Undiscovered
The nice dude singer-songwriter in ''Undiscovered" keeps insisting that, contrary to the opinions of the girls who jump him midsong, he's not a rock star: ''I'm a musician, " he says. What's impressive about this otherwise unimpressive little movie is how it doesn't force the issue. Luke Falcon (Steven Strait) has bad hair and a worse name, and, indeed, he is not a rock star. His voice is too meek, his songs too tender, his outlook too humble. He doesn't appear to want to conquer the music business; he wants to hug.
But for a few weeks Luke's life changes. Fame knocks, although under the circumstances, he should have answered only for ''Fame." He was so much more likable before the record deal, the Brazilian model girlfriend, the online fan sites, and the
Before I get ahead of myself, ''Undiscovered" is also a romance between Luke and Briar Tucket, a model who has come to Los Angeles to make The Leap to acting and who is played by Pell James (these names!). She and Luke actually met once, briefly, on the subway in New York and now they're in LA together. Her scenemate at the Lee Strasberg Theatre and Film Institute (seriously, Lee Strasberg) is also Luke's buddy. (With screenwriting like this, who needs Friendster?)
But the movie coughs up obstacles to keep them from getting too close too soon. Briar, for instance, has run away from her boyfriend, a Jagger-tastic rock star (Stephen Moyer) who'll sleep with anything. He's shown in a pool, where beautiful women circle him like a sharks. How'd a sweet girl like Briar wind up with such a pig? Yet she's fighting her attraction to Luke the earnest teddy bear, who's a bit of drama queen too. (''Newsflash," he says to her, ''You didn't hurt me. You killed me!")
Kip Pardue, as Luke's hippie brother, seems to get the joke of his character, but somehow it's never funny. Carrie Fisher shows up as Briar's agent, a woman who rightly sounds as if she's seen it all. As it stands, the movie is plain, like a pumpkin that failed to be turned into either a carriage or a jack-o'-lantern. Occasionally the moviemakers aim for cynicism about the music industry -- Fisher Stevens plays a smug A&R guy in one of the worst performances I've ever seen -- but how can we trust the movie's distrust when one of its stars is Ashlee Simpson?
Incidentally, Simpson is pretty good, playing Luke and Briar's spunky pal. But her inoffensive goodness is a symptom of the movie's relentless homogeneity. It doesn't belong at a megaplex. It should be playing on a Clear Channel station.
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