August 27, 1999
Web posted at: 3:30 p.m. EDT (1930 GMT)

By Reviewer Paul Tatara

(CNN) -- Starting with a brilliant stand-up career in the 1970s and then moving into films, Albert Brooks used to have a hip, honestly subversive comic sensibility. His approach was a bizarre mating of Jack Benny and "The National Lampoon," and it was often downright surreal.

You'd never know that, though, based on the lukewarm evidence of "The Muse," about a foundering L.A. screenwriter who hires a magical woman (well-played by Sharon Stone) to revive his creativity.

Brooks has a rabid cult following (yours truly being a charter member), and people who remember him at the top of his game will surely giggle a couple of times during "The Muse." But anyone who heads in thinking that they're about to get a dose of his patented barely-contained humorous rage will be hugely disappointed.

Yes, Brooks is still skewering established showbiz sensibilities, and yes, he's still bemoaning his presumed inadequacies. It's just that he doesn't have an ounce of bite left in him. Nothing.

I've mentioned before how much I hate the overused word "edgy," and "The Muse" contains a couple of references to Brooks' character (a family man named Steven Phillips) losing his edge. The intended joke is that no one in Hollywood really knows what "edgy" is supposed to mean, even though it gets bandied about in film development offices on a daily basis.

Well, if you want a working definition, just rent Brooks' earlier movies, comic treatises of social embarrassment and compounding irritation like "Modern Romance" (1981) or "Lost in America" (1985). Then compare them to "The Muse" in all its lackluster glory. Brooks has actually made a movie about what's wrong with the movies that he's started making.

This perceptible decline kicked into gear with the forced whimsy of "Defending Your Life" (1991) and continued with 1996's "Mother." Like those films, "The Muse" is completely harmless, but there are 200 other directors out there whose comedies are adequate enough to be forgotten 10 minutes after you've finished watching them. Brooks used to be something very unique, not part of the status quo, whiner's division.

"The Muse"'s one-joke monotony is relieved on occasion, usually by unexpected cameos from Brooks' film-world cronies. Successful directors like Jim Cameron, Rob Reiner, and Martin Scorsese are shown consulting with Steven's muse, loading her up with costly gifts in the hope that she'll supply them with some inspiration.

Sure, it's fun to suggest that these guys are desperate to squeeze out a hit, just like everyone else in Hollywood. But it's not that great a joke, especially when it gets repeated for the third or fourth -- or fifth or sixth -- time. If, like me, you think much of Brooks' previous work can be described as genius, this thing simply is not funny. In fact, if you know him at the top of his game, it's closer to demoralizing.

One early scene is sharp enough to suggest that maybe Brooks is back in form. When Steven gets released from his deal at Paramount by an unctuous, know-nothing executive (Mark Feuerstein), the struggling writer's open-air humiliation is palpable.

But when he approaches his Oscar-winning friend, Jack (Jeff Bridges, almost completely wasted), for advice on jump-starting his failing talent, Jack gets him an appointment with Sarah (Stone). Sarah is an actual daughter of Zeus who inspires filmmakers to greater levels of achievement, but her selfish sense of modern-day materialism drives 80 percent of the jokes from there on out. Again, repetition makes up the bulk of the movie, and the gag being repeated is little more than shtick.

Sarah insists on being put up in the best suite at the Four Seasons Hotel during her time with Steven. He's also required to be her 24-hour-a-day errand boy, doing things like picking up her dry cleaning and climbing out of bed in the middle of the night to get her the special salad that she's craving.

Steven's wife, Laura (Andie MacDowell, not wasted, just incapable of doing anything interesting) suspects her husband is having an affair, but he soon explains the situation to her. Sarah is just around to guide Jack in the right story-telling direction as he pounds out a new script, and he has to keep her happy in order to maintain the God-like vibe.

But Steven keeps giving and giving, and Sarah doesn't seem to be generating anything worthwhile from her end. So Brooks paints her room a darker shade when she wants him to and buys her numerous expensive meals. Har-dee-har. Then Sarah starts having more of an effect on Laura's creative juices than on Steven's, convincing her to finally open up the homemade cookie business that she's always dreamed of owning.

If this doesn't sound like something that needs Albert Brooks spewing bile at the center of it, you're absolutely right. He mostly plays nice until he gets a little annoyed, and then the angry jokes are as lame as the set-up.

Brooks is not adept at whimsy, and it's been dumbfounding during the '90s to see him struggling in this kind of porridge-based quicksand.

I want to repeat that there are laughs to be found in "The Muse," because a man this talented would have to try very hard to make a movie that's completely void of humor. Stone is light and funny, but Sarah's selfishness is grating after about an hour. It's not Stone's fault; she's just playing a user-and-abuser with very pretty eyes. Their blue sparkle isn't enough to soft-sell the self-indulgence of the character, at least not to the point that you actually like her.

Perhaps the most troubling aspect of all of this is the "good script idea" that Steven eventually comes up with (something about Jim Carrey running a public aquarium where all the fish are dying). Hopefully, the joke is that Sarah's inspiration just leads Steven to another piece of Hollywood inanity, but if that's the case, then the joke on top of that one is that Brooks has done the same thing without her help. That's not the kind of self-reference that serves a comedian well, especially a great one.

"The Muse" is about as light as one of Sarah's salads. There's a bit of minor profanity, and a brief glimpse of Stone's backside as she climbs into bed. Scorsese's cameo is the only one with any energy to it, and he's quite funny. Rent "Lost in America," instead, and savor it. Rated PG-13. 97 minutes.