Paparazzi

The passion of the crybaby

"Send out for some pillars and Cecil B. DeMille/ He could die happily ever after."--Bob Dylan

Lambs sacrifice themselves for the sake of others; narcissistic martyrs force their devotees to suffer through their masochistic indulgences. Mel Gibson, devoted family man, star of the odious Lethal Weapon series and histrionic director of The Passion of the Christ, loves his wealth but hates his fame.

Feeling crushed by the weightlessness of celebrity, Mad Mel must believe he is crucified by the insidious sleazoids who provide intimate photos of his life to his fawning legion of fans. Wanting moviegoers to feel his misery, Gibson has produced Paparazzi, a ridiculously overheated melodrama that should be an indictment of amoral shutterbugs but feels more like a profit-seeking pity party.

Stealing from the life of his producer and the death of Princess Diana, screenwriter Forrest Smith has created a scenario in which four crazed photographers (Tom Sizemore, Daniel Baldwin, Tom Hollander and Kevin Gage) invade the life of action star Bo Laramie (Cole Hauser). Though Laramie is eager to keep his wife (Robin Tunney) and son (Blake Bryan) out of the tabloids--a reasonable desire in this media-saturated age--this gutless quartet causes the Laramie family to suffer a near-fatal accident.

Naturally, Laramie embarks on a murderous rampage, and Smith and director Paul Abascal expect audiences to swallow every unbelievable plot development and applaud every sadistic comeuppance. (In this garish context, Alec Baldwin and Sean Penn seem like affable blokes.)

Featuring cutesy cameos by Matthew McConaughey, Chris Rock and Gibson himself and spouting horrific doses of righteous indignation, Paparazzi feels like a home movie made by a well-heeled lunatic--who just happens to employ an agent and a publicist.

Self-aggrandizing and tortured, Gibson seems to believe that fame is tainted by the wretched creeps who make you famous.--Robert Chancey