The nebbish persona of Woody Allen's early 1960s stand-up shtick proved to be the springboard that took this most unlikely New York neurotic into a serious career as a leading auteur of international cinema. In his first film, "What's New, Pussycat?"...
[more]The nebbish persona of Woody Allen's early 1960s stand-up shtick proved to be the springboard that took this most unlikely New York neurotic into a serious career as a leading auteur of international cinema. In his first film, "What's New, Pussycat?" which he wrote and acted in, Allen presented the insecure, nervous, and self-absorbed character that would form the center of all his comedies and give rise to his tragedies. In 1969, he made his directorial debut with "Take the Money and Run," a parody of the crime-caper film. Several white-hot successes followed as Allen transported his comedic alter ego to the future, to a South American dictatorship, and to Tolstoy's Russia.
Eventually Allen's work matured, and he came home, setting his films in the milieu of New York's Upper West Side. As he graduated to a multilayered examination of relationships and morality, his cinematic vision turned bleak. He indulged in ruminations on life and death a la Bergman, his aesthetic mentor. Finally, a sophisticated balance emerged in movies such as "Annie Hall" (1977) and "Manhattan" (1979), which intermingled comedy with serious psychological questions.
In 1992, after a long-term love affair with actress Mia Farrow, whom he featured in 11 films, Allen was slapped with accusations of incest involving Farrow's adopted daughter Soon-Yi Previn. Though cleared of any sexual misconduct, Allen was permanently tainted by the scandal. His latest work seems to rip the headlines out of his own press releases. In 1994's "Bullets Over Broadway," Allen rallied back with a cheerful message: all's well that ends well. His next effort, "Mighty Aphrodite," dealt jokingly with adoption and betrayal, while 1996's "Everyone Says I Love You," Allen's first musical, charted new thematic ground as a gala of good-natured neurotic hijinks.
"Deconstructing Harry," however, returned to Allen's now-familiar dark heart of self-loathing. In 1998, he stayed on this familiar course with "Celebrity," which follows the lives of two divorced New Yorkers. Here, Allen is hot on the heels of every failed communication, doggedly probing the causes of urban angst. Who else could give us such a cynical tour of our tabloid culture or psychoanalyze us with such deft wit?
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