics like ‘ Caddyshack ,’ ‘ Stripes ’ and ‘ Ghostbusters ,’ a mode he largely remained in until being reinvented as a seriocomic indie darling by Wes Anderson in ‘Rushmore,’ the mode in which he’s operated ever since. Turning in a parade of performances as sad sacks experiencing midlife crises, the contemporary Murray has little in common with the unflappable sly dog we knew and loved in the ‘80s and early ‘90s, and though Murray’s dramatic work has birthed many gems (chief among them, his work with Anderson and his role in Jim Jarmusch’s ‘Broken Flowers’), many fans have longed for the Murray of old to reemerge. In the early going, ‘St. Vincent’ seems like it might meet the two Murrays in the middle, acting as a hybrid of the wily old Murray from comedies of yore and the new, melancholy Mur