The basic idea -- namely, to interweave clips from actual 1940s films noirs into a parody of that genre, so that the star, Steve Martin, would appear to interact with the likes of Humphrey Bogart, Fred MacMurray, Alan Ladd, et al. -- sounds at first blush as if it must have been a lot of fun to plan and carry out. A little further reflection would find that it must also have been a lot of trouble. Anyone who might have thought that it would be a corner-cutting device to have a sizable fraction of the movie's footage supplied by Billy Wilder and Raoul Walsh, Howard Hawks and Alfred Hitchcock, Robert Siodmak and Mervyn LeRoy, Nicholas Ray and Tay Garnett, and on and on, ought to have thought twice; the obvious truth is that to borrow footage from other directors is tantamount to allowing them to intrude, to meddle, to usurp, to do all the things that gave rise to the axiom about too many cooks spoiling the broth. The old clips prove to be quite inflexible, above all else, and the attempt to enlist as many old stars as possible, rather than concentrate on one or two, contributes to a sputteringly episodic and non-sequitur plot flow. If the potential for humor in this gimmick remains deeply buried, the potential for education frequently peeks through. The opportunity to introduce today's movie audience to yesterday's stars is a minor consideration here, much overshadowed by the educational value of drawing the moviegoer's eye to the intricate technical work of editing and continuity. That's a tricky business in any movie, but it becomes trickier when having to match the hat, dress, lamp, and camera angle of a scene shot forty years previous. On this score, the movie is often well done, shows good attention to detail, and deserves a kind of cold, mirthless admiration. With Rachel Ward; directed by Carl Reiner. (1982) — Duncan Shepherd