It’s delightful to see Meryl Streep come into her own as a romantic comedian in her later career years–after all the accolades, the Oscars, the serious-as-marble dramatic roles. Streep is in fact a true cutup, as she has demonstrated in films like Mamma Mia and Julie & Julia–and she gets the guy. So if Nancy Meyers’s It’s Complicated is perhaps a bit facile in the plot department, it’s saved by a splendid romp of a performance by Streep (as Jane), along with her two leading men, Alec Baldwin (Jane’s ex-husband, Jake) and Steve Martin (her supposed boyfriend, Adam). Meyers, as she did in Something’s Gotta Give and Baby Boom, turns notions of over-the-hilldom–at least for women–on their ear. Streep’s Jane is a contented, affluent divorcée with excellent taste in furnishings, happily about to preside over an empty nest and feeling just fine about it. Who should bump into, and ruin, this perfect solitude but Jane’s ex, Jake, played to a pompous (and hilarious) fare-thee-well by Baldwin. “Turns out I’m a bit of a slut,” chirps the sexually awakened Jane. The beauty of It’s Complicated is that it really isn’t all that complicated–its chemistry depends on the wonderful actors (including the supporting cast of John Krasinski, Lake Bell, Mary Kay Place, and Rita Wilson) and the oft-forgotten reality that people over 25 can have great sex, and fall head over heels. –A.T. Hurley
“Let me bring you up to speed. We know nothing. Now you are up to speed.” Thus is the bumbling, deadpan persona of Inspector Clouseau, as re-invented by Steve Martin, best summed up. In this sequel to the 2006 remake of the classic Peter Sellers films, Martin gets crisper direction and a smarter script than he did the first time out. Martin, to his great credit, has never been afraid to make himself look foolish or to take pratfalls–and if the viewer finds these remakes to be less satirical than the original Sellers films, he will still be letting our great laughs and chuckles through the course of the film. And what a cast! Martin is joined by John Cleese, Jeremy Irons, Lily Tomlin, Jean Reno, Bollywood superstar Aishwarya Rai, Emily Mortimer, Alfred Molina, and Andy Garcia–all of whom seem to be having a delightful romp–a feeling that’s contagious. The story picks up where the last film ended, with Clouseau’s having saved the precious Pink Panther diamond in Paris. Since then, Clouseau has been reassigned to parking-ticket duty, to keep him off the frayed nerves of Chief Inspector Dreyfus (Cleese). But a band of international thieves is wreaking havoc on the world’s treasures, and, before you can say minkey, the priceless Pink Panther goes missing, again. If plot’s a bit predictable, it’s no matter, since the phun is in the haplessness of Clouseau and the rings of nuclear fallout that surround him. And you may never pronounce hamburger the same way. Evair!–A.T. Hurley
If anyone could step into the huge shoes of comedic genius left by Peter Sellers as bumbling French policeman Jacques Clouseau, it’s Steve Martin. Sellers made Clouseau a true icon of character and comedy in five Pink Panther movies in the ’60s and ’70s; Martin has arguably already attained Sellers’ rank as an entertainment talent, so it only makes sense that he became Clouseau’s heir apparent for the inevitable screen resurrection. This updated story of the priceless eponymous diamond purloined under mysterious circumstance and pursued with Keystone Cop-like antics by Clouseau is a frivolous yet winning pastiche of physical gags and riffs on Clouseau’s hilariously impenetrable accent. A famous French football coach (Jason Statham in cameo mode) is wearing the stone, set as an engagement ring for his pop star fiance (Beyonce Knowles). But before a packed stadium crowd of thousands, the ring disappears from his finger as he falls dead from a poisoned dart. The wisp of a plot is secondary to the pratfalls of Martin’s prim, prissy, and utterly inept Clouseau. He’s brought onto the case by France’s top cop (a drolly sophisticated Kevin Kline) who wants Clouseau to fail in a scheme to make himself a national hero. Even in a world where jokes about Viagra, flatulence and other familiar sophomoric subjects are required, Martin makes his Clouseau singularly memorable. You’ll be fully expecting Clouseau to shatter priceless antiques, mangle his pronunciations (hamburger, anyone?), and prevail in the end, but Martin carries it off, giving homage to Sellers at the same time that he remakes the character in his own image as a comic master. –Ted Fry
Filmmakers often remark that it’s just so hard to make a bad picture that few would take on the challenge if they weren’t so naive. Steve Martin’s Bobby Bowfinger is cut from that pattern, one of those sweet, indomitable operators of Hollywood who seem to be descended directly from Ed Wood (of Plan 9 from Outer Space infamy). To resurrect his ramshackle existence, Bowfinger opts to film his accountant’s sci-fi spectacular, Chubby Rain, about aliens invading in raindrops. The snag is he needs to attach action megastar Kit Ramsey (Eddie Murphy), an actor so paranoid he counts the K’s in scripts to uncover possible Ku Klux Klan influences. When his effort fails, Bowfinger hits on an ingenious scheme to film Ramsey without his knowledge, throwing his actors at the hapless star whenever he appears in public. Only Kit begins to believe he’s being hounded by aliens for real, and runs hysterically to his guru (Terence Stamp) at a Scientology-clone group called MindHead, where people walk around in fine suits wearing white pyramids on their heads. Deprived of his star, yet not to be undone, Bowfinger hires a look-alike, Jiff (also Eddie Murphy), to fill in. The tone of the picture is sometimes flat, rather than deadpan, but that’s nitpicking. The farce is quick and engrossing, and populated with terrific performances, especially by Eddie Murphy, whose dual role as Kit and Jiff showcases his character-building gift, and by Martin, whose Bowfinger, part con man and part would-be visionary, manages to capture your sympathies. Heather Graham’s would-be actress cheerfully sleeps her way to the top like she knows she’s supposed to, and Christine Baranski plays her shopworn method actor with myopic self-absorption. –Jim Gay
Campbell Scott plays a green young technocrat who invents a secret and highly successful high-tech process that, it appears, most of the free world would like to get their hands on. His own company may not be dealing with him fairly, and competitors are lurking around every street corner and kiddie carousel in New York (not to mention Caribbean hideaways) hoping to steal, cajole, or trick him out of the formula. The plot is as full of switchbacks as a mountain highway, and the delights are in watching it unfold around Scott, who is not so much of a naif that he doesn’t catch on that not only his formula, but his life, are in dire danger. Steve Martin is consummately assured–and scary as hell–as a wealthy big shot determined to come out on top. David Mamet’s script is refreshingly free from his trademark mannerisms; it’s his most satisfying film since 1987’s House of Games.
A Simple Twist of Fate, Steve Martin’s second adaptation of a classic (after his Roxanne-ization of Cyrano de Bergerac), is a melancholy, dramatic comedy about a recluse coming out of his shell. Suggested by George Eliot’s Silas Marner, this isn’t a cutesy picture akin to Father of the Bride. It’s much more heartfelt, gentle, and satisfying, as long as you accept its traditional and predictable conclusions. Scorned by life, Michael McCann (Martin) lives in an auburn-tinted town and goes on with his colorless life. That is, until an abandoned child is left on his doorstep, and he adopts her. A custody battle ensues years later with far too many cheap, unconvincing courtroom dramatics in which money is the root of all evil, but the tone and wholesomeness of the story are special. Gabriel Byrne pulls off a nearly unplayable role as the town’s aristocrat with fine underplayed support by Catherine O’Hara and youngster Alana Austin. The wonderful score is by Cliff Eidelman. –Doug Thomas
LEAP OF FAITH stars Steve Martin as Jonas Nightengale, a fraudulent faith healer who makes a living visiting small towns and giving hope in the form of prayer. Aided by his no nonsense manager, Jane (Winger), Jonas sets up his tent in a small suburb of Kansas where he soon learns that their hidden mikes, cameras and computers can’t fool the neighborhood sheriff (Neeson). But, when Jonas is touched by a local waitress (Davidovich) and her disabled son Boyd (Haas), he learns something new about truth and what real miracles are made of.
The teaming of Steve Martin and Goldie Hawn would seem to have been sure-fire casting, but Housesitter’s writing is never strong enough to sustain it and the film’s hit-and-miss quality has more misses than hits. Martin plays an architect who builds his dream house for his high school sweetheart (Dana Delany), then surprises her with a marriage proposal–both of which she rejects. Distraught, he goes back to New York and pours out his heart to a woman he meets in a bar and beds (Hawn), not realizing she is a flaky con artist. She knows a good thing when she hears it and heads for his hometown, moves into the empty dream house, and begins passing herself off as Martin’s new wife. Though the writers build in a variety of complications (involving Delany, as well as Martin’s parents and boss), the film finds its jokes only in fits and starts, though Martin has a particularly hilarious moment when he must sing to his father in front of a crowd of strangers. –Marshall Fine
This ’90s update of the Spencer Tracy-Elizabeth Taylor hit is a mix of the pleasant and the silly, a nice enough movie but a little too controlled to become particularly interesting. Steve Martin plays the aging patriarch who is threatened by his daughter’s engagement and not-quite-willing to let her go. The writing-directing team of Charles Shyer and Nancy Meyers provides Martin’s character with a perhaps too-broad range of comic responsiveness to the situation, some of it gentle (a ritual game of basketball between dad and his little girl) and some of it slapstick (Martin sneaking around his prospective in-laws’ house and encountering a guard dog). Martin Short turns up as a wedding coordinator–which has deliriously delicious possibilities–but his inventiveness doesn’t quite strike the chord this time. –Tom Keogh
It’s delightful to see Meryl Streep come into her own as a romantic comedian in her later career years–after all the accolades, the Oscars, the serious-as-marble dramatic roles. Streep is in fact a true cutup, as she has demonstrated in films like Mamma Mia and Julie & Julia–and she gets the guy. So if Nancy Meyers’s It’s Complicated is perhaps a bit facile in the plot department, it’s saved by a splendid romp of a performance by Streep (as Jane), along with her two leading men, Alec Baldwin (Jane’s ex-husband, Jake) and Steve Martin (her supposed boyfriend, Adam). Meyers, as she did in Something’s Gotta Give and Baby Boom, turns notions of over-the-hilldom–at least for women–on their ear. Streep’s Jane is a contented, affluent divorcée with excellent taste in furnishings, happily about to preside over an empty nest and feeling just fine about it. Who should bump into, and ruin, this perfect solitude but Jane’s ex, Jake, played to a pompous (and hilarious) fare-thee-well by Baldwin. “Turns out I’m a bit of a slut,” chirps the sexually awakened Jane. The beauty of It’s Complicated is that it really isn’t all that complicated–its chemistry depends on the wonderful actors (including the supporting cast of John Krasinski, Lake Bell, Mary Kay Place, and Rita Wilson) and the oft-forgotten reality that people over 25 can have great sex, and fall head over heels. –A.T. Hurley
