Paul Mazursky's recollection of his days, in the early 1950s, as a struggling actor, idolizing Brando, in Greenwich Village. There's a nice feel for the places, rooms, halls, cafes, even though the image, in the prevalent New York style, tends to be dark and blue; and there's a nice feel for the comradeship, tastes, and values in the social circle of aspiring artistes. The day-to-day details come off more believably than the dramatic highlights. An acting studio exercise, in which two students do a scene from Odets and then explain why they felt awkward about it, is one of the few accurate classroom discussions in movies; two audition ordeals are brightened by Jeff Goldblum's pushy, whiny Method actor ("I believe I was here before him, was I not?"); and even an abortion episode is kept low-key by the studied blasé airs of the characters. On the other side, though, are some overweighted confessions and betrayals and, for a big finish, a sentimental farewell to a Brooklyn neighborhood that had been left behind long, long before. The characters for the most part are very intelligently cast with unknown actors (Lenny Baker, looking like one of Jerry Lewis's offspring, in the lead role), although the classic Jewish mother (she invented the Oedipus complex) has annoyances that go beyond Shelley Winters's stereotyped performance in the part. Mazursky's weak point, here as before, is that he tries to cover too much territory; his strong point, here as never before, is that he has real heart. (1976) — Duncan Shepherd
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