Maybe, some more thought could have been put into Café Society.
Perhaps Woody Allen should take some time off, regroup, refresh, relax, recalibrate.
It's possibly a classic exemplar of hubris, of a feeling of invincibility.
You can tell the script is shrewdly written with a diverse variety of characters set up in micro and macro familial oppositions, but it's still sort of superficial, depth is lacking, like reputation rather than intellect is guiding each energetic expression.
The script is more like a first draft than a polished masterpiece.
The elements that might have been transformed into something Oscar worthy are there but it's like Allen forgot to spruce things up, so that rather than vigorously devouring a hearty multidimensional thought provoking eccentricity, parts of his audience are stuck with the stock, and remain famished as the closing credits role.
I think he liked writing this one.
The characters don't really develop apart from Bobby (Jesse Eisenberg) and just predictably interact with one another blandly as the film prattles on.
Casting off hubris to enlighten modesty which slowly and painfully crystallizes as the barrage of counterarguments inquisitively adjudicate checks such tendencies.
Or not, maybe he's just on a bit of a losing streak, he has made 46 films, they can't all be Annie Hall or Midnight in Paris.
Some of them are bound to be not so great.
Although, ahem!, In Search of Lost Time rarely errs, Proust having possessed that inextinguishable everlasting implausibility that hardly ever accepted anything less than pure genius, and he proceeded the entire time as if he was a witless fool.
Wes Anderson?
Alejandro González Iñárritu?
Solid cinematography (Vittorio Storaro) and Kristen Stewart (Vonnie) impresses.
The narration could have been left out or seriously cut back.
The music's too Woody Allen.
It's worse the second time.
Who am I to critique Woody Allen?, doubt I could consistently come up with wonderful films year after year, decade after decade, 46 of them so far, that's freakin' nutso.
I fast incarcerated.
Showing posts with label Woody Allen. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Woody Allen. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 16, 2016
Friday, August 21, 2015
Irrational Man
Hold on.
Situation critical.
It's been a long time since I haven't liked a Woody Allen film.
Curses.
Merry-go-round and around and around.
It seems like a joke, Irrational Man.
What I think happened was that Allen realized his script wasn't on par with his typical texts, and salvaged what he could by including recurring lackadaisically upbeat music, which consistently states, "whoops", while deliberately editing scenes too quickly, or including rather short scenes that could have been left out, to formally chide philosophy, mock the corporate tendency to pack too much information into too little a packet, and reflect on the emptiness of existence, when one never has time to calmly sit back and reflect.
When you take a bunch of philosophers and reduce what they're saying to a couple of trite statements, the engagement with philosophical texts is lost, Xavier Dolan making the same error with literature in Laurence Anyways, if they're not the focus, it's better just to leave them be.
There are so many banalities and clichés in Irrational Man, leap-frogging their way through the script like giddy platitudinous inanimate cockadoodles, inadequately developing character and then arrogantly assuming firm bonds between character and audience, that it's difficult to sit through, until the music picks up again.
Take the Russian roulette scene.
If a professor actually plays Russian roulette at a party with students, firing the gun several times, you would think it would have a greater impact on the story, but it practically disappears immediately afterwards, like it wasn't significant, like Abe (Joaquin Phoenix) was comparing prices on toothpaste or blankly examining bark on a tree.
Perhaps Irrational Man really is Allen's subtle satirical crack at corporate filmmaking.
It does co-star Queen of the Indies Parker Posey (Rita).
And Allen has stood outside the system for decades while generally still delivering high quality accessible thought provoking films.
I've heard people critically condemning Allen's examinations of relationships and he seems to be acknowledging their insights by exaggerating these faults in Irrational Man, the male protagonist's relationships within being way freakin' ridiculous.
There was an interesting critique of romanticism mentioned by Jill's (Emma Stone) Father (Ethan Phillips), however, that caught my attention.
Utopias, goodwill, fluffery, I admit that such ideas, when applied to daily life, often seem bizarre and out of touch, especially in the "we're all hopelessly craven so why don't we just act that way?" nihilistic disengaged pandora, but without them you leave yourself vulnerable to total and complete ethical unaccountability, because they set practical guidelines which apply foresight to fascination, in order to uphold something greater than common individuality.
One additional point.
In regards to my interests in action and science-fiction films, note that gregarious generalizations about literature and philosophy (etc.) in dramatic films often work more successfully disguised as character traits for monsters and heroes in action sci-fi, like in, one more time, Mad Max: Fury Road.
The action is the argument.
Surveillance, likewise.
Situation critical.
It's been a long time since I haven't liked a Woody Allen film.
Curses.
Merry-go-round and around and around.
It seems like a joke, Irrational Man.
What I think happened was that Allen realized his script wasn't on par with his typical texts, and salvaged what he could by including recurring lackadaisically upbeat music, which consistently states, "whoops", while deliberately editing scenes too quickly, or including rather short scenes that could have been left out, to formally chide philosophy, mock the corporate tendency to pack too much information into too little a packet, and reflect on the emptiness of existence, when one never has time to calmly sit back and reflect.
When you take a bunch of philosophers and reduce what they're saying to a couple of trite statements, the engagement with philosophical texts is lost, Xavier Dolan making the same error with literature in Laurence Anyways, if they're not the focus, it's better just to leave them be.
There are so many banalities and clichés in Irrational Man, leap-frogging their way through the script like giddy platitudinous inanimate cockadoodles, inadequately developing character and then arrogantly assuming firm bonds between character and audience, that it's difficult to sit through, until the music picks up again.
Take the Russian roulette scene.
If a professor actually plays Russian roulette at a party with students, firing the gun several times, you would think it would have a greater impact on the story, but it practically disappears immediately afterwards, like it wasn't significant, like Abe (Joaquin Phoenix) was comparing prices on toothpaste or blankly examining bark on a tree.
Perhaps Irrational Man really is Allen's subtle satirical crack at corporate filmmaking.
It does co-star Queen of the Indies Parker Posey (Rita).
And Allen has stood outside the system for decades while generally still delivering high quality accessible thought provoking films.
I've heard people critically condemning Allen's examinations of relationships and he seems to be acknowledging their insights by exaggerating these faults in Irrational Man, the male protagonist's relationships within being way freakin' ridiculous.
There was an interesting critique of romanticism mentioned by Jill's (Emma Stone) Father (Ethan Phillips), however, that caught my attention.
Utopias, goodwill, fluffery, I admit that such ideas, when applied to daily life, often seem bizarre and out of touch, especially in the "we're all hopelessly craven so why don't we just act that way?" nihilistic disengaged pandora, but without them you leave yourself vulnerable to total and complete ethical unaccountability, because they set practical guidelines which apply foresight to fascination, in order to uphold something greater than common individuality.
One additional point.
In regards to my interests in action and science-fiction films, note that gregarious generalizations about literature and philosophy (etc.) in dramatic films often work more successfully disguised as character traits for monsters and heroes in action sci-fi, like in, one more time, Mad Max: Fury Road.
The action is the argument.
Surveillance, likewise.
Friday, August 22, 2014
Magic in the Moonlight
Cold disbelieving hallowed critical reservations cynically socialize themselves in Woody Allen's Magic in the Moonlight, intent on exposing the genuine article, whose youthful pluck, ravishingly portends.
It's scientific reason versus supernatural serendipity, the influence of the latter, interventioning mischievous universals.
With lunar exactitude.
Stanley Crawford (Colin Firth) is difficult to take as he asserts his cantankerous incredulity, as smug as he is exceptional, it's still fun to watch his stubborn transitions, his development of feelings, which can't be rationally explained.
Thanks to Sophie Baker (Emma Stone).
I've encountered too many startling coincidences to categorically deny the existence of the supernatural.
Just the other day, I changed an ______ online for the first time in years, and then, less than 2 hours later, I see my old _______, who was associated with the ___ ______, for the first time since then, casually walking by.
I'm _______ in the middle of nowhere and suddenly I see someone from the town where I grew up, we head out later, and s/he's reading _______ while I've just rented the movie.
It could have been an elaborate joke.
Strange though.
But the number of times nothing exceptionally coincidental takes place far outweighs the number of times something does, meaning that attempts to clarify the seemingly supernatural and base economic and/or political forecasts upon them can be thought of as being somewhat nutso, scientific reason reigning in these domains being of paramount importance, as long as it doesn't attempt to eliminate its spiritual competition.
Not Woody Allen's best, but Magic in the Moonlight does warmly call into question the practice of reasoning, deducing to high jink, which causes love to seem more beautiful.
Clever, quaint, obtuse, and restrained, it caresses and cuddles the curmudgeony, to clarify why some friendships last a lifetime.
It's scientific reason versus supernatural serendipity, the influence of the latter, interventioning mischievous universals.
With lunar exactitude.
Stanley Crawford (Colin Firth) is difficult to take as he asserts his cantankerous incredulity, as smug as he is exceptional, it's still fun to watch his stubborn transitions, his development of feelings, which can't be rationally explained.
Thanks to Sophie Baker (Emma Stone).
I've encountered too many startling coincidences to categorically deny the existence of the supernatural.
Just the other day, I changed an ______ online for the first time in years, and then, less than 2 hours later, I see my old _______, who was associated with the ___ ______, for the first time since then, casually walking by.
I'm _______ in the middle of nowhere and suddenly I see someone from the town where I grew up, we head out later, and s/he's reading _______ while I've just rented the movie.
It could have been an elaborate joke.
Strange though.
But the number of times nothing exceptionally coincidental takes place far outweighs the number of times something does, meaning that attempts to clarify the seemingly supernatural and base economic and/or political forecasts upon them can be thought of as being somewhat nutso, scientific reason reigning in these domains being of paramount importance, as long as it doesn't attempt to eliminate its spiritual competition.
Not Woody Allen's best, but Magic in the Moonlight does warmly call into question the practice of reasoning, deducing to high jink, which causes love to seem more beautiful.
Clever, quaint, obtuse, and restrained, it caresses and cuddles the curmudgeony, to clarify why some friendships last a lifetime.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Blue Jasmine
Financial fermentations can require that lifestyle adjustments be made, Woody Allen's Blue Jasmine perplexedly yet malleably corrugating lead character Jasmine's (Cate Blanchett) descent into madness, competing economic logistics blending the blunt and the beautiful, comedically interspersing experimental affective influences, opportunity knocking, devotion concocting, bitterness imbibing, ripely spoiled.
The truth can be important.
Truths within truths etherealize.
The ethereal cherishes its material foundations.
Specific bases firmly rooted in itinerant psychohistorical discourses.
Jasmine drifts into the past as social interactions manifest a poppy madeleine effect, but their incremental narrative progressions problematize the device's distractions, the plot being secondary to the reflections in In Search of Lost Time.
I've got to find some way to work Proust into the cinema.
The device itself at first tore me away from Blue Jasmine's narrative thread, interrupting scenes which I was hoping would last much longer, at which point I was mildly frustrated by the intrusion, then lured in by the realism, but initially dissatisfied with the resolution.
Within the resolution, when the distraction's coordinated revelations reveal Jasmine's role as ethical agent, the two narratives synthesize then implode, a symbol for the equation of the imaginary and the real, drinking the water of life, causing her to lose her mind consequently.
Which makes the resolution satisfactory, albeit too neat and tidy, apart from the madness, I suppose.
The act of going with the flow is subtly and not-so-subtly lampooned throughout.
With Sally Hawkins (Ginger), Bobby Cannavale (Chili), and Andrew Dice Clay (Augie).
The truth can be important.
Truths within truths etherealize.
The ethereal cherishes its material foundations.
Specific bases firmly rooted in itinerant psychohistorical discourses.
Jasmine drifts into the past as social interactions manifest a poppy madeleine effect, but their incremental narrative progressions problematize the device's distractions, the plot being secondary to the reflections in In Search of Lost Time.
I've got to find some way to work Proust into the cinema.
The device itself at first tore me away from Blue Jasmine's narrative thread, interrupting scenes which I was hoping would last much longer, at which point I was mildly frustrated by the intrusion, then lured in by the realism, but initially dissatisfied with the resolution.
Within the resolution, when the distraction's coordinated revelations reveal Jasmine's role as ethical agent, the two narratives synthesize then implode, a symbol for the equation of the imaginary and the real, drinking the water of life, causing her to lose her mind consequently.
Which makes the resolution satisfactory, albeit too neat and tidy, apart from the madness, I suppose.
The act of going with the flow is subtly and not-so-subtly lampooned throughout.
With Sally Hawkins (Ginger), Bobby Cannavale (Chili), and Andrew Dice Clay (Augie).
Friday, March 15, 2013
Paris-Manhattan
Obsessive particularized therapeutic prescriptions, erudite frank psychological stylizations, pulsating extroverted situational expectations, marriages, family, friends, professions, good food, neuroses, lighthearted delineations, let's observe, express, modify, clarify, recapitulate, integrate, qualify, diversify, riding on bikes, breaking and entering, wherein lies the lesson?, as romance precipitates, with room for error, Sophie Lellouche's Paris-Manhattan theorizes that Woody Allen's form can be refurbished with French content, alarmingly experimental, domesticating the bizarre.
Thankfully Woody Allen will likely be making films for decades to come, continuing to innovate within his hyper-reflective multilayered panorama, but at some point a time may come when no new Woody Allen film can be expected, ever, a terrible time, and someone will have to step in and fill the void.
In terms of compellingly merging commerce, sociology, art and comedy, consistently and prodigiously, no filmmaker has been more prolifically successful, and in order for the void to be filled, the replacement in question must be prolific.
That's the key to competing with while paying in/direct hommage to Mr. Allen and to do so on a high level for decades while remaining relevant is a lofty goal indeed.
Is this Sophie Lellouche's goal?
Don't know, but she's put together a tight film in Paris-Manhattan, adding her own insightful touch to the brainy perpendicular bravado.
There's a scene where while eating dinner characters from different generations working in various fields freely and non-judgmentally share ideas without having to worry about damaging social consequences in the aftermath.
I suppose I could watch it again and imagine Proust was there but that may ruin the effect I'm going for here.
Proust. Being single. Learning French. Never been to Europe.
Could that be the subject of a Woody Allen inspired double feature, after Mme. Lellouche decides to fly me to Paris and start working on a script posthaste?
The world needs another Woody Allen.
Mme Lellouche could be that Woody Allen.
She only has to make more than 40 more films.
Something like, Kermode in Paris.
Starring me.
Also a big Larry David fan.
Thankfully Woody Allen will likely be making films for decades to come, continuing to innovate within his hyper-reflective multilayered panorama, but at some point a time may come when no new Woody Allen film can be expected, ever, a terrible time, and someone will have to step in and fill the void.
In terms of compellingly merging commerce, sociology, art and comedy, consistently and prodigiously, no filmmaker has been more prolifically successful, and in order for the void to be filled, the replacement in question must be prolific.
That's the key to competing with while paying in/direct hommage to Mr. Allen and to do so on a high level for decades while remaining relevant is a lofty goal indeed.
Is this Sophie Lellouche's goal?
Don't know, but she's put together a tight film in Paris-Manhattan, adding her own insightful touch to the brainy perpendicular bravado.
There's a scene where while eating dinner characters from different generations working in various fields freely and non-judgmentally share ideas without having to worry about damaging social consequences in the aftermath.
I suppose I could watch it again and imagine Proust was there but that may ruin the effect I'm going for here.
Proust. Being single. Learning French. Never been to Europe.
Could that be the subject of a Woody Allen inspired double feature, after Mme. Lellouche decides to fly me to Paris and start working on a script posthaste?
The world needs another Woody Allen.
Mme Lellouche could be that Woody Allen.
She only has to make more than 40 more films.
Something like, Kermode in Paris.
Starring me.
Also a big Larry David fan.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
To Rome with Love
For a summer in Rome, an office clerk finds himself thrust into the spotlight, his routine reflections hyperbolically sensationalizing influence, as an architect revisits his youth to bring back to life/cross-examine his most serendipitous subject of desire, a young communist lawyer contends with a retired opera producer when it's discovered that his humble father can sing exceptionally well, and a married couple, in town for a potentially prosperous employment opportunity, find themselves accidentally embracing exotic extramarital affairs.
Felicitously framed by a traffic cop's dissolving point of view.
The conditions of which inculcate calisthenic creativity.
Romantically mingling the celebrated with the starstruck and the ordinary with the hyper-intensive, while evoking the nimble necessity to unearth metaphorical mirth within corresponding psychoanalytic observations, Woody Allen's To Rome with Love's palpable playful pluck picturesquely procures impressionable popularizations, and salaciously serenades atemporal condensations.
Fidelity strengthened through chance, temptation tethered to testimony, regret distinguished from revelation, and dreams evanescently alighted.
A virtuosic variation on a theme.
There's a lot more to it than that.
Felicitously framed by a traffic cop's dissolving point of view.
The conditions of which inculcate calisthenic creativity.
Romantically mingling the celebrated with the starstruck and the ordinary with the hyper-intensive, while evoking the nimble necessity to unearth metaphorical mirth within corresponding psychoanalytic observations, Woody Allen's To Rome with Love's palpable playful pluck picturesquely procures impressionable popularizations, and salaciously serenades atemporal condensations.
Fidelity strengthened through chance, temptation tethered to testimony, regret distinguished from revelation, and dreams evanescently alighted.
A virtuosic variation on a theme.
There's a lot more to it than that.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Midnight in Paris
Working within a light-hearted quaint sharply crystallized kitschy tradition, presenting thoughtful witty self-aware observations concerning creativity, Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris frankly endures its own self-destructive mechanizations as it simultaneously satirizes and elevates various philosophical/sociological/historical/. . . ical points.
Plus it has time travel.
Gil (Owen Wilson) wants to make the transition from writing screen plays to novels while daydreaming about moving to Paris. He trusts no one with his work, however, as he isn't yet prepared to subsume negative criticisms. He encounters a self-assured erudite slightly pompous handsome individual (Michael Sheen as Paul) to whose clarifications his fiancée (Rachel McAdams as Inez) takes a shine. Gil's able to interject the occasional colourful contradiction after travelling back in time to the Paris of the 1920s (which he proceeds to do every evening at midnight) and learning various facts about Hemingway (Corey Stoll), F. Scott Fitzgerald (Tom Hiddleston), Picasso (Marcial Di Fonzo Bo), and . . . first hand, facts which Inez is quick to dismiss because he occupies a less prestigious position.
In the order of things.
Travelling through time raises some interesting points, most of which have likely been mentioned before. Would the novelty of a 21st century kitschy work make it seem literary in the early 20th? Would the novelty of taking a writer and placing him within a 21st century manifestation of the 1920s seem literary from a 21st century filmic perspective? Would the novelty of a literary comedic 21st century filmic perspective seem incisive from an atemporal disengaged discursive non-committal self-reflexive perspective? Would an atemporal disengaged discursive non-committal self-reflexive perspective seem comedic from the point of view of a dedicated modernist cultivating a particular artistic market, working within broad guidelines, an aspect, in reaction to Victorian counterpoints?
Bears.
Hemingway's lines become increasingly trite as Gil's gain critical momentum. As Gil comes closer to situating himself within a burgeoning movement's jouissance, his confidence increases. As his confidence increases within the imaginary, his stability pleasantly deteriorates in the symbolic.
And he succeeds.
Is Gil the greatest kitschy-filmic-literary-atemporal-discursive-disengaged-perpetually-productive sprout ever?
Perhaps, although, with the passing of time, these answers seem harder and harder to ephemerally tether to a shape shifting transformative meteorology, within which moments coyly whisper, "by the light of the sickle moon."
lol
Plus it has time travel.
Gil (Owen Wilson) wants to make the transition from writing screen plays to novels while daydreaming about moving to Paris. He trusts no one with his work, however, as he isn't yet prepared to subsume negative criticisms. He encounters a self-assured erudite slightly pompous handsome individual (Michael Sheen as Paul) to whose clarifications his fiancée (Rachel McAdams as Inez) takes a shine. Gil's able to interject the occasional colourful contradiction after travelling back in time to the Paris of the 1920s (which he proceeds to do every evening at midnight) and learning various facts about Hemingway (Corey Stoll), F. Scott Fitzgerald (Tom Hiddleston), Picasso (Marcial Di Fonzo Bo), and . . . first hand, facts which Inez is quick to dismiss because he occupies a less prestigious position.
In the order of things.
Travelling through time raises some interesting points, most of which have likely been mentioned before. Would the novelty of a 21st century kitschy work make it seem literary in the early 20th? Would the novelty of taking a writer and placing him within a 21st century manifestation of the 1920s seem literary from a 21st century filmic perspective? Would the novelty of a literary comedic 21st century filmic perspective seem incisive from an atemporal disengaged discursive non-committal self-reflexive perspective? Would an atemporal disengaged discursive non-committal self-reflexive perspective seem comedic from the point of view of a dedicated modernist cultivating a particular artistic market, working within broad guidelines, an aspect, in reaction to Victorian counterpoints?
Bears.
Hemingway's lines become increasingly trite as Gil's gain critical momentum. As Gil comes closer to situating himself within a burgeoning movement's jouissance, his confidence increases. As his confidence increases within the imaginary, his stability pleasantly deteriorates in the symbolic.
And he succeeds.
Is Gil the greatest kitschy-filmic-literary-atemporal-discursive-disengaged-perpetually-productive sprout ever?
Perhaps, although, with the passing of time, these answers seem harder and harder to ephemerally tether to a shape shifting transformative meteorology, within which moments coyly whisper, "by the light of the sickle moon."
lol
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Whatever Works
Never thought I'd live to see Woody Allen and Larry David team up together but that's what they've done in Whatever Works, another tale of a neurotic sexually repressed manic depressive doing his best to get by. Within, Allen recycles a number of the themes that have successfully worked for him in the past but this time rather than star in the film himself his (alter?) ego has been replaced by Larry David (as Boris Yellnikoff) (whose resemblance to Allen is remarkable). Boris speaks to the screen and is aware he's being filmed even though his fellow cast members have no idea which simultaneously accentuates and deconstructs his mania. A disgruntled genius, Boris cast off the trappings of the ivory tower in order to teach chess, scraping by a meagre living as he presents his antagonistic reflections to anyone stuck listening to him. Enter Melodie St. Ann Celestine (Evan Rachel Wood), a troubled Southerner homeless and destitute in the streets of New York. Boris takes her in, grows fond of her, and the rest of the film unreels in response to their off-beat odd coupling.
It's definitely a Woody Allen film and will most likely appeal to most of his fans. Seeing Larry David play a hapless genius as opposed to the hapless Larry David is fun, as is seeing what happens to Melodie's parents when they arrive in New York City. There are times when it's impossible to separate Larry David from Boris Yellnikoff which decreases the dramatic affects of the characterization, but I don't think this is a problem. Nothing really that new, but so much fun all the same.
It's definitely a Woody Allen film and will most likely appeal to most of his fans. Seeing Larry David play a hapless genius as opposed to the hapless Larry David is fun, as is seeing what happens to Melodie's parents when they arrive in New York City. There are times when it's impossible to separate Larry David from Boris Yellnikoff which decreases the dramatic affects of the characterization, but I don't think this is a problem. Nothing really that new, but so much fun all the same.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Zelig
Zelig, Zelig, Zelig: just who the hell is Woody Allen's Zelig? In every situation he physically, mentally, and spiritually adjusts to become one with his interlocutors, and there's nothing he can't learn, stomach, or do. His story inspires songs, advertisements, sensations, newsreels, critical and commercial interpretations, parades, biographical imitations. There's a wealth of tightly edited picturesquely paced material reminiscent of Citizen Kane and formically linked to any Wes Anderson film. His doctor does her best to establish an I but as he moves from congenial agreement to aggressive confrontation similar situations and age-old psychological adversaries arise. Playing baseball, writing academic essays, acting, golf, Zelig moves and grooves with the rest of the 'em all the way to an hilariously restructured resolution, creatively and comedically cast with the most intertextual of designs in mind.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Vicky Cristina Barcelona
Woody Allen's Vicky Cristina Barcelona chronicles the liaisons of two American women summering in Spain. Vicky (Rebecca Hall) believes in monogamy while Cristina (Scarlett Johansson) is interested in experimentation. The insouciant hedonistic painter Juan Antonio (Javier Bardem) audaciously propositions them much to Vicky's shock and Christina's delight. As fate has it, Cristina receives food poisoning incapacitating her for the weekend, leaving Antonio and Vicky alone together. Vicky has trouble dealing with the aftermath, and melancholically resigns to watching Cristina, Antonio and Antonio's passionately temperamental ex-wife Maria Elena (Penélope Cruz) embrace their sensations. In the end, after both Maria and Vicky leave Antonio, he pleads with Vicky for one last assignation, having fallen victim to ancient laws of the heart, only Paris being able to slay Achilles. The girls return home, astute students of the senses, Christina still solely aware of that which she does not want, Vicky finding strength through fidelity. Another tale wherein ideological points of view are challenged by the heuristics of happenstance, where characters submit to either that which they long to possess or can never comprehend.
In the beginning, the narration is tedious, but, as the film progresses it becomes more endearing, thereby formally deconstructing the logic of first impressions. And Cruz's performance is outstanding, stealing each and every scene she graces, the wild chaotic impulsive destructive yet inspiring Latino genius, demanding her whims be worshipped, simultaneously driving and deflating Antonio's art.
Nice to see Woody Allen can still pull it off.
In the beginning, the narration is tedious, but, as the film progresses it becomes more endearing, thereby formally deconstructing the logic of first impressions. And Cruz's performance is outstanding, stealing each and every scene she graces, the wild chaotic impulsive destructive yet inspiring Latino genius, demanding her whims be worshipped, simultaneously driving and deflating Antonio's art.
Nice to see Woody Allen can still pull it off.
Crimes and Misdemeanours
Woody Allen's Crimes and Misdemeanors snuck up on me. The first half of the film was slow moving and mundane, leaving me to concentrate more thoroughly upon the divergent dimensions of different varieties of dragonflies than its developing motifs. But as the videotape ran on, I discovered another multi-layered take on life, morality, and existence, with relevant themes breaking through a tragically-comedic allegory. Hence, we are not surprised when we discover characters marrying and divorcing in the film's final moments, nor do we startle when the pretentious wealthy "glad handing dandy"(Twin Peaks Pilot) steals the woman of Allen's dreams. Allen's nemesis is played by Alan Alda and their polarity metaphorically examines the old artistic-merit versus kitschy-sensationalism dialectic, hilariously, especially since Allen is filming Alda's biography. Allen's attempts to expose Alda's shallow character are juxtaposed against Martin Landau's moral battle throughout, a moral battle waged with his conscience after severing ties to his mistress once and for all. Landau (Judah Rosenthal) can't decide whether or not to go public with his guilty conscience (thereby ruining several lives) or to simply get over it. All in all, Crimes and Misdemeanors is worth viewing just to hear some of the jokes, such as, "hey kid, don't listen to what your teachers are saying, just look at them and see what they're going through." Etcetera.
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