Boy, what's up with all the Woody Allen posts this week? I mean, sure, he's got a new movie opening today (Vicki Cristina Barcelona), and sure, a lot of critics are claiming it's his best work in a decade. But someone says that every decade, and have been doing so for approximately four decades. So who is this jerk who's so obsessed with the Wood-man, that he keeps forcing Screengrab readers to share his mania? Oh, right -- it's me. It may surprise you to learn that, given my fascination with the former Mssr. Konigsberg, I am not especially a huge fan of his work, and I'm certainly not one of his more vociferous defenders. I think he's mistaken about being a Serious Artist, which gets in the way of his being one of the funniest men of his generation; he's got a major Mary Sue complex; he's somewhat technically limited as a director and receives a lot of credit for work that is properly given to his cinematographers; and I agree with Joe Queenan that his work is literally sophomoric -- the intellectual, moral and emotional themes in his movies rarely get past the level of someone who, like Woody himself, dropped out of college his sophomore year. But in Annie Hall and Manhattan, he made two of the best movies of the 1970s; he's one of the finest comic minds on the planet; and he's managed to make a career for himself so robust that he's made an average of a movie a year for 30 years, which, no matter how similar the themes in said movies, is something like a miracle. So, after you've watched Penelope Cruz and Scarlett Johansson make out in the Wood-man's latest masterpiece, why not rent five more of my favorites, and make it a festival?
WHAT'S UP, TIGER LILY? (1966)
The fact that the directorial debut of a man many people consider the greatest moviemaker of his generation was little more than a cheap Chinese action-thriler with jokey dialogue dubbed in over it is shocking to some people. It's as if someone told you that thumbocentric auteur/Kung Pow! Enter the Fist director Steve Oedekerk grew up to be Jean-Luc Godard. But it's true: for his very first film in 1966, Woody Allen got the rights to a junk chop-socky called Key of Keys from American International Pictures, who had judged its plot too elaborate. Woody and his cast simply chucked the damn plot out the window and turned the entire thing into a goofball James Bond parody, which the studio padded out with some extraneous nonsense and a couple of pop songs by the Lovin' Spoonful (the biggest brush that Woody would ever again have with modern popular culture), released, and went on to make a fortune off of. What's even more surprising than the fact that What's Up, Tiger Lily? was Woody Allen's first movie as a 'director' is that it works so well -- it's tightly paced, contains tons of funny gags (many of which seemed a lot fresher than when bad comedians and internet wags recycled them 40 years later on the internet and in movie theatres). A fun, funny piece of detournment , no matter how you view Allen's later career.
ZELIG (1983)
Woody Allen's 12th feature film as director may be his most daring, in terms of visual style, formalist invention, and pure idea. Although technology, and the application of the basic notion in other, lesser films, has somewhat blunted Zelig's impact, at the time of its release, it couldn't have seemed more daring: an experimental psychologist is brought in to study the case of one Leonard Zelig, an insecure nebbish who has made his way through life -- and even entered the orbits of some of the 20th century's most famous and infamous figures -- without having a personality of his own. So much of a non-entity is Zelig that he takes on the characteristics -- psychological, moral, intellectual, and even physical -- of the people around him. It's an interesting treatise, in its own way, of the nature of celebrity and the way some peoples' whole lives are malleable thanks to their eagerness to please. But one of the problems with Allen's movies is that it's easy to get carried away with that kind of talk, and forget about whata funny, detailed, and sophisticated movie it is; and, beyond that, Woody did a good bit of stretching (uncharacteristic for him) in order to carry off the film's technical requirements and insert his nebbishy nuance in all of modern history. An outstanding film, one of his best.
HANNAH AND HER SISTERS (1986)
I've never been much of a fan of Woody Allen's 'serious' work. While I appreciate the effort to stretch, and the desire of a talented man to be thought of as something more than a clown, they've always come across as somewhat joyless and flat to me. To abandon what you're best at in favor of something a dozen people do better is an odd thing for an artist to do, and until Allen becomes a much better technical director and stops writing dialogue that means to sound impressive and instead sounds pretentious, I'll continue to be one of those cranky jerks who prefers his funny stuff, thank you very much. That said, Hannah and Her Sisters is a pretty terrific film, if for no other reason than the astonishingly good performances he coaxes out of his cast. It's not without typical Woody Allen drama flaws: the characters are generally unlikable, the dialogue veers into hootiness more than once, and it's yet another example of why the Wood-man shouldn't ever be allowed to comment on any American popular culture after 1965 or so. But it's got a strong script, a more steady than normal technical sensibility, great music, a handful of genuinely powerful emotional scenes, and some of the most stunning performances he's ever gotten out of his cast, especially from Michael Caine and Dianne Wiest.
RADIO DAYS (1987)
Right in between the excellent but heavy Hannah and Her Sisters and the rambling, disappointing bummer of September, Woody Allen decided to give us moviegoers a big, delicious, tasty candy treat in the form of Radio Days, an absolutely delightful little movie that doesn't get nearly the credit it deserves as one of his best films. A combination childhood memoir and loving tribute to the Golden Age of radio, it's one of his sweetest and most good-natured films, and possibly the funniest one he's done in the last 20 years. While his focus, as always, is on interpersonal dynamics, he doesn't get lost in it, as is his unfortunate tendency to do; instead, he opens up the stage just enough to let us see his neighbors, his teachers, and most importantly, the cast and crew of the radio shows that helped shape him, who come across as alternately admirable, chummy, and utterly absurd. Best of all, these winning characters are played by one of the best ensemble casts Allen ever assembled, and, for the first time, he gets out of the way and lets the script and the story do the heavy lifting. Radio Days is simply a charming, utterly likable movie, a gem in Woody Allen's catalog -- it's a genuine feel-good movie, not because it's full of sentimental treacle, but because you feel good after watching it, and when you aren't, you wish you were.
DECONSTRUCTING HARRY (1997)
It was the late 1990s when Woody Allen's reputation as a filmmaker started to take a lot of serious hits, and there aren't many critics -- myself included -- who are willing to step up and defend many of the films he's made in the last ten years. Sometimes he went to the same well a bit too often; other times, he accepted less-than-stellar performances out of his cast, or stretched a little further than his talent was willing to let him go. Other times, he just seemed tired and cranky and unsure of what he wanted to do. While Deconstructing Harry was guilty of all of these to a greater or lesser degree, for some reason, it resonated with me a lot more than did most of his work from the last decade. Perhaps it's the unexpectedly nasty edge to the film that suggests that Allen could be one of the great cynics if he wasn't already one of the great neurotics; perhaps it's the gleeful piss-take at his own public persona, which, although he ultimately lets himself off the hook, shows that he's a lot more self-aware than he might let on in his latter-day work; or maybe it's just that, while they don't always succeed, the metafictional conceits, surrealistic elements and extremely un-Allenish use of camera effects, quick-cut editing and other film trickery illustrate that he isn't entirely moribund. Whatever the case, while it's by no means a great film, Deconstructing Harry at least shows the old pro's still got some life in him.