Manhattan - Review

Woody Allen's gorgeous paean to Manhattan, Manhattan, is back in cinemas looking even more gorgeous than ever thanks to a digital restoration. Oh what a wonderful time to be alive. 

Near the end of Manhattan, the embittered, neurotic writer Isaac (who could have guessed he'd be played by Allen) records an idea for a short story where he stutteringly tells us, "... about people in Manhattan who are constantly creating these real unnecessary neurotic problems for themselves because it keeps them from dealing with more unsolvable, terrifying problems about the universe". With this somewhat postmodern flourish, Allen sums up pretty succinctly the tale of human folly that comes to pass in Manhattan (and I guess quite a few Woody Allen films).

The film centres on Isaac, a Marcello in La Dolce Vita or more recently Jep in La Grande Belleza style character, who experiences a mid-life crisis of sorts, coming to the realisation that the creative intellectuals with which he has surrounded himself are just as clueless and lost as we all are. With a healthy serving of two of Allen's favourite themes, existential angst and self loathing, we see him hop between relationships with two women who are in many ways, polar opposites of each other. There is the 17 year old Tracy, played with remarkable honesty by Mariel Hemingway, who despite her age shows the most emotional maturity of any of the characters and Diane Keaton's Mary, a charismatic wrecking ball of nervous energy and intellectualism ("it had a marvellous kind of negative capability").  

Manhattan is one of those stupidly quotable films - up there with the likes of Spinal Tap and Life of Brian - just brimming with moments of comic brilliance. I'm not going to list off a pile of my favourite quotes because I would be here for a while but it is worth noting the wonderful Diane Keaton, Woody Allen chemistry that is at the absolute top of its game. Perhaps epitomised by the scene that ends with the iconic shot of them under Queensboro bridge, the two combine so charmingly, each as sharp and involving as the other. They are surely one of the most convincingly compatible on screen duos of all time.

It seems to be the case in most of Woody Allen's really great films that the comedy is underpinned by some unforeseen emotional heft. Manhattan certainly follows this rule; featuring some heartbreaking moments that sneak up on you - the break up with the milkshake, the "Tracy's face" sequence - and a bittersweet ending a lot more than bitter than it is sweet. Most importantly, Manhattan is a film that sticks with you more than you might expect, showing a little of the caustic cynicism that is on full display in the likes of Crimes and misdemeanours, he paints a somewhat bleak picture of human nature.

As well as this, Manhattan has to also go down as some of Allen's most delightfully cinematic work; with Gordon Willis' moody monochrome cinematography and a George Gershwin soundtrack that I have to remind myself wasn't written for this film, the city is elevated to seem larger than life, a thing of unique beauty. This certainly plays as Allen's love letter to the city as much a part of his cinema as anything else. Indeed, the words of Isaac's opening monologue seem autobiographical, "he adored New York City, he idolised it all out of proportion".

Ten opening scenes that I like

A selection of opening scenes that are, in my opinion, very good.

Rashomon (1950)

During the opening sequences of Kurosawa's Rashomon an oppressive, slightly melancholic atmosphere is established in a scene that seems to teem with symbolism. The overpoweringly heavy rain strikes me as reflecting the lack of moral clarity in the film created by the subjectivity inherent in the film's unique narrative structure and the image of the dilapidated city gate seems a fitting representation of the tale of moral decay that follows, perhaps hinting at the ruinous state of society that Kurosawa perceives. Regardless of any of that cerebral rubbish though, the scene functions on a purely practical level, introducing us to the main characters and creating a cryptically dark mood that intrigues instantly. 

Touch of Evil (1958)

Perhaps one of the most famous opening scenes in cinema history, Touch of Evil's brilliant three and a half minute long take works on so many levels. Firstly, it gives us a strong sense of the world in which the drama will unfold; we are shown a seedy border town, inhabited by both flashy american cars and the shabby handcarts of the Mexican locals. The scene is also laced with an irrepressible tension due to the first shot of the film, showing a man placing a bomb in the back of a car. As the camera glides this way and that - Welles plays with our expectations - delaying the bomb's explosion until the car finally leaves our field of view, releasing the tension when we least expect it. Not to be forgotten is Welles' typically innovative use of sound. As the focus shifts from one thing to another, we hear a myriad of different sounds, creating a bustling soundscape that reflects the diverse environment that is depicted.

La Dolce Vita (1960)

This brilliantly bold opening is one of the best examples of provocation in cinema. At the time of the film's it was a shockingly open challenge to catholic morality and the role it played in Italy, perhaps lost on me slightly as neither an Italian nor catholic. Straying far from the faithful depiction of everyday life of the neorealist tradition, this set piece is perfectly reflective of the more flamboyant outlandish approach taken by Fellini in La Dolce Vita. The uncompromisingly aggressive visual metaphor of a statue of Christ being flown over Rome, suspended from a helicopter, aptly symbolises the place of Catholicism in the mind of Italians, subverting its sanctity with a satirical flourish. 

The Godfather (1972)

The Godfather opens with a scene that is all about atmosphere, establishing the character of Vito Corleone and some of the intricacies of their culture in broodingly cinematic fashion. Nino Rota's haunting score subtly sets the scene before we are confronted with an image of one man shrouded in darkness, pleading for Corleone's help. The camera pulls out slowly, emphasising the man's weakness as he seems to be engulfed by his surroundings. We then see Corleone for the first time, captured against the light and dark backdrop of the blinds. This classic noir technique hints towards the moral ambiguity that is central to Corleone's character and foreshadows the battle of principles that his youngest - still innocent - son Michael goes through. 

Manhattan (1979)

Manhattan opens with a scene that is oddly transcendent, in one of those rare moments of alchemy, Allen finds a near perfect combination, creating something greater than the sum of its parts. George Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue is exquisite, lending an otherworldly beauty to the sequence, Gordon Willis' black and white cinematography is glorious, reflecting the narrator's nostalgic idealised perspective of the city, and Woody Allen's narration is typically witty. 

Raging Bull (1980)

This is in many ways the ideal introduction to the character of Jake La Motta. We see him in the only place that he feels truly comfortable - the boxing ring -  captured in glorious slow motion, silhouetted against the flashing cameras of the onlookers. Despite what is a crowded scene, he is alone in the frame; a fitting reflection of the character's isolation from the rest of society. It sets the scene perfectly, painting La Motta as an outsider, showing the audience his loneliness before a word has even been said.

Blue Velvet (1986)

Everything about the imagery initially found in the opening scene to Lynch's Blue Velvet screams suburban idyll. A tongue-in-cheek parade of cliches - picket fences, manicured gardens and a lollipop lady - paint a picture of a tranquil utopia that is eroded as the scene progresses. The almost comically ideal world that was first portrayed is shattered to reveal a disquiet that bubbled beneath the surface. This tension is reflected in a series of shots of a hose - tangled and caught on branches - it strains as the pressure rises, struggling to contain the water. 

Boogie Nights (1997)

Paul Thomas Anderson's ensemble piece begins with a three minute long tracking shot brimming with fittingly laid back flare. Reminiscent of Scorsese's Copacabana sequence from Goodfellas, Anderson plunges us into the centre of the action, introducing us to a majority of the cast and revealing much about the dynamics between them. The shot mainly tracks Burt Reynolds' character - a porn director - as he makes his way around a club; skipping the queue Henry Hill style, we are given an insight to the character's influence. Once we are inside, a great moment is shared between Reynolds and Wahlberg. The characters lock eyes, the camera slows down and the stars that Wahlberg is framed in front of aptly foreshadow his future.           


Antichrist (2009)

Antichrist's opening features the Danish provocateur Lars Von Trier at his most gloriously provocative. The "prologue" depicts a couple making love as their child climbs out of their cot and falls out of a window to their death. We see this play out in gorgeous slow motion black and white that lends a cinematic grandeur to the tragic sequence. This is accompanied by a hauntingly beautiful baroque soundtrack whose lyrics - when translated - lament "Let me weep over my cruel fate, and that I long for freedom" in what seems fitting fashion. Though what happens is extreme, this scene is more than just a meaningless attempt to be controversial from Von Trier. It is not only vital in establishing the origin of the mother's profound depression but also works on a visceral level, playing on innate parental fears.  

Inglorious Basterds (2009)

Whether you love, hate or are indifferent to Tarantino, the suspense which he crafts in this scene is undeniable; containing one of the all time great moments of creepy milk drinking (up there with A Clockwork Orange), this scene is irrepressible. Waltz's performance is excellent, I can think of few instances where a character's politeness has been so threatening; he turns every line of typically sharp Tarantino dialogue into a menacing threat, regardless of its seeming innocence. We also have a wonderfully comic contrast of pipe sizes that reflects the characters personalities perfectly and a shamelessly good The Searchers inspired landscape through a door shot.  

Favourite five - Woody Allen

A list of my five favourite Woody Allen films in no particular order. Some honourable mentions also have to go to:
Broadway Danny Rose
Blue Jasmine
Stardust Memories
Bananas

Annie Hall (1977)

Annie Hall is in many ways the most Woody Allen-y of all his films (perhaps just because its mainstream success helped to define our idea of Woody Allen-yness). But anyway, Allen plays a witty, grousing and of course neurotic creative supported by Diane Keaton in the female lead, who is as scatterbrained as she is sharp. Via near constant introspection from Allen we are guided through the world from his confused perspective, treating us to an unbroken stream of intellectual wit and his unique brand of cynicism. It is often forgotten that although this is a film made up primarily of speaking, few films have done speaking with such invention. There is of course the subtitled dialogue between Allen and Keaton, split screen sequences in which characters address each other, and frequent breaking of the fourth wall ("You know nothing of my work"). Above all, the brilliance of Annie Hall lies in its refusal to follow conventions, its irrepressible charm is caused as a result of its quirks and idiosyncrasies.   

Manhattan (1979)












Manhattan begins with one of the most inexplicably wonderful opening sequences ever. As Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue swells, we see Manhattan captured in all its black and white glory by Gordon Willis, accompanied by touchingly funny narration from Allen. Manhattan's narrative centres on Isaac (Allen) and his relationship with two women, Tracy (Mariel Hemingway), a high school 17 year old, and Mary (Diane Keaton), a writer. Both women, almost polar opposites of each other, are played brilliantly. Tracy has a self assured candor central to her character portrayed beguilingly by Hemingway, whereas, Mary is full of fickle nervous energy and intellectualism ("I always was a sucker for Germanic theatre"). The beauty with which Gordon Willis' widescreen black and white cinematography imbues the city also has to be mentioned. We see the interior of Isaac's apartment captured with a brooding intensity that Sven Nykvist would have been proud of, Allen and Keaton's faces are silhouetted against the backdrop of a planetarium in a sequence that feels genuinely otherworldly, and there is of course the shot of them sitting at the bench overlooking Queensboro bridge as the sun comes up. 

Hannah and her Sisters (1986)

In Hannah and her Sisters we follow the lives of Hannah and her two other sisters via a series of overlapping stories. As is so often the case in Allen's best films, an excellent balance is struck between emotional heft and comedic lightness. With small titles, white font on a black screen, breaking up each part of the story, the drama is played out with a theatrical tone, as his confused characters flounder in their quest for meaning. Nobody portrays this conflict with more skill than Michael Caine who puts in a performance of touching authenticity playing the husband of Hannah, who falls in love with her sister. However, the delicacy with which the intricacies of the relationships between the three sisters are realised is what strikes me above all. The complicated dynamic is captured wonderfully in a scene where the three sisters go out for lunch. As they argue about various topics, the camera circles the table, moving from one reaction to another, each time revealing a new depth to each relationship. The complexity is displayed in excruciating detail as we come to understand the distinct ways in which each sister relies on the other.  

Crimes and Misdemeanours (1989)

Crimes and Misdemeanours is one of the most bleak and acerbic of Woody Allen's films, despite this, it manages to maintain a remarkably prominent comedic tone. The film centres on Judah (Martin Landau), a narcissistic ophthalmologist with a distorted view of his own morality who orders the murder of his mistress Dolores. Judah  receives no retribution for his actions, lacing the film with a nihilistic streak more caustic than any of Allen's other work. Via this story, Allen investigates a number of philosophical quandaries. Why should we act in a moral way? Is the only thing that motivates moral actions a fear of being caught? In one particularly memorable scene, Judah has an imaginary conversation with his rabbi where he discusses breaking up with his wife. He rationalises his actions in a self important manner typical of his character, "She won't forgive me... she idealises me." Allen also plays a vital role in the film as a maker of unthinkably dull documentaries, preventing the film from becoming too bogged down in its cerebral pretensions. His character provides the usual laughs by means of sardonic analysis of both himself and a world which never ceases to mystify him. In the film, Allen's direction is able to deftly incorporate disparate themes with an admirable elegance, achieving something as dark as it is funny. 

Husbands and Wives (1992)




In our first introduction to the characters of Husbands and Wives, the movement of the camera, in many ways, foreshadows the fate of their relationships. As we float this way and that, tracing a confused path around the characters with what appears to be indecision, their turmoil becomes clear. Husbands and Wives tells the tale of two couples as they grapple with what they think their relationships should constitute; as they age, and their idealised notions of a perfect marriage become evermore distant, Allen ponders (in classic Allen fashion) the meaning of love. Handheld camera work gives a documentary like immediacy to the film which breeds an intimacy with the characters, and jump cuts are used frequently to give the dialogue a disjointedness reflective of the bewilderment of the characters. Husbands and Wives is a film which raises many questions but answers none of them, leaving you just as confused as the characters.