Albert Brooks has been hailed as one of the funniest men in America, but you would never guess that from his last two movies. Mother, released in 1996, started off with a great premise, had a few hilarious scenes and some giggles, and then dragged to the finish line. The Muse starts off with a great premise, has a few hilarious scenes and some giggles, and also drags...well, you get the picture.
The humor level isn't the only thing these two movies have in common. As with many of Brooks' pictures, he plays a neurotic California writer who's reached some crisis in his life. In The Muse, he's Steven Phillips, a screenwriter who shortly after winning a "humanitarian award" is dumped by the studio he's been working for. When he tries to defend his record by asking "What's the humanitarian?" the snivelly but ambitious studio flack responds, "Someone who's never won an Oscar." Faced with the prospect of a family to feed and no employment, Steven turns to an unlikely source, a Muse. That's Muse with a capital 'M'--not just any kind of inspiration but a Muse from the Golden Age, of Greece that is. The title character is played by Sharon Stone who does a nice job of manipulating Steven into giving her whatever she wants--a suite at the Four Seasons, a Waldorf salad at 2 in the morning, even his own bed--while only infrequently throwing out nuggets of inspiration. On the other hand, these treasures start adding up to a winning (or at least lucrative) screenplay.
One of the nicer aspects of The Muse is how it comments on the creative process and an artist's need for a source, whatever it may be. Towards the end of the film, when the Muse's origin is thrown into doubt, the audience is left with the question of who really inspired this screenplay. Brooks wisely doesn't answer that one.
In an article in the current issue of Film Comment, critic Gavin Smith writes: "Brooks's distinctive filmmaking style is remarkably discreet...shooting and cutting his scenes in smooth, seamless successions of medium shots, with clean, high-key lighting." Another word for this style is 'dull'. If the dialogue can't carry the scene, the audience is forced to watch two characters talk back and forth, back and forth--cut to the person who's talking, cut to the other person talking, with nary a reaction shot or visual flourish to be found.
Fortunately, the script is often funny. The opening scenes, which focus on Philips's relationship with Hollywood are sharp and scathing. In order to save his job, he goes to see Steven Spielberg, an old friend. But first he has to park miles away (because he doesn't have on-site privileges) and then walk. The long camera shots of Brooks walking make for a nice visual joke. Then, when he finally arrives at Spielberg's office, he finds himself face-to-face with Steven's cousin, Stan Spielberg (Steven Wright, exploiting his dead-pan delivery for all it's worth). Phillips is not impressed.
It's no secret that critics love movies about movies, particularly if they're funny. They flatter our intelligence and make us feel like we're catching something that other people might miss. When different stars and directors make a cameo playing themselves, there's something deliciously satisfying about recognizing the reference (director Martin Scorsese is especially funny). I'm not sure if it's great comedy, but Brooks knows on which side his bread is buttered.
For better or worse, as The Muse goes on the less it becomes about movies and the more it focuses on Phillips's neuroses: what happens if my wife is more successful than I am, what if I can't finish the script, and why won't the muse spend more time with ME? No one can accuse Brooks of poor timing, but his characters sometimes overstay their welcome, or at least their neuroses do. After a while, I just got tired of all of Steven's whining. For gosh sakes, you're married to Andie MacDowell and you're driving a brand new Mercedes. Come back to me when you have real problems. Fortunately, the acting is solid. Stone turns in a flamboyant diva-esque performance, and MacDowell is her usual sweet, southern-twanged wife. As for Brooks, it probably depends on whether you think it's acting. There's a good reason why Brooks is often called a West Coast Woody Allen. I suspect if you've liked Brooks' films in the past, particularly Mother, you'll like The Muse; and if you like movies about movies, there are enough laughs here to keep you interested. Otherwise, you're best to wait for video, where you can at least see one of the better lines in a movie this year: "Being a screenwriter in Hollywood is like being a eunuch at an orgy. [pause] Except the eunuch at least gets to watch."
The Muse works despite its flaws. The crafty premise finds Albert Brooks again playing a California screen-writer, Steven Phillips, who, having "lost his edge," is subsequently dumped from the movie studio that previously employed him. In a funk and desperate to both find work and repair his reputation as an Oscar-nominated writer, he seeks help from a friend and fellow screen-writer played by Jeff Bridges. The secret, it seems, is having your own personal Muse. Enter Sharon Stone as the inspiriting title-character: a Greek demigod who is a modern-day daughter of Zeus. Although she spends most of her time making ludicrous demands of Phillips, like shopping for snails and tampons at the local health-food store, she also "inspires" him into writing again. (The Jim Carrey vehicle he's working on doesn't sound particularly funny, which is part of the movie's conceit.) Later, Phillip's wife (played with charm by Andie MacDowell) also gets in on The Muse's inspiration, and she actually gets the better end of this bargain. Her scrumptious baked goods, ala Mrs. Fields cookies, become the toast of the town.
The Muse is amusing (pun intended, of course), but not nearly as much as it could be, and many rich comic opportunities are missed. For example, Steven Wright, as Steven Spielberg's loser cousin Stan, is entirely under-utilized. Ditto, Rob Reiner. And many of the expected Hollywood cameos are just too commonplace to be very exciting, except for Martin Scorsese's animated appearance, which is truly funny. But the real obstacle bedeviling this pleasant little movie is Albert Brooke's incessant whining. He spends so much of the movie in a persnickety snit that it is hard to enjoy him, let alone vicariously identify with his artistic struggles. The relationship and interaction between The Muse and Phillip's wife is far more carefree and enjoyable, saving the movie.
Aside from some visual jokes here and there, the movie is also not over-ambitiously filmed. In fact, the story's visual aspects are downright boring, unless Sharon Stone herself and her interesting wardrobe qualifies as a "visual aspect." She does, of course, but it is her performance as the demanding diva that wins her the most points here. More comedic roles can't be far off after her successful turn here in a lighter role.
There are enough annoying and disappointing components that this film should be more of a dud than it actually turns out to be. However, despite some ill ingredients, the story remains a creative, interesting one that allows for enough entertaining moments to feed an audience's interest and cook up some well-earned laughter. Despite a nagging feeling that more could have been made of all these essential elements, a few worthy, lingering chuckles remain and satisfy.
Steven S. Baldwin 9/20/99
