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This is a response to an open invitation from Drew McWeeny of HitFix
I have a checkered history with Woody Allen that runs the gamut of loving and deeply responding to his work (Radio Days), being reasonably entertained (Sleeper, Match Point, Scoop, Melinda and Melinda, Sweet and Lowdown), almost hating (Vicky Christina Barcelona), and finally, respecting but feeling emotionally "meh" towards (Annie Hall, Crimes and Misdemeanors, The Purple Rose of Cairo). Approaching a new Woody Allen film (well, new to me anyway) is always a mixture of curiosity, anticipation, and dread - what's the latest cinematic classic that I'll have to admit with no lack of embarrassment that I don't really care for?
Such, sadly, is the case with Manhattan.
I say "sadly" because I hate not responding to movies that are this well done. There's really no reason for me to not like this movie. Allen, as he is wont to do, crafted really great, well-rounded characters, put them in compelling, totally relatable scenarios, and not only kept them behaving like people rather than plot or thematic devices, but made that just as important to the film as what it says about modern romance. And if all that seems really easy, try writing a screenplay this honest, fresh (for the time), thematically sound, and emotionally relevant and then come back to me and tell me Allen's work here is no small feat.
If Allen is at fault for anything, it's for doubting his strengths. When, for instance, Isaac (the Woody surrogate in the film) lays back on the couch at the end of the film, relating to his tape recorder all the things that make life worth living, and stumbles upon "Tracy's face." Recalling a...high school sweetheart of sorts, that moment tells us everything the previous scene, filled with late-expository dialogue, did, and more. It sums up the totality of regret as one of life's inevitabilities.
By now, it should come as little surprise that a Woody Allen film is a tad overwritten - how many times does he need to tell his ex-wife (Meryl Streep) that he doesn't approve of her publishing a book about their divorce? - but even when he has characters sit around and tell us what they think, it cuts to the core of what makes them tick. In a pivotal, conflict-ridden scene between Allen and Diane Keaton, playing one of Allen's love interests, we see the depths to which Mary (Keaton) chases drama and how quickly Isaac finds comfort.
What bothers, and paradoxically fascinates, me most, however, is the shine Allen has taken to these people, particularly (surprise, surprise) Isaac. The characters Allen plays in every film are inevitably accused of being self-centered, narcissistic, and various other synonyms for said behavior, and Allen has clearly heard those criticisms in real life while never actually applying it to his art. For as flawed and heartless and brutal as the other characters can be, Allen's characters aren't actually any better, and yet they're always given the last word and always given a chance to atone, even if the success of that attempt may vary.
Further, in any given argument, they're always right. Or so the film insists Any question the film may pose, be it philosophical, cultural, moral, whatever, Allen is always portrayed as the piece's superior. And while it's obviously okay, and more often than not encouraged, for an artist to give us his view of the world, it's another to handle it so awkwardly and blatantly, sacrificing the drama of giving us a central character who's often wrong, and has to live with the consequences of poor choices.
Finally, I should mention that while I have a problem with Allen's big picture, I have absolutely no qualms with the big pictures he and cinematographer Gordon Willis created here. There's not much to say that hasn't been said better elsewhere, but it's quite frequently pretty stunning stuff. Allen probably would have benefited from a costume designer better acquainted with monochrome (the grays tend to blend together), but it's pretty amazing he didn't work with that stock - or in 2:35 - more often. This is the kind of stuff they invented the big screen for, the kind we've been in danger of losing since the advent of home video.
3 comments:
Scott: I'm a little confused with this portion of your analysis:
Further, in any given argument, they're always right. Or so the film insists Any question the film may pose, be it philosophical, cultural, moral, whatever, Allen is always portrayed as the piece's superior. And while it's obviously okay, and more often than not encouraged, for an artist to give us his view of the world, it's another to handle it so awkwardly and blatantly, sacrificing the drama of giving us a central character who's often wrong, and has to live with the consequences of poor choices.
So, if Allen's character is always the superior, why is he constantly living with poor choices? I agree with you that Allen's central characters always believe that they win every argument (which I think is fairly accurate), but I'd disagree that the films always agree with those characters. Manhattan is a great example, because Isaac gets into a relationship with an underage girl (Hemigway's Tracy) precisely because he needs to feel like he's the sage, not because he is. And yet at the end of the film Isaac learns that this young girl knows things about the world that he doesn't know.
Isaac's final scene with Tracy could, I suppose, be read as some kind of atonement -- a moment where he sees the light all too late but does in fact see the light. But I don't think that's what actually happens there. I think Isaac goes back to Tracy only because he's as desperate as ever. If Tracy were to stay at the end, their relationship might last another month, but in the end Isaac would still be Isaac. I don't think the film has any illusions about that. Isaac has learned, but only a little. And that the sage knows less than the teenage girl is a reminder of how underdeveloped Isaac actually is.
The fact after Tracy's last line, the notoriously whiny and talkative Isaac has nothing to say is very significant, I think. No one is ever silent in those situations unless they know they're wrong, especially him.
Upon further reflection, I shouldn't make bold claims right before bedtime.
I'll cede that point, but only so far. I think Isaac and Tracy are both wrong at the end - their relationship wouldn't last if she stayed, but I doubt it'll last much after the cut to black either. Maybe she's right and he should be more trusting, but I really think they're both wrong here.
And I think the films do side with Allen's characters when it comes to scenes like the fallout between Isaac and Mary or Isaac and Yale - Isaac might be out of touch or idealistic, but there's an edge to these scenes that makes it seem like his way is the way the world should be (not that I disagree, necessarily, just that it might be better handled).
Annie Hall suffers from this a bit more, especially in everything regarding Los Angeles.
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