Dir:

David Cronenberg

With: Julianne Moore, John Cusack, Mia Wasikowska

Runtime: 112 minutes

HOLLYWOOD is a cut-throat town with a swindler's heart. Actors are mad, sad, and bewildering to know. Child stars can be brats. Agents say what you want to hear. Who does not know or suspect all of this already? No? Like to buy a ticket for David Cronenberg's drama Maps to the Stars?

Going by the number of star-strewn reviews Cronenberg's picture received after its Cannes premiere in May, one could hare to the conclusion that the director of The Fly, A History of Violence and Crash had executed a startlingly original trashing of Tinseltown, a bone-crunching takedown of the business the likes of which has never been seen before.

Yet while watching these residents of the Sunset Strip and its environs do their worst, all this viewer could think of was rainy old Manchester. As in The Smiths. As in Stop Me If You Think You've Heard This One Before. While Cronenberg's drama certainly looks the glitzy part, and it boasts some notable performances, one from Julianne Moore in particular, as a map to modern Hollywood it is too creased to be wholly satisfying.

Moore is the centrepiece of a cast of characters that ranges from Jerome, a struggling chauffeur-slash-actor-slash-writer (played by Robert Pattinson) to a rich and successful self-help guru (John Cusack), with many another between. Our introduction to them all will come via Agatha (Mia Wasikowska), a young woman fresh off the bus from Florida and keen for Pattinson to take her on a tour of the town.

Agatha is strange, pale creature, a ghost among the suntanned people. The scars on her face, together with the long black gloves and thick tights, hint at an interesting past, always an icebreaker in Hollywood it seems. Agatha has been in internet touch with Carrie Fisher (who makes an appearance in the film), who in turn recommends her to Havana (Moore), an ageing and fading actress. Havana needs a new personal assistant, and Agatha appears as good a choice as any.

When not badgering her agent about starring in a remake of a film her mother once made, Havana is seeing Dr Stafford Weiss (Cusack) to complain about said mother. Dr Weiss, being the father of a child star, is part of Hollywood minor royalty in his own right, as is his manager wife (Olivia Williams).

Via a series of twists and turns, some of which can be seen coming a mile off, we see how this jigsaw of characters fits together. Bruce Wagner's screenplay throws out a cute line every now and then. "Everything is stored in the thighs," says Cusack's quack of a therapist as he massages Havana's legs. The description of PAs as "chore whores" is one that is sure to catch on. A director is referred to as "strange but honoured", a tag that could have been applied to Cronenberg at points during his career. And there is plenty of name dropping going on (all in general, first name terms so as not to interest the lawyers unduly).

All of this is designed to make people feel they are getting the real dope on Hollywood. Yet if they have watched anything from Sunset Boulevard to The Player via Entourage they will be more than familiar with these characters and themes and wonder what Cronenberg has to say that is new. Not a lot is the short answer. Hollywood does a pretty good job of satirising itself, both on screen and in reality. When Cronenberg does push the boundaries in an effort to expose how horrible these folk are, the film comes across as just as exploitative as the behaviour and people it is criticising.

It is difficult to like, and therefore care about, any of the two dimensional characters who appear in Maps. The Canadian-born Cronenberg, having made many outstanding films outside the Hollywood system, has potentially plenty of fresh observations to make about the business. If anyone could find somewhere new to set a flag in this territory, it is him. Pity he fails to chart a course to that destination here.