The supremely silly person played by Albert Brooks (who also wrote and directed, with admirable detachment and unconcern to show his character in flattering lights) is a Hollywood film editor trying for the umpteenth time to break up with his girlfriend, embarking on a today-is-the-first-day-of-the-rest-of-my-life, self-help program by buying vitamin pills and complete jogger's regalia of running shoes, sweatsuits, headband, and wristwallet, giving himself platitudinous pep talks out of the I'm-okay-you're-okay system of philosophy, and ultimately trying for lthe umpteenth time to patch things up with his same girlfriend. Brooks's thorough delight in and appreciation of the moviemaking process would be proven beyond question, if Real Life had not already done so, in the role he allows that process to play in his characters' lives. That role isn't as large here as in the earlier movie, limited as it is to a couple of scenes in the editing room of a low-budget American International space opera starring George Kennedy and directed by the sort of USC or NYU film-school Wunderkind to whom Roger Corman has often played patron saint. These two scenes ought to cause the entire generation of George Lucases, would-be George Lucases, two-bit George Lucases, to turn a lovely shade of crimson. With Kathryn Harrold, Bruno Kirby. (1981) — Duncan Shepherd
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