I just finished reading Brett Martin’s profile of Bill Murray for the January issue of GQ , and while the story and Murray are highly entertaining, I’m tiring of reading profiles in which Murray simultaneously demonstrates how funny and how aimless he is. Martin observes that Murray has become a kind of “wandering, perpetual performance artist, everywhere and nowhere, wherever the wind or spirit carries him: indie movies, golf tournaments, college frat parties, your karaoke booth right now.” I appreciate that Murray likes being the Johnny Appleseed of meta-comedy, but I think it’s time for him to stop spreading joy to a handful of people at a time and get back to making thousands of people in cineplexes across the country aspirate Diet Coke because they’re laughing so hard. Here’s the passage in the story that most makes me want to chuck my vintage Ghostbusters wallet in the East River. It’s Murray talking about how he’s thinking about writing and making a funny movie again:
