Albert Brooks, who is normally pin-point-perfect in his portrayal (both through his writing and acting) of what can best be described as highbrow deadpan, has given sad evidence of having lost his edge.<br /><br />I use the term "edge" on purpose, of course, for in The Muse, that is what his character, Steven Phillips, is bemoaning his loss of: What all of Hollywood refers to as his "edge." Struggling to get it back, he seeks the help of a horribly miscast Sharon Stone as The Muse. Ms. Stone, never one to be accused of being an actress of great talent or subtlety, sashays through this mess with casual flippancy. Were there any second takes?<br /><br />But one expects little from her anyway.<br /><br />The big disappointment is Albert Brooks. Where was the "protective ice" scene from Mother? The restaurant scene with Meryl Streep from Defending You Life? Those were great, inspired, insightful moments. Hilarious, yes. But hard hitting and poignant too. In The Muse we get Mr. Brooks' Steven crashing into a hulking hotel security guard and dropping salad all over his face. Complete with a painful cut to him, on his back, on the floor, spitting out a piece of tomato. It was a Leslie Nielsen moment...not an Albert Brooks moment.<br /><br />Let's hope Mr. Brooks has, since the completion of this mess, found his Muse. His is a voice we need to hear more of.<br /><br />