This film, according to Chevy Chases statements to the US press, would be the one in which hed stop mugging and get down to some serious three-dimensional type acting. Whatever his intentions, the finished product is about as deep and meaningful as youd expect from a work starring the Man Who Is Clark Griswold. Which is a good thing really, as, uncomplicated, genuinely funny comedy players are thin on the ground at the moment, and it means Memoirs can carry off the semi-slapstick, borderline-cretinous gags with pace and panache.
The central joke is that Nick Holloway (Chase), an overly-libidious, hard drinking stock market analyst, devotes his time to keeping a low profile at work then is accidentally turned invisible. Cue a prolonged chase by an off-the-rails CIA man (Holloway is perceived as the final word in espionage) and Alice (Hannah) who, curiously, is keen to carrying on seeing, as it were, a man who is totally invisible.
As a vehicle for spectacular special effects cigarette smoke puffing in and out of his lungs, after being soaked in the rain the water defines his shape and, Claude Raines eat your heart out, you can see the inside of the bandages as he unwraps them (all 12 itals) and a bunch of stupendously stoopid sight-gags, its really all you need for a highly enjoyable if none-too-memorable hour and a half. Maybe John Carpenters aptittude for shocks n suspense goes by the board, but such a blanced blend of science and silliness could only come from someone with Dark Star and The Thing in their portfolio.