Steve Martin as the would-be Woody of Los Angeles: or in other words, daring at last to poke his head out of the closet of eggheadism. The sole scriptwriter on the project, Martin has a fund of observations on the lifestyle thereabouts, embellished (and befogged) with exaggeration and fantasy, and finally smothered in a gooey ooze of daft romanticism. It's tongue-in-cheek fantasy, tongue-in-cheek romanticism, but it's hand-over-eyes embarrassment all the same. (That Martin's love interest is portrayed by his real-life wife, Victoria Tennant, only aggravates the situation.) The best, most sustained piece of observation: a burstingly, gyratingly healthy and athletic shopgirl ("Have you ever had a high colonic?") whose name is pronounced "Sandy" but who spells it "SanDeE" -- with a five-pointed star at the end of it. Sarah Jessica Parker, Richard E. Grant; directed by Mick Jackson. (1991) — Duncan Shepherd
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