Writer, director, actor, L.A. insider, comedy phenomenon Albert Brooks

You're running a food museum here!--Albert Brooks, saying what needs to be said, in Mother

The night after I watched Albert Brooks' newest film The Muse I dreamt about it. I didn't fantasize about a spritely Sharon Stone, with a twinkle in her eyes, pouting and bitching and making me be her slave. Neither did I dwell on the 90-second "why-didn't-you-call-me" cameo of the almost too sexy Jennifer Tilly, who packs her voluptuous figure into what I can only describe as a lust sausage. I dreamt about the cookies. The Muse features a B story in which Andie MacDowell is inspired to channel the Mrs. Fields within and produce a sensational new line of baked goods.

It is typical of the film-world of Albert Brooks to make a central character out of something rarely given honest treatment; in this case it's baking. It is this scrutiny of the mundane that has netted Brooks his small but loyal following, of which I consider myself a member. His isn't the Seinfeldian "Did'ja'ver notice" absurdism, but rather a calculating line of comedic inquiry into the oft-neglected. Food regularly pops up in Brooks' films. In desperate need to reassure himself of the wisdom of buying a Winnebago, Brooks, in the film Lost In America, extols the microwave's "good browning element." More than once. Nearly one third of Mother concerns itself with Brooks' and Debbie Reynolds' inability to understand each other's food preferences. Why do I bring this up? Because we all eat, most of us love to, and it is something we spend a tremendous amount of time doing, or preparing, or shopping for, or thinking about, and it is something rarely focused on in feature films. Like Jackie Mason said about movies, "You always see sex; how about soup?"

Sharon Stone gives one of her best performances in Albert's The Muse

The fish . . . are sick? That's it! SICK FISH!!--Albert Brooks, sparked with creativity in The Muse

For all of Brooks' minutiae and analysis and realism, though, the bulk of his work is often grounded on ideas quite high-concept. Even his mediocre stand-up career produced the "Comedy Minus One" album, which parodied the then-popular collections of Eagles or Steely Dan tunes as played by session guys, leaving out either guitar or piano so students could play along. This album had gaps for jokes, and a "mirror" on the cover where the comic should be.

The first film he directed, Real Life, was a mock-documentary about the making of a Real World-esque fly-on-the-wall documentary about a typical American family. Get your mind around that, man. In it, he plays Albert Brooks, whom you may remember from various television programs (he was doing short films for "Saturday Night Live"), who was always brimming with great ideas just like this one. When comedy ensues, Albert is left to deal with a studio that wants to cut financing, high-tech and scary equipment (predicting digital video by a few decades), and a family, headed by a wonderfully stammering Charles Grodin, who only now realizes his family actually isn't so happy.

Lost In America deals with a post-hippie couple that was never given the opportunity to drop out, and aren't doing so well at selling-out. After being passed over for promotion yet again, Brooks convinces his wife, the chick from Airplane, to liquidate their assets and drive around in a Winnebago, discovering themselves and this great country. In a few short days, they are destitute, angry, and Brooks is working as a crossing guard.

Defending Your Life may be the most what-if. After one dies, his "soul" goes to a place that greatly resembles EPCOT Center, where a board will review the newly deceased's life to determine if he has "conquered fear" enough to deserve "moving on" or will have to "try again." Perhaps the most high-concept thing about this film is that Meryl Streep is cast wonderfully as a romantic lead. And she's dead, too!

Mother concerns a blocked-up writer who has a habit of getting divorced. He's also managed to convince himself that if he can pinpoint what went wrong with his relationship with his mother, the rest will get solved. So a middle aged man moves in with his widowed and independent mother, both of whom have enough quirks, insecurities and issues to keep a team of psychologists working day and night.

The Scout is a picture he and his frequent co-writer Monica Johnson scribbled with Andrew Bergman, and was directed by Michael Ritchie. It is a cross between The Natural and King Kong. It is silly, but fun, and introduced comedy to Brendan Fraser.

The Muse is also about a blocked writer, but this time he stumbles upon an ancient secret: that of Zeus' daughters, the Muses, who inspire all creativity. Thing is, in late '90s L.A., Muses are very high maintenance.

Albert looks at the world. And often looks scared.

If you were a guy, you'd love him. Or if he were a bird, he'd love you.—-Albert Brooks, on happy pills, to his bird Petey, regarding the stand off-ish Bruno Kirby, in Modern Romance.

The exception to the high-concept rule is Modern Romance, not only Brooks' best film, but one of the top dozen comedies of all time. Modern Romance has virtually no plot. It is a one-note masterpiece about a couple suffering hard from Bad Love. They simply can not function on their own, and when together they poke, pick and prod each other into rage, not out of anger, but just because that's who they are. Modern Romance has the highest wince per capita quotient in any picture I've seen (well, so long as Michael Douglas' ass isn't in it.) The highlight is an extended sequence in which Brooks tries to keep his resolve after initiating another breakup. First he concentrates on work, then old friends, then music, until finally his logic leads him to conclude that the way to happiness is through health. He reaches for vitamins--Good old E, he mumbles as he bumbles through his cabinet. The vitamins have congealed into a crumbly block. Brooks announces Gotta get some NEW E. The monologue he gives is nothing new, it is simply honest. And, because it's on film, it's significantly wittier and better performed than anything you or I would give.

An unlikely auteur

There are men out there who rape! That's all they do!--Albert Brooks, not so much trying to scare Kathryn Harrold, just trying to convince her not to wear a sexy outfit to work in Modern Romance

Many refer to Albert Brooks as the West Coast Woody Allen. It is a good analogy, in that both have personas built on self-doubt. New York's Allen moves at a mile a minute, Brooks usually drives a Porsche. But Allen's comedy is always more combative. It's much more rock n' roll; Allen even is quick to criticize others, despite feeling worthless. Brooks is passive-aggressive, by whimpering and whining. He engages Mother in "an experiment" to get what he wants, or discovers himself in Lost In America by waiting for epiphany to just come to him. In Defending Your Life Brooks does what most of us would do when faced with an eternal decision, he angles and vies for the most conservative position there is, with no screw ups or repercussions. Of course, panic sets in when his "counselor", Rip Torn, refuses to clue him in to inner-workings too complicated for a human mind to comprehend. Whereas the Allen persona is a desultory and fatalistic mess, the Brooks persona knows exactly what he wants, but can never have: he just wants to relax.

In Modern Romance he parries in love not by hurting the other but by hurting himself, then causing guilt. On a make-up trip in the country he turns to plant a kiss on Kathryn Harrold. Watch the road! she shouts. He apologizes and whimsically states that a kiss is worth death. The joke is told, and that should be that. But Brooks persists. . . A kiss IS worth death, right? Isn't it? There is awkward silence. People caught up in the madness of Bad Love behave this way.

Brooks with Meryl Streep, in Defending Your Life, his best known film

If I didn't have a wife and kids I'd be out trying heroin right now. I mean, why not?--Albert Brooks, weighing his options, in The Muse

A key to Brooks' comedy is his inability to understand anyone's point of view other than his own. He won't listen to his wife's explanations in Lost In America; he's so caught up in his own mid-life crisis he can't imagine she might be having one, too. In The Muse Brooks feels it is completely unfair that his wife or pal Jeff Bridges may want to skim some Muse time off of Sharon Stone, as if it may drain her of her musing capabilities. (Isn't there a list of Muse rules?, he ponders.) He finds conspiracy everywhere in the afterworld of Defending Your Life from the hotel he's staying at, to the friendly banter between Rip Torn and his "prosecutor." And, be fair, some of "Mother's" quirks, like difficulty parking or trailing off in conversation, aren't that horrible. Yet, through all of this, through Brooks' sympathetic screen presence, we stay with him. It's this magical ability, I'm sure, that's granted the not-quite-matinee looking Brooks winning roles in Taxi Driver, Broadcast News, Out of Sight, or "Hank Scorpio" on The Simpsons

In Modern Romance Brooks nearly begins and ends every sentence with "I just broke up with my girlfriend." Since it is overwhelming his life, it seems obvious that this would be of interest and of import to everyone he meets. This includes the guy at the sporting goods store, or even a tollbooth collector. His tsuris grants him immunity from social codes.

I'm curious. I see people driving these things. What do you know that I don't? Are floods coming? Hoover Dam broke? What's going on?--Albert Brooks on Jeeps in Defending Your Life

Oh, yeah . . . should you go out and see The Muse? I'm reminded of a response Neil Young gave to a heckler. Someone shouted, "It all sounds the same!" He shouted back, "It's all one song!" That may mean more in the context of hazy pot feedback rock, but I think it works here, too. My favorite moments in The Muse are just, basically, hanging out with Albert. In his house, watching him react to stuff, listening to how he works his mind around confusion or insecurity. Also, it makes me feel better, because I usually have one or two fewer issues than he does. I'll be the first to say it isn't for everybody. His humor is different, and rarely "joke-y". The above quotes prove that. But no one does his style of humor better. Of course, no one else tries.