Directed by Frank Oz
Writing credits: Steve Martin

Universal * 97 minutes

Steve Martin is Bobby Bowfinger, a man who's seemingly been an aspiring filmmaker for all of his claimed forty-nine years. As an aspiring film critic and novelist at age 44, I can relate to poor old Bobby. His studio stable consists of Carol(Christine Baranski), a failed actress still waiting for Bobby to give her her big break; Dave, a studio parking lot attendant who provides pilfered high-end automobiles and filming equipment; his accountant Afrim (Adam Alexi-Malle); Slater (the improbably named Kohl Sudduth), a male Clara Bow in search of that elusive "it"; and Daisy (Heather Graham), a quasi-naive girl just in from Ohio who is fully prepared to sleep with whomever she must to make it in film.

Armed with a new, "brilliant" script bearing the squirmingly bad title of Chubby Rain, which just happens to have been written by accountant Afrim, Bowfinger makes the pitch to hotshot producer Jerry Renfro (Robert Downey, Jr., in a brilliant cameo that unfortunately just might be his last screen performance). Renfro tells Bowfinger: If you can get Kit Ramsey, the hottest action star around, to commit to the project, he will release the picture.

The problem is that Kit Ramsey, a fast-talking, paranoid nut involved in MindHead, a cult reminiscent of one we shall not name, has no interest in the project, and indeed, throws Bowfinger out of his car. Bowfinger's answer? Make the film without Ramsey's knowledge. Have the actors walk up to Ramsey and say their lines, and no one need ever know the difference. That Kit Ramsey has delusions of being pursued by aliens anyway merely adds to the idea's viability. When asked by the one "professional" in the company (the incomparable Baranski) about this bizarre, "no contact, no rehearsals" method of filming, Bowfinger calls it (with a straight face) "cinema nouveau." However, ultimately the company's ability to pinpoint Kit's comings and goings go awry, and with only a few of the slightly over $2000 Bowfinger has saved since childhood to make his film (saying that after the accounting tricks, all films cost just over $2000) left, it becomes necessary to hire a double. That double turns out to be Jiff, a near-imbecile for whom a career as a delivery boy would be a step up. (Tell this to the Fry character on Matt Groening's FUTURAMA.)

From this thin premise, writer Martin and director Frank Oz have fashioned a zany comedy of errors that clearly owes a debt to the great silent film comics -- Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, Harry Langdon, Harold Lloyd. Great comedy has one-liners, confusion, sight gags, bumbling, and a mad rush to put things right. Add two of the best screen comics of the contemporary era, and the result is a film that crackles like a roaring fire on a cold winter night.

Eddie Murphy, the Orel Hershiser of film comedy in that he can't seem to put together two solid outings in a row, is in fine form this time out in the dual roles of Kit and Jiff. Unlike his dual roles in THE NUTTY PROFESSOR, in which he could rely on makeup and special effects, here he uses only his own body and facial expressions to create the two characters, and he does so brilliantly. It's easy to forget what a tremendous talent Murphy is, because of the amount of garbage in which he stars, but when he's given a role he can sink his teeth into, he leaves wannabes like Chris Tucker in the dust. Kit has a manic, coiled energy, particularly when he's ranting about the fact that the number of times the letter "K" appears in a particular script is exactly divisible by three (and therefore a Ku Klux Klan reference); or that a reference to Shakespeare is really a veiled racial epithet, "spearchucker." Yet he segues effortlessly into the character of Jiff, whose idiocy is somewhat, and uncomfortably reminiscent of Stepin Fetchit (even more so than Jar Jar Binks). It is Jiff's kindness and the confidence he gains that keeps this portrayal from being problematic.

Steve Martin is contemporary comedy's Renaissance man. A talented and thoughtful writer, actor, and director, his portrayals have always been more interesting than they appear on the surface. A handsome man with peculiarly dead eyes, there is almost always an underlying sweetness to the characters he portrays. Even when poking fun at the film community (as he did also in L.A. STORY), his surface cynicism betrays an underlying idealism, a sense that if one just tries hard enough, little guys can win. Bobby Bowfinger is pathetic and sleazy. He steals Daisy's credit card while professing undying love. He doesn't pay his employees. Yet his enthusiasm is so infectious, we root for him even as we loathe him.

The supporting performances are all great. Heather Graham (who looks more like a young Shirley Knight every minute) is beginning to show some fine comedic gifts, and Kohl ("my parents must have been hippies") Sidduth is appropriately clueless as the leading man manqué. Perhaps the funniest supporting roles belong to the gentlemen who portray the border-jumping Mexicans Bowfinger rounds up as his film crew. Before you know it, they are sitting around the table, playing cards and debating the relative merits of CITIZEN KANE vs. GOODFELLAS.

If there is one flaw to BOWFINGER, it's that it too closely resembles 1994's ED WOOD, right down to the triumphant premiere at the end, with the beaming quasi-director taking it all in. I expected Bowfinger to say, "This is the one I'll be remembered for." Yet this is a minor complaint, really, because BOWFINGER is so flawlessly crafted, so perfectly timed, so well-acted, and cleverly written, that a little derivativeness can be easily forgiven. In a disappointing year for mainstream film thus far, BOWFINGER is a gem.

BOWFINGER official site