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In the same way that Ricky Martin owes a considerable debt to Ricky Ricardo but doesn’t admit it, fifth-rate Hollywood hustler Bobby Bowfinger (Steve Martin) is the living embodiment of Ed Wood, Jr. Not that he’s obsessed with angora, but he’d do anything to make a gen-yoo-ine cinematic feature. And like Wood, he’s got a cadre of disciples who share his dream, however outrageous. When one of them writes a sci-fi/horror screenplay titled “Chubby Rain” (don’t ask), Bobby is certain this is their express ticket to the bigtime. Nevermind that he wouldn’t recognize a good script if it slid into his front door strapped to Rosebud, but surely any story with the climactic payoff line, “Gotcha, sukkuz” must be worthy of an Oscar nomination (or at least a People’s Choice). He finagles a brief lunch encounter with a real producer (a cameo by Robert Downey Jr., in what will be one of his last public performances for a while unless MTV does another installment of “Scared Straight”), who tells him that if he can get action staple Kit Ramsey (Eddie Murphy) to star, it’s a “go picture.”
As brazen and determined as he is, Bobby garners nothing by crashing Ramsey’s estate but a tumble on the pavement, so he decides to take guerrilla moviemaking to the extreme. He raids the little tin cash box to which he’s added a dollar a week since he was ten in case this opportunity ever came, charges some aspiring actors a cash auditioning fee, rescues three illegal Mexican immigrants to fill out his technical crew, rustles (literally) up some equipment and vehicles, and storyboards the plot around places an inside source tells him Ramsey will be hanging out in public. Going to ingenious lengths to hide his camera and provide light and sound, Bobby, who’s quite an accomplished schemer for such a perennial loser, has his players in this chintzy insanity waltz right up to Ramsey and deliver hopelessly overblown dialogue like, “You can’t love me! You want -- A-L-I-E-N love!” Which has the unintentional fringe benefit of enlivening Ramsey’s response, because lately he’s been suffering from growing ego-fueled paranoia, for which he gets treatment from rich, touchy-feely self-help guru and leader of the MindHeads, Terry Stricter. Played with barely concealed ferocity by Terence Stamp, Stricter is an L. Ron Hubbard sort with that really scary Reaganesque look behind his eyes -- you know, pleasant and fatherly on the surface, but with the hint that if you ever scratched his Mercedes he’d get his henchmen to stick your head in the blender and set if for “Republican puree” while he left the room so as not to get any overspray on his Armani suit. But he’s having a hard time keeping his nervous charge calm while Bobby is stalking him with lengthy, no-cuts tracking shots like you’d expect from the Coen brothers. Imagine Blair Witch set in broad daylight, in Beverly Hills, starring Neve Campbell only she doesn’t know it, and you get the idea.
Written by Martin, and directed by Frank Oz, who might not make everyone’s short list of great comedic directors but has certainly had his successes (In & Out, What About Bob?) and has done two previous films with Martin, Bowfinger is the kind of movie that succeeds by taking a loopy concept and sincerely going with it. A good cast helps; this is one of the most genuinely funny, creative things Eddie Murphy has done in some time, not only poking fun at himself by playing Ramsey, but adding to his litany of multi-character outings by also doing the nerdy stand-in Bobby finds to take over when Kitt snaps and goes into hiding. Also on hand are Christine Baranski as a hammy, do-anything stage actress, and Heather Graham as a not-so-naive, do-even-more waif, fresh off the bus from Ohio who shimmies and sleeps her way through both her role and the crew when it’s decided that her breasts will “increase sales in Thailand.”
You know, I read somewhere that’s how Meryl Streep got her part in The Bridges of Madison County. B
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