Albert Brooks' latest alter ego Stephen Phillips doesn't have writer's block, per se--he's artistically impotent. Only a week after winning a humanitarian award for his body of work, Stephen suffers at the hands of a young pup executive who pans his latest script (it's not edgy enough) and voids his contract with the studio. Jack (Jeff Bridges, deliciously arrogant), Stephen's successful screenwriter friend, suggests he seek out the inspiration of Sarah (Sharon Stone), an alleged "muse for hire."

Sarah once rekindled Jack's creative fire; a desperate Stephen suspends disbelief in her powers and begs for her counsel, even if it means having to shower her with gifts from Tiffany's, rent her a $1500/night room at the Four Seasons, and be at her beck and call. Meanwhile Laura (Andie MacDowell), Stephen's wife, becomes chummy with Sarah over an expensive lunch and soon decides to start a cookie business, something along the lines of "Famous Amos" or "Mrs. Fields." Long before Stephen finishes a new, edgier script, Laura has a party thrown by Wolfgang Puck (another of Sarah's Hollywood clients) at Spago in honour of her baked goods.

There are more eloquent ways to put this, but none so succinct: Albert Brooks is one funny guy. After a supporting role in Taxi Driver and numerous appearances on Carson, he turned to writing and directing, churning out smarty-pants comedies like Modern Romance, a scathing dissertation on the male fear of commitment. (The film so impressed Stanley Kubrick that it began a years-long telephone relationship between the two auteurs.) Over time, Brooks has become something of a Stephen Phillips himself, softening his approach and giving in to lowbrow instincts. 1996's Mother, probably his most widely-embraced work as a hyphenate thus far, features the best part Brooks has ever written for a woman (the title character, played by Debbie Reynolds). Regrettably, it also contains recycled material that was stale in 1986, such as the call-waiting gag (Mother doesn't grasp the concept), a sequence that too closely resembles Jay Leno's anecdotes about his clueless parents attempting to program a VCR.

The Hollywood jokes of The Muse's first act are original (a producer tells Brooks that he owns the couch from Saving Private Ryan), and Brooks delivers some of his best one-liners ever as Phillips' career is being dismantled by a Paramount stooge. Unfortunately, The Muse doesn't follow through on the great promise of its set-up. One problem is that Brooks' comedy stylings get broader as the movie progresses: he's a verbal, not a physical, performer, and a moment in which Stephen bumps into a security guard and winds up covered in Waldorf salad is embarrassing. (Brooks would've made a terrible silent actor.) Such slapstick overcompensates for a dearth of zippy dialogue once Sarah enters the picture.

Stephen gives in to all of Sarah's whims, and the movie insists we watch him perform every last chore for her. Brooks is mistaken if he believes that diva behaviour has comic worth. Doubtful celebrity cameos at least break up the repetitive rhythm of Sarah getting pampered. Brooks shouting "I'm king of the room!" to the awards audience in The Muse's opening scene, echoing James Cameron's infamous Oscar speech, is much more believable than the Titanic director's actual visit to Sarah. I think Steve Martin had the right idea when he chose not to include any real life stars in his industry send-up, Bowfinger.

Worse, as Sarah's demands become less frequent, The Muse inexplicably turns into an Andie MacDowell movie. Sarah and Laura get along fabulously, and the film all but abandons Stephen's dilemma to focus on Laura's professional life. (I wondered why Sarah gave Stephen's wife all that encouragement without receiving a single gift from her in exchange. Are we to understand that the muse rules don't apply to women?) Brooks has never betrayed much interest in how the other half lives, and the film really fails when not one but two women take centre stage.

An apologia posing as a movie, The Muse, unlike Brooks' other Hollywood-insider meditations on inadequacy (Modern Romance, Real Life), quickly deflates. It may come as no surprise that Brooks and co-writer Monica Johnson tidy up their plot with an ending that somehow manages to be both pat and ambiguous. It's a twist indicative of the majority of the piece in that it feels like the first idea that came to mind. I wouldn't say that Brooks has lost his edge, I'd say he's abandoned it, perhaps hoping to duplicate the success of the cutesy Mother.-Bill Chambers

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the critic

Published: August, 1999