Manhattan

**In the shadow of “Annie Hall”.** I decided to watch this film last week, after the visit that Woody Allen himself made to my country, with his jazz band and an interesting lecture at the National Cinematheque for invitations only. Despite having seen several of the director's films and not even considering him bad, he always seemed overvalued to me. He won the Oscar for Best Director and was nominated for the award a few times, but after “Annie Hall” he seems to have made several films using the same premise and based, exclusively, on couples with problems. After seeing “Annie Hall”, I found it difficult to watch this film without feeling that Allen was plagiarizing himself and using the same formula to try to achieve the same success. For the intended purpose, it was a success, and it is difficult to find a professional critic who would say that “Manhattan” is poor, a chewed-up copy of a good film that earned Woody Allen the golden statuette. But that's what I feel, and professional critics and Allen fans forgive me, if they can. In the film, Allen almost seems to play himself, in a similar way to what we saw in “Annie Hall” and which also includes, as usual, unorthodox humor and an apparent pleasure in talking about sex. Diane Keaton does a very well done job and is, by far, the best actress here, but even that ends up not being a complete justification for seeing this film instead of others, much better, by the same director. The auxiliary actors don't help much: they want to appear and be part of the project, and that seems to be enough for them. Technically, the film has some points of value: considering this director's musical ear, it doesn't surprise me that the soundtrack is one of the points where Allen wanted to leave a mark of personal taste. And since he is a born New Yorker, it is clear that the film is a labor of love in which we see the affection that Allen has for his homeland, which he is prevented from visiting due to legal issues. Manhattan was lovingly treated, appearing in all its mythical and fascinating splendor, and George Gershwin's music could not be better chosen and more pleasant. All the editing works very well, even if the film is a little slow. There's only one thing I don't understand: why did Allen decide to film in black and white and with so much grain? The question remains unanswered.

Well guess what? It's Woody Allen as "Isaac" - a man facing a series of mid-life crises whilst trying to write a book. He's not the only one. Ex-wife turned lesbian "Jill" (Meryl Streep) is planning on writing her own kiss-and-tell (or more likely a punch-and-tell) whilst still getting her alimony and her attitude isn't gonna change when he starts dating a woman less than half of his age. She is the impressionable "Tracy" (Mariel Hemingway) who is enamoured of her perception of this older man but whom we can quickly establish is going to end up disappointed. That might be because he sees little future in a relationship with a schoolgirl, and so turns his attentions to the journalist "Mary" (Diane Keaton) who just happens to be dallying with his married best pal "Yale" (Michael Murphy). She's a bit aloof and rather full of herself, but he is still determined to pursue - regardless, or perhaps because of the collateral damage this may cause to the relationships. It's all set against the hustle and bustle of an island that has provided him with the basis for his book, but with his personal life something of a maelstrom, will he ever get it written? Will he find love? Essentially I found this to be a beautifully photographed self-indulgence exercise that exposes a selfish and rather flawed human being to an audience without really bothering to get us to care about him. indeed, possibly the only character here worth a nickel is the idealist "Tracy" who is clearly out of her emotional depth from the start. Hemingway really does encapsulate the vulnerabilities and the optimism of the role well but the rest of this is a rather cynical evaluation of a societal obsession with seeking but never actually wanting satisfaction. The accompanying music from George Gershwin brings a classic 1920s feel to the monochrome imagery and the film undoubtedly looks and sounds glorious when we are not being bombarded by a slew of dry verbiage that tries it's hand at entertaining us now and again, but just misses the mark all too often for me. Art imitating life or vice versa? I didn't really care.