For those of you who have been following the recent career path of Eddie Murphy (and who hasn’t, right?) you’ve probably caught wind of some dueling stories that have surfaced, suggesting the apocryphal retirement of the man who once made the statement, “Be somebody. Be a ho!” such an indelible component of the pop cultural lexicon.

Yes, far removed is Murphy from the days when he practically single-handedly rescued Saturday Night Live from an impending post-Aykrod-Belushi-Chase-Murray-Radner abyss with Gumby Dammit, Buckwheat, Mr. Robinson and, of course, Velvet Jones. Instead, Murphy fans now find themselves suffering the summer of discontent with the innocuous … Meet Dave. Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I concede that I have not, in fact, seen Meet Dave. And in the interest of even more complete, hermetically sealed disclosure, neither has anyone else.

These days, Murphy’s box office clout is about as reliable as a Hobie cat sailboat in a lame Jaws sequel (OK, I suppose that’s redundant). The story in which Murphy seemingly promulgated his retirement from making films by basically saying he’s been there and done that first appeared in early July, and was subsequently denied later in another story that disseminated his intentions to make, naturally, Beverly Hills Cop 4. Murphy said the third installment of the franchise was so bad that he wanted to make certain the series finally ended on a positive note. Never mind the fact that he had committed to that doomed third Axel Foley outing 14 years ago prior to even sniffing a whiff of the deplorable script. If history remains consistent, (and with Murphy, it always does), the fourth sojourn in Beverly Hills for the wise-cracking Detroit detective should be no different.

Not since John Travolta has an actor’s career assumed such a similar trajectory:  make a big splash, take a big dump, undergo career resuscitation, thrive with a new set of lungs, and then take an even bigger dump.  Rinse and repeat.

After Murphy left SNL to become a movie star, he enjoyed substantial (and merited) box office golden eggs throughout the eighties.  Sure, he served up some tripe here and there (Golden Child, anyone?  No?  How about Best Defense?  Okay, I’ll fill you in later.), but for the most part, the eighties manifest consisted of true winners like 48 Hours, Trading Places, and Coming to America.  Then the early nineties witnessed Boomerang (so-so) and The Distinguished Gentleman (no-no!).  And then came 1995, and so, unfortunately, did Vampire in Brooklyn.  Rock bottom.

Murphy then got a career re-boot in the form of The Nutty Professor, and it looked like he would rule the world again.  He rode out the remainder of the nineties in relative style, continued into the double 00s with a few standouts, and then promptly made The Adventures of Pluto Nash, I Spy, Daddy Day Care, and The Haunted Mansion successively. Talk about a relentless cavalcade of suckiness. You’d have thought he should have retired right there on the haunted porch steps and taken those top-hat wearing ghosts with him. And for all intents and purposes, it seemed like he had retired, at least as a live action star, since save for a Shrek sequel, he pretty much disappeared.  (We only seemed to hear from him when he was busy denying his Scary Spice baby-daddy status.)

And then something miraculous took place.  Murphy, for once, let the prospect of respectable art (not cash) govern his project selection by signing on to do Dreamgirls, and received an Oscar nomination for his trouble. Career back on track. So amidst arguably the most salient career validation by which Murphy had ever been enveloped, the artistically restored actor follows up with … Norbit?  Norbit!

Look, many actors have admitted to taking on crappy projects simply out of the desire to continue working. The difference is a lot of these actors bring enough to the table to make these otherwise unwatchable films salvageable. Christopher Walken, who still manages to infuse his droll, brazenly subversive sparkle into every train wreck of a movie he’s ever done, comes to mind.  The man could do a live presentation of the Sunday Morning obituaries, and I’d still find myself giggling uncontrollably like a puerile schoolgirl. With Murphy, it’s like you’re watching someone simply collect a paycheck. Lifeless and perfunctory.

If he does indeed retire from film and return to his stand-up roots as was suggested, let’s hope he does so before attempting to have the public watch him do nothing more than drive to the ATM in Beverly Hills Cop 4.

Todd Guill can quote almost every line from Harlem Nights.  And he can vomit on command from any line quoted from Dr. Doolittle 2.