And of course, there's the family fare like Father of the Bride (1 and 2) and Cheaper by the Dozen (both 1 and 2, the second one featuring the similarly fallen-from-grace Eugene Levy). Taking those kinds of standard studio roles allows Martin the financial freedom to do pet projects such as Shopgirl, based on his novella of the same name. Interestingly, both Shopgirl and The Pink Panther have one thing in common: since nobody has ever stayed awake through them, nobody knows how either actually ends.
Martin's turning point probably came when he decided to write and star in movies of personal importance to him, beginning with 1987's Roxanne, Martin's take on Cyrano de Bergerac. Since then, he's also starred in some dramas as well, including David Mamet's excellent film The Spanish Prisoner (absolutely worth renting). ÃÂ'ÃÂ
But when a talented avant-guarde comedian goes dramatic on us, or starts starring alongside a cartoon or in formula movies that studio suits come up with (Sgt. Bilko, anyone?) it usually means that he's stopped caring about getting laughs altogether, and is either aiming for some credibility or a paycheck. And as we all know, there's nothing funnier than a credible, rich comedian.
Come back to us, Steve. Follow the white light.
Martin needs to stop thinking he can write and act. While he's a gifted writer, his writing is more dry and philosophical than it is comedic. Martin's gifts lie in his comedic timing and dead-pan delivery. ÃÂ'ÃÂ Salvation can come in the form of some choice, off-beat indie comedies-a path forged by Bill Murray. ÃÂ'ÃÂ Martin would be well-advised to follow suit.
One of the most versatile members of SNL in an era when that genuinely meant something. Mike Myers held his own alongside stars like Chris Farley and Phil Hartman, winning fans over with his ability to play just about any character you threw at him. Sure, some of them were, well... fucking annoying ("Hey, did you guys hear? The Coffee Talk Lady likes Barbara Streisand!"); but the Wayne's World sketches had their moments, and its big screen adaptation remains one of the finest SNL films to date (not saying much, sure, but still).
Myers was always at his best when he wasn't putting on some crazy get up and doing wacky accents. Like Will Ferrell after him, he was a likable team player who gave 100% even in bit parts, turning one-joke premises into memorable classics.
An actor mincing around in a cat costume terrifying children. And while the last half of that sentence is an admirable career goal, one could argue that you hardly need to embarrass yourself with a cat costume when a loaded gun could achieve the same result.
If you took all of Myers's most annoying characters from his days on SNL, put them in a blender, poured the resulting acidic stomach bile into an ice cube tray, stuffed the resulting ice cubes into a sock and beat your mother to death with it until the sock was soft and dripping, you'd have no real idea what Myers's career has become, but you would probably be wanted by the police.
Evidently, Myers has a clause in his contract stating that he will not appear in front of the camera unless outfitted with at least 30 pounds of prosthetics and makeup. The last time he appeared in a comedy without a zany get-up plastered across his face? 1993.