Catching up with Woody

Between 1971 (Sleeper) and 1987 (Radio Days), Woody Allen could do no wrong in my book. I know he's not everyone's cup of tea (and I'm not even gonna go into the Mia/Soon-Yi thing here), but I loved his movies during this period, some more than others, but they were all worth seeing and most still reward re-viewing. My favorites are Annie Hall, Love and Death, Manhattan, Stardust Memories, and Hannah and Her Sisters, and even his much-maligned straight drama of the period, Interiors, was not a bad movie. After 2 rather boring "serious" movies in a row (September and Another Woman), I sort of drifted away from him. I still saw most of his films, though often waiting for the video rather than rushing out to the theaters. A handful since then, including Crimes and Misdemeanors, Deconstructing Harry, and Small Time Crooks, have been quite good.

But most of his movies of the last decade have been at best lackluster (Hollywood Ending) and at worst absolutely excruciating (Celebrity). Even his big commerical comeback, Match Point, was more interersting than enjoyable. The problem for me is that he keeps making the same movies over and over: the same themes, the same characters, the same speech inflections, even sometimes the same dialogue (perhaps not literally, but in the pretty bad Anything Else from 2003, he seems to have recycled everything from Annie Hall to no purpose). As an actor, he now seems tired and lazy (the sad Curse of the Jade Scorpion), so to his credit, he is appearing less and less in his own movies.

I recently caught up with his latest films. Both are mixed bags but both seem different enough from his other films that I see some promise for the future. Vicky Cristina Barcelona is about two young women on holiday in Spain who get involved with a sexy artist (Javier Bardem); one of them (Rebecca Hall) has a one-shot fling and the other (Scarlett Johansson) winds up living with him for the summer. When his crazy ex- (Penelope Cruz) shows up, she and Bardem and Johansson have a menage-a-trois arrangement for a while, but it all turns out to be just "midsummer madness," to quote Vera Charles in Auntie Mame. There's not much heft to this little romance--I wish I felt like there was more a stake for the characters--but the acting is good all around (Cruz, who is up for an Oscar, is fine, but Johansson, who I don't typically like, is also good) and the honeyed golden tones of the cinematography are gorgeous.

Cassandra's Dream, his next-to-last film, with Colin Farrell and Ewan McGregor is even better, although it got a bum rap on its initial release. Farrell and McGregor are working-class brothers who both dream of better lives; Farrell's an auto mechanic who has a steady girlfriend and a yen for gambling--he tends to lose and lose, then suddenly win (because we see him when he's losing but never when his luck turns and he comes into lots of money, I assumed that he wasn't really winning but was stealing the money, but that's not the case); Farrell, the family golden boy, is in his dad's restaurant business, but is itching to make a big break. With some money from one of Farrell's dog racing hunches, they buy a small boat (from which the movie gets its name), Farrell becomes modestly upwardly mobile, moving into a decent flat with his girlfriend, and McGregor gets involved in an investment business and starts dating an actress who is at least one notch above him in class.

When bad times hit and both need money, they go to their rich uncle (Tom Wilkinson) who agrees to help them if they'll do him a little favor: kill a man who is threatening to expose some of Wilkinson's shady doings. The brothers eventually agree, though both, especially Farrell, are stricken by conscience along the way. I won't divulge how it all plays out, except to say that this is another examination of issues of good and evil and guilt and chance as done before in Crimes and Misdemenors and Match Point, though things end quite differently (though satisfyingly) this time. Both lead actors are excellent, and they have resisted the temptation to ape Allen's speech and mannerisms, which in part is what makes this the least Allen-like film that Allen has made in some time. As good as Farrell is, it still feels like a dry run for his even better performance as a similiar character in In Bruges. Wilkinson feels all wrong for his part, like he can't keep up with Allen or the lads, but he doesn't spoil the show. Both these films give me hope that Allen's creative juices aren't yet exhausted, so I guess I need to keep him on my pop culture radar.