Woody Allen in print-NAY
Woody Allen is like the crazy great uncle I visit once a year during
summer and winter holidays, always ready with a new twist on the same
story he has been telling since I was a kid. I look forward to his
films, typically released during either season, with no new
expectations but with high anticipation nevertheless.
To make a far more sweeping affirmation, he is the godfather of
modern neuroticism, and his most loyal capos don’t care that he has
been ordering hits on the same topics - art, religion, sexuality,
psychology and NYC intellectuals - his entire career.
Last summer, Random House simultaneously published separate
collections of Uncle Woody/Don Allen’s prose pieces and long-form
essays - The Insanity Defense and Mere Anarchy, respectively - none
of which were adapted for the big screen.
Turns out his formulated ramblings, always acerbically comforting
like overspiked egg nog or sangria, are far more entertaining in
person than through the grapevine. Despite being, first and foremost,
a very prolific writer (at least one film a year for thirty years),
his words resonate better onscreen than on the page.
The selections in both books were all previously published, mostly in
The New Yorker, and are indeed unfailingly funny and gripping. The
Insanity Defense highlights Allen’s short works, including a
fictional deceased writer’s laundry list (”The Metterling Lists,”
1969) and an ardently ruthless lampoon of intellectualism (”The Whore
of Mensa,” 1974), probably the most inherently prevalent theme of
Allen’s oeuvre.
in Mere Anarchy, which comprises 18 of his longer essays, the reader
has a broader glance at Allen the person, especially in post-legend
pieces like “On a Bad Day You Can See Forever” (2000, The New Yorker)
about the trials renovating an Upper West Side townhouse. This piece
left me longing for a comprehensive memoir.
But in the end, these collections (which could have easily been
consolidated into one binding) are better suited for those unfamiliar
with Allen’s work. For the die-hards, its all the same musings and
rants, meticulously conceived as they may be, and you are left
imagining what his characters would look like in real life. We have
seen them all anyway, somewhere in Allen’s film canon.
At 72, Allen’s vision is darkening, and his recent film work,
thematically rife with crime, uncertainty and severity, suggests a
fundamental shift in his considerable world view. Skip the diary
retrospective and see Cassandra’s Dream instead.
Tyler.
