Woody Allen fans know from Wild Man Blues, the 1997 documentary on his European jazz tour, that both his parents lived deep into their 90s – which, since the man himself turned 75 last week, means we can look forward to at least 15 more Woody Allen films, assuming he remains hale and hearty and maintains his phenomenal work-rate. That work rate is almost unique in world cinema, not just because he’s prolific – others have been more prolific, from Germany’s Rainer Fassbinder to Japan’s Takashi Miike – but because he’s so consistent: one (1) film a year for the past 33 years, with the exception of 1981 when he got unaccountably lazy. Best of all, Mr. Allen’s work ethic means his fans never feel disheartened: if a Woody movie disappoints, don’t be sad. Another one will come along before too long.
You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger disappoints – though only for those who may have hoped for another Vicky Cristina Barcelona, the director’s mini-masterpiece from a couple of years ago. As in Vicky, the new film is a character piece held together by variations on a theme: in Vicky the theme was Art, in Stranger it’s Delusion, specifically Self-Delusion. Roy (Josh Brolin) is a has-been writer who thinks his new book will revive his career, when it obviously won’t. Alfie (Anthony Hopkins) is a septuagenarian who hooks up with a slutty young thing, thinking he still has the energy of a young man – “you’re as old as you feel” – though he patently doesn’t. Above all, Helena (Gemma Jones), Alfie’s ex-wife, feeling depressed since he abandoned her, has taken to consulting a fortune-teller named Cristal – and believes that Cristal has great psychic gifts, unable (or unwilling) to see that Cristal is a charlatan who tells her what she wants to hear.
Linking all these characters is Sally (Naomi Watts), Alfie and Helena’s daughter, who’s married to Roy – and labours under her own delusion, namely that her boss Greg (Antonio Banderas) is madly in love with her. (Admittedly this one’s more forgivable, since they do share a moment after a night at the opera.) Allen’s script makes some deft connections – an artist says that Greg is “so perceptive” after he praises her work, which is exactly what Helena said about Cristal – and juggles all these people smoothly enough. The film rolls along quite watchably; only when it’s over did I feel a sense of emptiness, a lack of resonance, partly because everything is spelled out right on the surface. The ending even wraps it all up in an Author’s Message, spoken by the film’s ubiquitous narrator: “Sometimes illusions work better than medicine”.
That kind of voice-over is a lazy device, of course – an endemic problem in Allen’s recent work, mostly because of the aforementioned work-rate: a 75-year-old man writing one script after another (without even a co-writer to pick up the slack) is going to take some short-cuts, and perhaps not rewrite as much as he should. Some of the dialogue thuds here – a wife telling her husband the sex isn’t working “if we have to use contraception” sounds absurdly formal – and even the better lines seldom rise to the level of wit. Woody’s old gift for one-liners is much-reduced nowadays (sample: “The only acting she’s ever done is faking an orgasm”), and a slackening of energy – the simple fact of growing old – is evident in other ways as well. The theme of an older man drawn to a younger woman has always been a recurring motif in his work (and life), but such relationships were always treated with a kind of wry affection – whereas here, Alfie merely proves that there’s no fool like an old fool.
You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger entertains without amounting to much. Still, I’m not sorry I watched it. A twist near the end – involving a friend in a coma – has the old Allen flair for surreal cosmic jokes. The whole film has a pleasing ambivalence, because of course one man’s self-delusion is another’s quixotic hope or romantic idealism. (It’s funny when Helena starts babbling about past lives, but, you know – what if she’s right?) Above all, Woody – even now – seems to have a knack for relaxing glamorous actresses, getting them in touch with their inner goofball. Scarlett Johansson did a Borscht Belt schtick in Scoop, and Naomi Watts – not the most light-hearted screen persona – gets a wonderful scene in a jewellery shop, trying on diamond earrings, where she seems girlish and mischievous and about 17 years old. It’s not much return on a Woody Allen film, but it’ll do. At least till the next one comes along.
