Bulletproof on Broadway
“We go to the movies because a picture is playing there. Griffith knew that and said it repeatedly, but always to his cat rather than the studio heads. Truffaut, of course, always refers to his films as movies and his movies as films. He also refers to himself as Godard, because Truffaut, he feels, has a pseudo-arty, non-proletarian quality, while Godard is much easier to spell—From “Woody, the Would-Be Critic,” by Woody Allen, New York Times, May 2, 1971.
Critics are generally discouraged from equating an artist’s life with his/her work, but in some cases it’s hard to avoid. Take, for example, Philip Roth, a middle-aged Jewish writer whose novels regularly concern the romantic and artistic travails of middle-aged Jewish writers. Roth, the consummate literary gamesman, seems to enjoy creating confusion between his real and fictitious personas—in his last book, Operation Shylock, he casts himself as the protagonist in the deliberately implausible and absurd goings-on.
Among major American moviemakers, Woody Allen is widely regarded as the most blatantly autobiographical, though in public statements he has always done his best to discourage that line of thought. But let’s face it, Allen is the Philip Roth of moviemakers; no matter what he says, it’s hard not to see his heroes—at least the ones he plays—as reflections of himself. After all, they look like him, they date the same women and they tend to share his wry wit and philosophical concerns.
Then there are the direct chronological correlations between Allen’s work and life. In Annie Hall, he plays a comedian looking back on an affair with the title character, a woman who is suspiciously similar to Allen’s ex-girlfriend, Diane Keaton. Keaton not only plays the title role, she was born Diane Hall. While the movie is fictional, certain aspects of the fictions are so transparent that we feel we’re seeing a cinematic roman a clef. In this case, blurring the line between fact and fiction probably helped the film succeed; he hit all the right notes, from hilarity to melancholy, and the similarities between Allen and his alter-ego, Alvy Singer, gave the film an extra feeling of verisimilitude. Besides, Woody was a lovable public figure, and we all want to know more about our heroes, right?
Not necessarily. Stardust Memories also had a strong feeling of verisimilutude, but, at least financially, it wasn’t a success. In this case, the identification between Allen and his protagonist ultimately hurt the film’s commercial prospects. Conceived shortly after Allen made the jump from slapstick to serious films, it tells the story of Sandy Bates, a moviemaker (played by Allen, of course) plagued by fans who prefer his “early, funny” work. Consciously modeled after Fellini’s 8 1/2, the film was Allen’s darkest comedy to date, a biting satire that probed the creative psyche and uncovered a number of unappealing secrets. Stardust Memories offended many of Allen’s fans, and for obvious reasons: The fans in the film are portrayed as Fellini-esque grotesques, and many of Allen’s real fans took the portrayals personally.
“We are faced throughout our lives with agonizing decisions, moral choices. Some are on a grand scale. Most of these choices are on lesser points. But we define ourselves by the choices we have made. We are, in fact, the sum total of our choices.”—Professor Levy, Crimes and Misdemeanors.
Allen’s penchant for autobiographical moviemaking reached its zenith—in unforeseen and unfortunate ways—with Husband and Wives. Filmed during the breakup of his long-term relationship with Mia Farrow and at the beginning of his affair with her daughter, Soon Yi-Previn, it stars Allen as a writing teacher tempted to leave his wife (played by Farrow) for one of his students. The parallels couldn’t have been more obvious (unless, of course, Allen had cast Soon-Yi as the student; thankfully he had the good sense to cast Juliette Lewis in the role). Whatever Allen’s faults of discretion, Husband and Wives is a masterpiece. It’s hard to think of another film that so acutely captures the feeling of longing that accompanies the end of a relationship, or a film that so accurately pinpoints the compromises we make to keep the longing at bay.
It should have been a triumph, but a funny thing happened on the way to the Oscars…There’s an old saying in Hollywood that there’s no such thing as bad publicity, and that’s what TriStar was banking on when they moved up the release of Husbands and Wives to cash in on the Allen-Farrow scandal. The strategy backfired.
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This story was published in the November 1994 MovieMaker Magazine. The headline was:
Bulletproof on Broadway/There were those who thought his career was over, but Woody Allen survives and proves again that even at his worst, he's one of the best.
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