Every Wednesday, FM writers Simon Columb and Brogan Morris write two short reviews on Woody Allen films … in the hope of watching all his films over the course of roughly 49 weeks. If you have been watching Woody’s films and want to join in, feel free to comment with short reviews yourself! Next up is Alice and Stardust Memories …
Simon Columb on Alice…
Beginning with a flirtatious fantasy, Alice is Woody Allen indulging his upper-class thoughts again. Released in 1990, it’s clear that this was a low point as Alice is tired and hollow. Alice, an upper-class housewife, turns to herbal remedies from an acupuncturist to solve her woes. Her privileged life is an excuse for boredom and frustration as she is attracted to the tall and handsome Joe (Mantegna). Akin to the desperately creative characters we’ve seen before, Alice wants to be a writer, but lacks the desire and motivation to become one. Magical powers and extreme wealth is simply not enough though, as she continues to blame circumstance. The finale tries to offset her blissfully ignorant perspective, but it fails to elevate the majority of Alice, whereby her apathy and “tortured” sense of self grates and frustrates. A returning ghost is a highlight, but Woody can do much better than this.
Brogan Morris on Stardust Memories…
Woody Allen doesn’t disguise the fact that he’s channelling Fellini’s 8 ½ for Stardust Memories – he rather wears it as a mark of pride, this admiration for another artist. Allen seemingly supposes he must imitate the art of another to make this movie work, and through acting as Fellini, Woody allows himself to make a film rich with ideas and feeling. These same concerns apply to Stardust Memories’ lead Sandy Bates (Allen), a director being lauded at a film festival whilst suffocating from artistic blockage and self-inflicted celebrity. The parallels are clear: if Stardust Memories were any more autobiographical, it’d be a documentary. This is a film set inside the director’s head; Allen’s thoughts on relationships and the human condition burst onto the screen, almost as though he couldn’t control his need to get serious after years of being funny. Initially criticised, Stardust Memories is shamelessly derivative, but it’s beautiful.
Brogan Morris – Lover of film, writer of words, pretentious beyond belief. Thinks Scorsese and Kubrick are the kings of cinema, but PT Anderson and David Fincher are the young princes. Follow Brogan on Twitter if you can take shameless self-promotion.
