Bill Murray

As Murray's celebrity grew in the '80s and '90s, so did his aversion to the trappings of celebrity. He seemed to fear becoming one of the people he parodied. "Whenever I hear a star say, 'My fans,' I go right for the shotgun," he told the New York Times in a rare interview. Without blowing off his fans (the actor is famous for tipping large and signing autographs), Murray has kept his private life private (he has been married twice and has five children), and in his work he has always been professional. (His much-publicized dust-up with Lucy Liu on the set of "Charlie's Angels" may have had something to do with the fact that the script stunk.)

His attempts at career management have improved over time as well, if only in increments. ("Baby steps," the needy analysand he played in "What About Bob?" would say.) In the produced-and-abandoned "Mad Dog and Glory," he held his own with Robert De Niro, playing a psycho gangster with a budding career in stand-up. The 1990 "Quick Change," which he co-produced and co-wrote (with director Howard Franklin) was an ideal vehicle for him. A Vietnam vet (again) robs a bank in a clown costume -- and then spends most of the film trying to get out of New York. ("What the hell kind of clown are you?" the security guard demands when he sees the dynamite taped to his body. "The 'crying on the inside' kind, I guess," he replies.) The film fizzled, however, and formulaic fare like "The Man Who Knew Too Little" (1997) didn't do much better. (He was perfecting his Mister Magoo quality, though, what Lisa Schwarzbaum in Entertainment Weekly called his "assertive obliviousness.") Murray found his perfect role as the conceited weatherman in 1993's "Groundhog Day." Murray's doomed to relive the same day in Punxsutawney, Pa., forever, and his trademark insincerity and seeming asides take on a greater meaning as he repeats each scene.

Movies seemed to matter less to Murray as his presence at golf tournaments increased. There, in a sense, he has found his true stage, clowning before an audience grateful for any levity. "Walking around the course that day," he recalls of his first foray into what he calls "golf entertainment," "I saw how starved galleries are to be set free. It's not just the quiet, but also the golfer's tensions are mimicked. By physicalizing or simply acknowledging those tensions, you could effect crowd relaxation, warmth and sometimes laughter."

And of course he gives the money to charities.

But for people of Murray's generation, golf was always the game one's father played. Golf was plaid pants and martinis and Bob Hope. Starting with "Caddyshack's" Carl, who cultivated turf you could smoke ("It's a little harsh"), Murray pioneered the idea of golf as something liberating, even cool. Maximum Golf and Tiger Woods owe him a doff of the cap.

When he's not golfing or hanging out with his kids, Murray finds time to make a few movies. He condescended to appear in last year's camp hit "Charlie's Angels" after Drew Barrymore set her cap at him. "But every time we phone Bill's agent to check on the status of the offer," producer Leonard Goldberg recalled of preproduction, "we're told that they can't find him. On the plus side, there have been various sightings of Bill."

Moviegoers will be seeing Murray in a variety of roles this year: as a sex therapist in the farcical "Speaking of Sex," as a game show contestant in Harold Franklin's "Press Your Luck" and in Steven Soderbergh's much-anticipated remake of the Vegas classic "Ocean's 11," in which he'll play a lounge singer, naturally. He has also reteamed with "Rushmore" director Wes Anderson to star in the upcoming "Royal Tannenbaums." Anderson courted the comic relentlessly for his previous film and Murray delivered the performance of his career. Standing at the edge of the diving board, bourbon in hand and cigarette in mouth, with his gut hanging out of his shorts, Murray's Blume was the picture of middle-aged despair. His rivalry with a 15-year-old prep school student (Jason Schwartzman) was all the more affecting for the vehemence he brought to it. His loneliness trumped that of an adolescent and his desperation to feel love was authentically moving. And if he can bring half the joy and passion to his acting that he does to his game, the rest of his career should be something to behold.

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