Woody Allen’s MELINDA and MELINDA
The conversation is a high-minded debate over the nature of tragedy and comedy. And no one comes in and shoots everybody in the head with an automatic weapon. You’ve let me down AGAIN, Mr. Allen.
Woody Allen made another movie. He’s not in this one! In fact, the casting move which I could see (whether or not it has been admitted or even took place), was the first thing Woody Allen has done right since 1977 – except for the time when he married his daughter.
MELINDA and MELINDA is a cinematic debate between the tragic and the comedic. The story is told both ways. I hope I didn’t ruin the surprise, but surprises that gimmicky shouldn’t even throw down in the first place (nice to see one of the titans of American Cinema – justified or not – reverting to gimmicks).
I went to this film expecting to make jokes like “I didn’t know you could release the same film for thirty years and keep getting paid for it”, and “how are we able to have so many art house New York pseudo-intellects and a military in the same country simultaneously?” and “isn’t Woody Allen a stupid idiot?” – that last might not be a joke in the strict sense.
All of those jokes are still valid. And so much so. But Woody Allen has raised a really interesting point. I’ve been thinking a lot about life, and whether it is an inherently tragic or comedic experience. I’m going to use the rest of my space to debate that point.
Just kidding. I would never do that. Not in a sh*tty movie review (there’s a time and a place for everything), not in a book (my Ph.D. in Philosophy from that company that advertises during daytime television is in the mail, I think), and certainly not on film (because if I wrote two versions of the same movie, I wouldn’t mix them to get praised for resurrecting my career, I’d just pick the one I liked better and deal with the mediocrity of my existence).
Though I would never do that, it seems Mr. Allen has done so, and, justified or not, he has disqualified his film from any sort of rational discussion of any kind. Why? Because I get to write the review and that kind of sh*t really puts me off. So let’s pay a few compliments to Woody Allen (just in case I get famous and get to meet him. He seems really cool and I’d love to have a glass of wine with him in an impossibly chic French bistro on the Lower East Side).
1. The choice to cast Will Ferrell in the part that I am sure he wrote for himself was nothing short of brilliant. Will Ferrell got into this project for some reason (he’s overall so brilliant that I’m willing to allow him to do whatever he wants with no questions asked. Isn’t that how despots are born?), and he f*cking killed it.
To walk into a project with Woody Allen, knowing deep in your heart that you are playing the part that he wanted for himself, and doing it your way instead of his (and RIGHT), is absolutely courageous.
That’s like bringing a guy’s Ex to his party and making out with her right in front of him as he changes CDs. Will Ferrell is an extraordinary soul and you should treat him with reverence at all times and in all locations (even if he’s making out with your Ex at a party you threw while you put in a CD you think she will like).
2. You’ve got to respect a man that has used the same credits for every movie he’s ever made over a very long and busy thirty-year career. That’s confidence.
3. ANNIE HALL (1977) is one of the greatest comedies of all time.
4. In spite of the fact that I never enjoy his movies (except for ANNIE HALL), I keep trying to watch them. You have a pretty strong power over someone if this happens – especially if you don’t use nudity a lot.
5. To rely exclusively on the beauty of the written word and the human mind in an image-soaked industry like cinema is brave, and perhaps necessary to keep the torch burning for others that can do it in a more, ummmâÂ?¦, contemporary manner (see: Wes Anderson – and actually see him).
I think five compliments is sufficient to make up for a perhaps unkind (though completely non-specific) review. Don’t you?
