(Annie Hall; dir. Woody Allen, 1977)
Woody Allen’s “Annie Hall” is genuinely hilarious. Woody is Alvy Singer, a character bearing certain striking similarities to Woody himself- a neurotic, nebbish, and self-deprecating writer. You could say its an instructional video from Woody on how to impress women even if you contain mostly negative qualities. It’s also a skillfully crafted romantic comedy.
Diane Keaton plays Annie Hall, Alvy’s clumsy, free-spirited girlfriend- she’s very much a Manic Pixie Dream Girl, refusing to allow Alvy’s obsessions with death and constant self-loathing to get into the way of her New York lifestyle. Unable to match wits, she’s shallow, frequenting New Yorker apartment parties while Alvy watches the Knicks game in the bedroom the pretentious and avoiding the cosmopolitan Marshall McLuhans. The unlikely nature of Annie and Alvy’s relationship is at the soft heart of the film, a fleeting glimpse at love between two very different people, their differences exhibited through taste in music, film, and literature. It’s difficult to root for either one, but Alvy (and by extension Woody) is incredibly funny as a morose, death-obsessed comedian. Surrounded by facetious, and, to him, dull people, Alvy suffers from depression. Once again, the Allen film is cathartic, as if Woody is allowing us to feel the pain of loneliness and misery in life (“and it’s over much too quickly” according to him), while seeking the euphorias found in each soul.
The narrative is an idle walk in Central Park; Allen presents flashbacks from the painful moments, exaggerated characters like his Jewish parents and their house underneath a rollercoaster at Coney Isand, and his past relationships. Surrealism and brazen New York intellectualism combine to create what at times works as a lovesong to the tortured writer in all his existential pain, and counteracts this with a dose of humor and fun. A perfect potion, and still one of Allen’s great comedies.
