A one-time Emmy winning star struggles with personal demons, family matters and career suicide as she searches for her “comeback” in “Misty Green,” a glossy peek at the underbelly of Hollywood.

If anybody knows the gossip and dirt and is willing to “spill the tea” on Tinseltown, it’s Chris Rock, who wrote, directed and co-stars in this. From the cruel callousness of auditions to racism and family trauma to mental illness, misplaced “has-been” egotism to “yachting,” “Misty” touches a lot of the bases about the downside to chasing dreams in Lalalaland.

If you’re a fan of perhaps the greatest comic of his generation, you can’t help but be thrilled he got the chance to make his glossy soap opera. He called in favors, made “discoveries” and gave it a cast worthy of boutique, awards-bait distributor A24.

Anna Kendrick, Daniel Kaluuya, Adam Driver, Topher Grace, Alexandra Shipp, Tracie Thoms, Anthony Anderson and even Busta Rhymes and Ice-T show up in support of “Slow Horses” breakout Rosalind Eleazar’s star turn in the title role.

But this movie about a trainwreck grasping at a comeback hits the wall with a midpoint car wreck. And whatever it had going for it in the introductory acts is washed away as what becomes a wish fulfillment fantasy drowns in melodramatic cliches.

Misty (Eleazar) used to be big. But her hit show, which “my dad/mom loved/never-missed” was ages ago, in Hollywood years. She may give a look and arch an eyebrow to anybody needing a “Do you KNOW who I AM?” But as her actress-pal (Kendrick) reminds her and her agent (Grace) makes clear, she spent a lot of time making enemies in Hollywood.

If you’re a Black actress who can’t take a meeting with Shonda Rhimes, even if you’re the one holding the grudge, there aren’t a lot of doors left open to you in that town.

There’s a “Dreamgirls” remake in the offing, but casting director Rhonda (Tracie Thoms) has “history” with our pushing-40 starlet. So does the director (Rock). Even a still-well-known, still-beautiful TV star reduced to singing in the lounge at The Roosevelt can’t get “in the room” with that sort of baggage.

“Not a ‘nepo baby,'” Misty gripes. “Not even a ‘Brit’ (actually Eleazar is a Brit).” What’s she got going for her?

Well, there’s her temper, for starters. “Incidents” on and off sets give a gal a reputation. “Impulse control” covers a lot of sexual and pharmaceutical ground, in her case. Her agent begs her “Don’t go out tonight” because of an audition she has the next day. Maybe that’s just a suggestion.

We meet her sleeping in underwear that could pass muster in an S&M primer. And there’s that actor “friend” (Driver) who is her casual hook-up, provided he’s got drugs and she’s down for a threesome.

She’s still a “f—–g star.” Just ask her.

“I just wish people would treat me like one!”

As she’s been living in one paramour’s beachside condo, only to have the man’s furious and widowed wife give her one week (“You used to be on ‘The Red Eye!'”) to move out, Misty has a clock ticking down. With her brother (Kaluuya) fresh out of jail and “on my meds,” her bestie facing a crisis and her own appetites, “star” hauteur and temper, can Misty land a gig that won’t solve most of her problems?

Rock does a grand job of dropping us into this world, dressing his star in the sort of sexual outfits that get attention in the flesh market of the film business.

Everybody’s worked with everybody else, and that’s both a means of getting yourself and friends and family jobs, and shutting down your career when you burn one bridge too many.

But as the balls that Misty must juggle and obstacles she must overcome pile up, “Misty Green” misses a step or two. She could land this or that role. Then again, the “easy” money might be “performing” for this or that kinky prince or rich creep in Abu Dhabi.

Rock stops the picture cold as a guy full of anecdotes that play like “bits,” a Black man with a film career who knows the “Black” part trumps every other consideration.

“Can a ni—h get a fork?” “All civil rights movies suck. WHITE people like them!” “Can a n—-h get his car?”

Running gags include “my dad/mom LOVED you” bits, and everybody — even an ER doctor or a younger actress (Alexandra Shipp) — wants a selfie with Misty.

The overarching theme is the added burden of race, kept in the background with radio reports of a white coed’s murder and every Black male in Greater LA becomes a suspect (Anthony Anderson plays a profiling-happy cop).

Much of it works, right up to the point it doesn’t. That Hollywood maxim “Always work with talent” has excused generations of creeper filmmakers, unpleasant leading ladies and Chevy Chase. But some of the stuff Rock has slide off characters’ backs beggars belief.

And as good as Eleazar is in the title role, there’s a lot that’s missing from her character’s story arc. Like the “arc” part.

Misty acts and sings, she indulges and lies and casts blame far and wide for her failings. Yeah, we’ve seen scores of versions of that story, on screen and in real life. Here, Rock can’t bring himself to pick an outcome that makes sense.

Rating: R, violence, drug abuse, sex, nudity and profanity

Cast: Rosalind Eleazar, Adam Driver, Chris Rock, Anna Kendrick, Daniel Kaluuya, Topher Grace, Rich Sommer, Alexandra Shipp, Tracie Thoms and Anthony Anderson

Credits: Scripted and directed by Chris Rock. An A24 release on Netflix.

Running time: 1:43