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".

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.