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Coming on the recent heels of Shakespeare In Love, arguably the best show-biz satire since Mel Brooks' The Producers, Bowfinger is sophisticated but not obscure. Completely full of good cheer, it is wisely content to play its nicely conceived hand. And while there are some truly side-splitting moments, a consistently buoyant nature is what really keeps it in good stead. Just reflecting back on the screwy premise and the steady stream of little jokes will give you a laugh.
Meet Bobby Bowfinger (Martin), lo these many years in Hollywood and, as suggested by a "Yugo Story" poster on his apartment-office wall, little more than a promo piece about that automotive lemon to show for it. His fondest wish, he confides to the motley group of would-be players and stars he has accumulated like so many stray pups, is to someday receive a FedEx package. Unfortunately, it looks like said event won't be happening anytime soon. But Bobby has the next best thing to money and looks in Hollywood: a harebrained scheme and a never-say-die case of denial. He mimics the walk and fakes the talk.
Shopping a sci-fi adventure script by Afrim (Adam Alexi-Malle), his Iranian accountant and part-time receptionist, a ridiculously fake cell phone at his ear, Bowfinger leads a producer (Robert Downey, Jr.) to believe that action star Kit Ramsey (Eddie Murphy) is interested in the treatment, entitled "Chubby Rain" (chubby, because the raindrops are populated with aliens). Says the real-live producer, "You get Kit Ramsey and you have a go movie."
"A go movie," an ebullient Bobby muses to himself, exulting in the moment as a great career success, jumping up and clicking his heels and repeating it -- "a go movie!" There's only one fly in this ointment. No way is box office bigwig Ramsey going to make a film with this nobody. And since the hysterically paranoid movie star is certain that a white people's conspiracy will get him if the aliens don't, it is doubtful our small potatoes producer will be able to change his mind. One attempt, wherein the title character tries to inveigle his way into Kit's good graces by apprising that he, too, is a member of MindHead, a religious cult, gets him tossed out of a limousine.
Not to worry, bubba. Having just begun to fight, Bowfinger nevertheless informs the motley crew of star-struck followers that Kit has agreed to star in "Chubby Rain." Absolute joy. They can't believe it. Stardom cannot be far behind. Hail the conquering hero. But hold on, the scam artist adds. There is one caveat. The movie star's relationship with the rest of the cast won't be, er, conventional.
You guessed it. Bobby plans to use Kit without his knowing it. The wily entrepreneur posts lookouts throughout Hollywood. Rapidly deploying the cast and crew whenever and wherever they locate their unwitting star, they'll virtually smuggle Ramsey into the film. Astute editing will take care of the rest. The results of this experiment in parallel filmmaking are riotous. When's the last time someone alerted you not to miss the parking garage scene with the dog in high heels?
Murphy's handling of the strange and inexplicable situations that are suddenly foisted upon Kit provides the comedian with a virtual field day to strut his stuff. He seizes the opportunity. When out of the blue Kit's "Chubby Rain" co-star, Carol (Christine Baranski), dashes up to him and starts ranting about "alien love," the great comic actor's facial expressions alone are worth the price of admission. And though MindHead, headed by a demagogic Terence Stamp, has its manipulating tentacles deep into Murphy's egocentric bag of phobias, one suspects that the great amounts of extra ministering Kit needs to keep him a happy tither may not be worth the effort.
Bowfinger's look at the pretensions of filmmaking on all levels is endearing. Humorously theatrical Carol, who might someday become a grand dame of the screen if only she could finally make a movie, is deeply impressed with Mr. Ramsey's acting ability: "Amazing. So natural. It really seems like he doesn't know he's making a movie." But Carol wonders why she still hasn't been introduced to her male lead. She'd welcome a chance to talk shop, perhaps chat about motivation and theory. Out of the question, Bowfinger warns, explaining that they are all involved in a groundbreaking form of filmmaking known as cinema nouveau. Suddenly it is clear. "Oh, cinema nouveau," the thespian speculates with revelatory satisfaction. Miss Baranski is a sheer comic joy.
Also involved in this making of a movie within a movie is Heather Graham as Daisy, the attractive ingenue just off the bus from Ohio (Is this where I go to be a star?) who isn't quite the hayseed she pretends to be. Rather aggressive when it comes to her movie career, Daisy makes like a one-woman crusade to reinstate the casting couch's glory days. Once the aspiring actress manoeuvres her way up the moviemaking chain to Bowfinger (she trying to gain a larger role, he in search of a grubstake) the meeting of charlatans is droll with truth.
And then there's the time-honoured role of the rube, which no film celebrating this theme can be without. In Mervyn LeRoy's Gold Diggers of 1933 (featuring Busby Berkeley's legendary dance numbers), the classic innocent was Brad Roberts (Dick Powell), a Boston Brahmin with Broadway song writing aspirations. This go-round, once again proving he's the best multi-role movie comic since Peter Sellers, Murphy also plays Jiff Ramsey, Kit's goofy and uncorrupted twin. Perennially in the shadow of his famous brother, the anxious neophyte would like to be accepted for himself. Now, Bobby wouldn't take advantage of the kid, would he? Hold off judgement until you to see the highway crossing scene, wherein Bowfinger assures a sceptical Jiff that stunt drivers are driving the hundreds of speeding cars.
A cross between schlockmeister Ed Wood and Zero Mostel's Max Bialystock (The Producers), Mr. Martin's crafty conniver speaks to the hopeful dreamer in us all. Undaunted by the odds, he justifies often-questionable means by consecrating his entire being to that one romantically immutable end: The Show Must Go On. He may be a con man. But if you go backstage with Bowfinger, you certainly won't be cheated out of any laughter.
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