Movie review: ‘Footprints’

Unsatisfying as either a noirish mystery or a commentary on Hollywood dreams, writer-director Steven Peros’ “Footprints” simply ambles along with its amnesiac main character until it seemingly exhausts its options. This often risible head-scratcher never cracks the surface of its muddled ambitions, largely wasting its iconic settings on a series of motley interactions, Tinseltown trivia and self-conscious philosophizing.

A nicely dressed, coiffed and manicured young woman (Sybil Temtchine), possibly named Daisy, wakes up on the cement of Grauman’s Chinese Theatre’s famed forecourt, with no recall of who she is or how she got there. She then spends the day happening upon a cross-section of Hollywood Boulevard denizens — a homeless ranter, chatty tour guides, superhero impersonators, a Scientology recruiter and more — all of whom may or may not help provide clues to her identity. But it’s Victor (H.M. Wynant) and Genevieve (Pippa Scott), two faded former actors Daisy encounters, who seem most likely to unlock her memories, although little of this plays particularly clearly.

The film’s dreamy quality may account for some of its cloudier bits, but there’s no excuse for such baffling lines as “Memory isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” Say what?

For a far more playful and proficient Hollywoodland tale, better to check out the Peros-penned 2001 feature “The Cat’s Meow.”

“Footprints.” MPAA rating: Unrated. Running time: 1 hour, 19 minutes. At Laemmle’s Sunset 5, West Hollywood.