'Real life' is the perfect send-up of the worst scenario possible for a film maker shooting a documentary, i.e., what happens when your subject matter loses interest in the project before completion? Albert Brooks, as the seemingly besieged director of this 'loaf of reality' year long vigil with a typical American family, walks a fine line between egomania and neuroticism and scores with broad belly laughs both ways. Charles Grodin as the head of the suburban clan from which this film within a film emanates exudes his special brand of bland exuberance at the beginning of this captive camera stakeout inside his home(and everywhere else he may go) provided his life is depicted as letter perfect from day to day. When such is not the case and the obtrusive lenses are interfering with his job as a veterinarian, (in a sequence that has to be seen rather than described) then Grodin regards the camera presence as nothing more than an albatross and mentally switches himself off. Albert Brooks, meanwhile, never says quit. Every so-called hair in the eye of the lense is still a perfect scene regardless of the participation or lack of it, thereof, from his celluloid family. For Brooks regards this film as 'paramount'(oops) over the desires of his cast of characters. Brooks facile mind works methodically from beginning to end. From his perspective, nothing can go wrong, everything is in its place with a place for everything. So when his documentary and the human equation around it blow up in his face , his conferences with colleagues are hilarious as he tries various remedies to salvage not only his project but his self-image. Brooks is a comic delight as a man who cannot take criticism regarding his methods and his interaction with project staff are decidedly one-sided, but in the capable hands of this farceur, his myopic viewpoint is always good for guffaws galore. Real life should be this funny.
