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On the verge of bankruptcy and desperate for his big break, aspiring filmmaker Bobby Bowfinger concocts a crazy plan to make his ultimate dream movie. When he fails to get a major star for his bargain basement film, he decides to shoot the film secretly around him.
Bowfinger (1999), Steve Martin's tribute to shoestring filmmaking and big-screen dreams, is a loving lampoon that gamely straddles the chasm between cynical con-artistry and benign innocence.
Martin the writer plants some wicked barbs in Hollywood's rear end about creative financing of movies and hoarding of profits, the art of the deal, hipper-than-thou attitudes and exploitation.
This is his first screenplay since L.A. Story, yet you get the sense that Martin has lost some of the artistic aspiration he once brought to the movie business. This effort feels like it's just business.