The script for writing an Eminem album review is by now well established and widely followed. First you pose the question: “After so much controversy and commercial success, can Eminem possibly continue to shock with his behavior and awe with his talent?” Then you answer with a resounding “Yes!” and point to the new lows of decency he’s violated and the new heights of craftsmanship he’s attained. But with “Encore,” his fifth solo album, this formula breaks down because Eminem’s has – he’s no longer trying to outdo himself.

It’s been two-and-a-half years since Eminem’s last solo effort, “The Eminem Show,” but he’s hardly dropped from view. In the interim, he released a blockbuster movie and bestselling soundtrack; launched his own Shady clothing line and label imprint; jump-started the careers of proteges 50 Cent and G-Unit; decimated Benzino in a well-publicized mix-tape battle; and released a second album with his own group D12. It may be that he’s run out of dragons to slay.

The difference is immediately apparent on “Encore.” Whereas “The Eminem Show” was bursting with ideas – he tackled suburban anxiety, censorship, groupies, terrorism, and his own tortured relationships with his ex-wife and mother – “Encore” seems to revel in its lack of them. Eminem’s outrageousness has always been delivered with a healthy dose of wit and courage; there was usually a message to his madness. Here it’s just plain dumb.

The song “Puke” begins with the sound of him vomiting into a toilet. “There I go, thinking of you again,” he says to his ex-wife, Kim. Things only deteriorate from there. “You’re a frickin piece of poop, I hope you frickin die / I hope you get to Hell and Satan sticks a needle in your eye / I hate your frickin guts, you piece of poop, I hope you die / yie-yie-yie-yieyie-yie-yie.” This is the clean version, but expletives won’t save the song.

Eminem is far too talented a lyricist not to realize how bad this is. Here it seems he’s rebelling against the only thing that he hasn’t rebelled against already: his own talent.

Much of the album continues in this vein. “My 1st Single” is a gag track filled with burping and pooping sounds. Elsewhere, he impersonates Pee Wee Herman, Triumph the Insult Comic Dog, and Rain Man. After one particularly incoherent song, he says, “I don’t even got to make no god damned sense / I just did a whole song and I didn’t say shit.”

The best songs on “Encore” are shocking only in their maturity. “Mosh” is the most effective critique of the Bush Administration to come from the music community. “Mosh” is a call to action, not to arms. The video – which combines animation and live footage – shows enraged soldiers and fed-up moms donning black hoodie sweatshirts and amassing for what looks like mob violence, but ends up being voter registration. Eminem is now throwing bombs from inside the system.

Two other songs confirm this approach. On “Like Toy Soldiers” – which is built around a charming sample of Martika’s “Toy Soldiers” and a rat-a-tat-tat drummer-boy beat – Eminem explains his misgivings about rap battles and their tendency to turn violent. He doesn’t give ground to his own opponent Benzino, but he tries to be the bigger man. “This ain’t what I’m in hip hop for / it’s not why I got in it / it was never my object for someone to get killed / why would I want to destroy something I helped build.”

He uses “Mockingbird,” a song set to the tune of “Hush Little Baby Don’t You Cry,” to explain to his daughter, Hailie, why he can’t be with her mother anymore. “I know mommy’s not here right now / and we don’t know why, we feel how we feel inside / it may seem a little crazy, pretty baby / but I promise, momma’s gonna be alright.” It’s a surprising role reversal: Rather than a cause for parental concern, Eminem is himself the concerned parent.