"How the hell do I know why there were Nazis? I don't know how the can opener works."

Okay, I know I said I’d post this on Monday. But really, what is the concept of ‘Monday’ when you think about it? We’re all just going to die anyway.

I’ve no excuse really. I haven’t been up to much except trying to catch up on Netflix all the cool recent films I’ve wanted to see (but not been able to because I live in a town with two gorgeous, old-fashioned, affordable independent cinemas that show nothing worth watching whatsoever). Also I’ve been trying fervently to sort out how to get to the place I’m supposed to be working this weekend, which helpfully is impossible to get to by public transport. Although it does have a helipad, so if anyone reading this has a chopper lying around and wants to give me a (painfully literal) lift, I’d be grateful. The one person who might have driven me there has injured themselves today, so it’s beginning to look like my only option is to take a train followed by a taxi, which will eat rather considerably into my earnings. Impressively this concern has shifted my focus away from the other unpleasant aspect of the work, which is the 5am start. Everyone who knows me just pissed themselves with laughter a little bit. Oh ye of little faith. As one who has battled with various issues around sleeping patterns I am perfectly used to being up and alert at dawn, so long as I haven’t actually gone to bed yet.

My review, then, as promised.

Woody Allen: A Documentary (2012)

I want to squeeze this man's cheeks.

One of the films I’ve been catching up with was this rather self-explanatory one, a three-hour journey through the career of the comedian/writer/director/everything who more than perhaps any other artist defines New York. I’ve seen a handful of his most famous works (Annie Hall, Manhattan, Hannah and Her Sisters) and got about halfway through one of his later films on a plane once (Melinda and Melinda). I found the former charming, funny and beautiful and have seen them several times, the latter…I don’t really remember, to be honest. I don’t think planes are really conducive to filmwatching – I get put off by the experience of cramped legs, stale snacks and tiny screens, which is why I never go to Cineworld. The one thing I remember being aware of is that it felt very different from ‘classic’ Allen, which I suppose is to be expected after a gap of several decades, but I’m aware that for most critics he’s been rather inconsistent for the last two decades or so. Nonetheless he’s massively influential, massively prolific and hugely, hugely funny, and I felt the need to familiarise myself with him more.

When I opened it on Netflix I wasn’t aware that it was three hours long, split into two parts. I believe for its cinematic release it was cut down a lot. Nonetheless I didn’t actually find it overlong. I was about to write that this is a testament to the film, but more accurately I think it’s a testament to the character at its centre. The film opens with a cute Allen-lite sequence based around New York, but after that it slips into a very conventional documentary format, telling the story chronologically first of Allen’s childhood, then his beginnings in comic writing and standup (which he famously hated, but I still find his most perfect work), then his films starting at the early comedies (which I’ve been eager to see for a while now; the documentary at least inspired me to get something done about that) through to his romantic comic-dramas, with Part 1 finishing on his first real flop, Stardust Memories. Part 2 goes through his later works, noticeably opting to skim over his ever-so-slightly controversial relationship with his stepdaughter-slash-wife. Many reviews have criticised what they perceive to be going soft on Allen, but I felt it was a legitimate choice. To go the whole film without even mentioning the issue would seem like cowardice, but to briskly nod to it and then move on to more of Allen’s work appears to be a deliberate decision to focus not on what makes big headlines but on the actual work, and only delve into personal life where relevant.

Meryl Streep and Woody Allen - Manhattan

Woody Allen: A Documentary is frank about the dip in Allen’s success with Stardust Memories, and about the dwindling of his reputation in regards to his later films, but still tries to paint a positive picture of the most recent works. I feel rather shamefully that I can’t comment on this aspect because I haven’t seen most of them, and can only go by general critical opinion, which is that modern-day Allen never rises above “quite good”, and very often falls below average. It’s natural to not want to end your epic of a doc, presumably a study of a man you admire greatly, with “…well it’s all gone downhill a bit really”, but I do feel like it wasn’t being entirely honest and tried somewhat artificially to keep the enthusiasm constant through the less stellar parts of Allen’s career. It definitely felt lightweight at times, and I think if it wasn’t Woody Bloody Allen you were hearing about it would be hard to see it as more than a bit of fluff. Most hardcore fans I imagine wouldn’t get much out of it that they didn’t know already. But it is Woody Bloody Allen. So I watched, and I enjoyed.

Three final observations. One – at his peak, I struggle to think of any better comic, and I need to dig out my old standup recordings of his again. Two – it is worth watching this if only for the part where you get to hear this man play jazz clarinet. He plays regularly at a club in New York and I now urgently need to get there to hear him. As if one amazing talent wasn’t enough. Third - despite being an old man now, he seems not to have aged at all. I need to go back now and screencap one of the parts filmed in his bedroom, so I can try and spot what weird moisturisers he keeps on his dressing table. Whatever his secret is, I hope it’s something I can buy rather than just ‘stay healthy and do a lot of work’. Bleh.

In summary: I’d probably rather watch an actual Woody Allen film. But at least this film made me want to see more. So…if it inspires me to watch three films of his which I wouldn’t have seen otherwise, does that make it more valuable than watching one film of his? PHILOSOPHY, YOU GUYS...leave me alone, I'm writing this at 1.30 in the morning. Three stars