They, uh, broke the mold when they made Jeff Goldblum. A delightful eccentric, whose charms lean into singularity, is a kind of cultural anomaly when it comes to lasting power. His iconography — from his “Creation of Adam”-recline in “Jurassic Park,” to a straight-ahead shot of his face from “The Fly” that adorned bathroom stalls the world over in the early age of the internet — are unavoidable. Yet while we know his purring, excitable cadence from nearly 50 years of movies, he’s rarely carried a film on his own broad shoulders. Somehow his star has remained fixed in the firmament, his idiosyncrasies so strong and endearing as to win him a two decade run of (mostly) playing himself — or who we imagine him to be.