Body-horror SF via Lovecraftian grotesquerie, with a now tedious rampage from Nic Cage. As if a man needs to be influenced by unfathomable aliens to turn to violence. I need more from my pulp fiction.
Steven Moffat is now stealing plots from Ed Wood-esque parodies of science fiction. Because he just rewrote Chubby Rain.
Chubby Rain may be a disaster in the making, but Bowfinger itself, written by Martin, has one of the best scripts to hit the screen this year: slyly and outrageously funny, by turns edgy and sweet. I suspect that Bobby Bowfinger is more Steve Martin than appearances might suggest.