by Dan Cohen, our Santa Monica Reporter
Recently “Sight and Sound,” the world’s foremost English language film journal, boasted a cover story on Woody Allen. The article, timed around the UK release of “You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger,” was titled, “In Defense of Woody Allen.”
Strange. Crazy, even. How could anyone conceive of Woody Allen’s career in need of defense? Like it was our foreign policy?
As it turned out the article was a generally positive review of his most recent output, tepid by the magazines usual standards. The accompanying interview was far more interesting, mainly for Allen’s matter of fact candor about the day to day tasks of writing and directing.
But just for fun let’s do a quick review the man’s awe inspiring output, more than fifty features, decade by decade.
After a string of fitfully funny comedies in the 70s, that made him a kind of urban legend, Allen widened his appeal with the serio-comic “Annie Hall” and “Manhattan;” multi award winners. In the 80s his features included “Starlight Memories,” “Broadway Danny Rose,” “Hannah and Her Sisters,” “The Purple Rose of Cairo,” and “Crimes and Misdemeanors.” The last two are arguably among the best of the decade.
The 90s saw “Husbands and Wives,” “Everyone Says I Love You,” “Sweet and Lowdown,” and “Deconstructing Harry.” He gave us both quality and variety. And he stretched. In the last decade, working mainly in Europe, he turned out the acclaimed drama “Match Point,” the richly comic, “Vicky Christina Barcelona,” and the sober, “You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger.” These were the high points. There were others, some well received, some not. But there were also plays, short stories and short films. Along the way he’s been showered with every conceivable award
Has anyone, with the possible exception of Martin Scorsese, delivered as much high quality work? Has anyone shown the same mastery of comedy? Even if you disqualify every film where Allen took a leading role, where his presence is deemed a distraction, there are still a dozen without him, that brought acclaim and/or won awards to a wide array of performers, from Mia Farrow to Martin Landau to Sean Penn to Penelope Cruz. What would Diane Keaton’s amazing career have looked like without him?
Has he made missteps? Of course. Anyone who turns out a movie a year is prone to failure. Hitchcock, who made more than 60 features, had his fair share of losers, both commercially and artistically.
Allen has reinvented himself time and again. He might not have hit his marks with the first drama, “Interiors,” (1978,) which owed a stylistic debt to Ingmar Bergman, but he took chances and struck out in a totally different direction. Finally it helped him to find his way to a different level. Several years later, with “Hannah and Her Sisters,” he wove a unique fabric of humor and comedy that took three Academy Awards and became the template for a quiver of arresting ensemble dramas, including the highly regarded “Husbands and Wives,” and “Crimes and Misdemeanors.”
Does Woody Allen seem like an artist who needs to be defended? And who’s got the credentials to cover him?
I, a lifelong admirer, hope Allen keeps the work coming until he’s 100. But right now we have “Midnight In Paris,” which has already become, in the first few countries of its release, (France, Germany, and the US,) an international hit.
The idea is simple on its surface, but rich with irony just below. A dissatisfied screen writer, (Owen Wilson,) happens upon a portal to the twenties, where he encounters the fabled writers and artists of his dreams. Hemingway, the Fitzgeralds, Gertrude Stein, and Picasso, among others.
Along the way he’s joined by a provocative French woman, (Marion Cotillard) equally restless, but whose yearnings generate from a different vantage point. The differences between the two become the fulcrum for a series of comically ironic revelations.
“Midnight In Paris,” is a departure from Allen’s most recent successes, “Match Point” and “Vicky, Christina Barcelona.” Both these earlier films teased their stories from subtle, realistic dialogue, frequently at odds with the characters’ true intentions. In that way they’re thoroughly modern and natural. We’re both disarmed and reassured by their familiarity because they fit into the world we live in.
“Midnight” works differently. The legends Wilson encounters speak like advertisements for their reputations, like they just stepped out of the Cliff notes summaries of their work. In this way they seem to have been conjured from the writers’ dreams. They seem to speak in slogans.
It’s a humorous device, a little jarring at first, but one that pays off in the end. You see, after a bit, that Allen isn’t working in a realistic context; he’s spinning a fable. His eye is somewhat jaundiced, but leavened with a bit of melancholy, and finally, sympathy for his leads.
It’s been said elsewhere, but I’ll say it here again. Owen Wilson is the perfect proxy for the young Woody Allen, who undoubtedly would have played the role had the film been made when Allen was Wilson’s age. But it wasn’t, and I’m not sure Allen saw things the same way when he was in his thirties. So the only relevant thing is that Wilson is well cast. More than that; he’s his own man, with a distinctly quirky manner; likable even in the most callow moments. Can we hope for a reprise?
Allen’s direction is nothing if not assured. The camera keeps its distance; I can’t recall a single close up. None is called for because the movie isn’t about dramatic moments; it’s about the settings and the interaction of his people and their goofy, backwards movement.
Almost nothing is made of the time travel. The device is stated and thrown away like a one liner. The script is layered with literary asides and in jokes that culture vultures will appreciate, but you don’t have to get all of them to find the movie pleasurable.
“Midnight In Paris,” isn’t Allen’s best, but it doesn’t have to be. It’s witty, adult and smart; the equivalent of a dry wine you savor over a late night snack.
“Beginners” is director Mike Mills second feature; a completely beguiling look at the life and loves of a complicated man and his mortally ill father. Taking its cues from Mills’ complicated relationship to his long departed parents, it pays little respect to conventional narrative devices and comes up a winner. In that way, it’s a truly independent film.
The story jumps around in time, a risky strategy that usually wears out its welcome early on. But Mills’ solid instincts prove over and over that he knows what he’s talking about and how to present it.
The movie is quiet but deeply ambitious. It goes way beyond the level of caricature, dealing with Mills mother, his childhood, his struggles as a commercial artist and his tentative love life. The writer/director understands that you can accomplish a lot in an hour and forty five minutes, as long as you use every moment to deliver intimate and fresh information. It must have been hell to edit; the tone and focus are constantly shifting. Mostly it works.
The script has more than its share of sharply funny lines and certainly owes a debt to Woody Allen. But who, working in a modern context doesn’t? The surprise here is how much feeling is expressed, and how little sentimentality.
One of the most distinguished pros in the business, Christopher Plummer, steals the many small moments he’s given. The role has a built in quirk appeal; after the death of his mother and 35 years of marriage, Mills’ father embraced his gay identity. The relationship that preceded, between a closeted man and his stoic wife, is detailed with a mixture of sensitivity and humor that pays homage to the dignity of both parents.
Mary Page Keller, a veteran of many high end TV shows, is touching and complicated as Georgia, Mills mother. This is a case where an actor has delved into the part and found an identity beyond the dialogue. Will she be remembered at awards time?
Ewen McGregor, a chameleon like actor who changes his persona from within, scores because the part calls for a wide range of reactions. Melanie Laurent, the French actress who made the best impression in “Inglorious Basterds,” plays an actress with a wistful sense of regret not entirely defined. It doesn’t matter; she projects enough personality to put her beauty in flattering perspective.
Mills has also taken time to talk about the period he grew up. There are moments when the film seems to veer into documentary. But then a dog will appear, speaking his mind through subtitles, and we’re reminded that what we’re witnessing is a quiet but daring act of imagination.
I know a lot of this sounds like it’s been done before. It has, but not as well. “Beginners” is worth the road trip to a Philadelphia art house, or high up on your net flix list.
I’m pretty sure that almost everybody who wanted to see “Bridesmaids,” already has, and that many of those filling seats at this point, are returnees. Understood. There are many side splitting moments.
As a narrative the movie is a bumpy ride, but it’s nearly hysterical depiction of class warfare is so naked it kind of shakes you up. There are a half dozen nearly uncontrolled moments where frustration and anger reach a boiling point, but an extended scene of Kristen Wiig, at the end of her wits, letting loose and wreaking havoc during an excessively indulgent engagement party, will remain in my mind for many years. It’s a fierce, icy blast of resentment, especially in the context of our current economic woes. And yes, when it hits video, I’ll take another look. Probably more than one.
