Wonder Wheel

WONDER WHEEL               D                           
USA  (101 mi)  2017 d:  Woody Allen                 Wonderwheelmovie - Official site

Wow!  What an epic misfire.  Most have probably never seen a Woody Allen film that falls this far off the rails, unfunny and unchallenging, on the wrong footing from the very start, as it feels completely miscast, where viewers recognize the neurotic voice of Woody Allen in the narration, but don’t associate those words and thoughts with any of these actors, as the dialogue is simply not interchangeable.  Allen speaks with a pronounced ethnic Jewishness, which has always been a reference point in his films, but here the constant nagging tone is all wrong, as its Borscht Belt humor is carried out by Gentile actors, where the result is simply not the same, as the actors go through the motions but lack any hint of comedy or vaudeville humor, turning this into an agonizing dramatic misadventure with pretensions to Tennessee Williams or Eugene O’Neill, the great American playwrights, but without the depth and complexity, falling enormously short.  Framed as a Eugene O’Neill dysfunctional family set in the 50’s, where everything that can go wrong does, set entirely within the raucous confines of an overcrowded Coney Island amusement park, even the living quarters, intermixed with elements of A Streetcar Named Desire (1951), a spinoff apparently from 2013 Top Ten List #7 Blue Jasmine, it features an ongoing narration by a family outsider, Justin Timberlake as Mickey (normally a decent actor, but he’s all wrong as the voice of Woody Allen), an aspiring playwright who also works as a Coney Island lifeguard, who never once is seen rescuing a swimmer in distress.  Instead he intervenes in places where he shouldn’t, basically playing the field, fostering the hopes and dreams of two very different women.  First is Ginny (Kate Winslet), an emotionally-charged older waitess in an oyster bar who finds herself lost in a Blanche Dubois delirium, continually going on emotionally distraught monologues complaining of migraines and overwork, where her every last nerve is being tested.  She is a former actress whose career was derailed by a momentary lapse of judgement when she cheated on her husband, an anonymous jazz drummer who consequently left her, forever blaming herself for that mistake, sending her on an alcohol-fueled bender, leaving her with an emotionally damaged son (Jack Gore as Richie) who is clearly affected by his father’s absence, turning into a serial pyromaniac, lighting fires whenever the feeling hits him, which happens to be several times a day.  Finding a fellow alcoholic on the rebound, Ginny re-marries her current husband, a blue-collar carousel operator named Humpty, Jim Belushi, who spends the entire film doing his best Stanley Kowalski impression.  Into their lives walks Carolina (Juno Temple), the second woman, Humpty’s long-lost daughter who got herself involved with a dreamy young mob gangster with pockets full of cash, actually spilling the beans to the feds, where she’s now on the run with the mob looking for her, with shades of Mia Farrow in Broadway Danny Rose (1984).  This is a film where the sins of the parents are handed down to their own children, each an emotional basket case of frazzled nerve endings.

There isn’t a single likable character in this film, much of which is ugly and overwrought, delving into the ongoing personal insecurities and fears of people with barely enough money to scrape by, who constantly harp at one another for the choices they make, as they’re stuck in a rut that they can’t get out of, mostly feeling like caged animals.  Ginny is a whirlwind of fluctuating moods, much of it delusional, where she constantly thinks of no one but herself, growing hysterical when she thinks it’s all too much, with a claustrophobic world closing in on her, giving her no room to breathe, where she hasn’t an ounce of so-called freedom, literally suffocating before our eyes.  Humpty is a loud and blustery character who’s little more than a blowhard, all bark and no bite, that is since Ginny has removed alcohol from his daily regimen, keeping him off the sauce, as he grows brutally violent when drunk, though when times get rough, she takes a swig from a bottle she keeps hidden underneath the sink.  Timberlake’s confessional, on-going narration couldn’t be more off-putting, as it’s completely out of synch with the rest of the picture, where he’s more of a con man than he lets on, always shrouded in innocence, yet he’s a snake in the grass, never being honest with the audience, where the entire film feels like a rationalization for womanizing, yet he’s constantly being judgmental towards others without ever pointing the finger at himself.  At the center of the film is Ginny’s guilt, as she’s forever blaming herself for the pit she’s fallen into, stuck like a trapped insect, unable to pull her way out, as her husband has no ambition, leaving her having to pull the entire weight.  That heavy burden is constantly hovering over her, like a dark cloud, relentless and debilitating, as she’s been sucked into a life she hates, where everyone in it literally disgusts her, including herself, where her son’s constant obsession with setting fires is actually more of an irritation, as she never comes to grips with it, but simply blames him each and every time, having yet another panic attack.  For his part, Richie is cool with all the attention it provides, never fearing the consequences of getting caught, thinking so what, as it doesn’t hinder his actions, simply doing what he wants whenever he wants, with no interference.  From Ginny’s point of view, this is total bliss, as it’s unlimited freedom, exactly what’s missing in her overly constricted life, where she’s suffocating and can’t breathe, drowning in a life of squalor with a man she probably doesn’t even like, much less respect, but she sticks around as he rescued her from her prior emotional downfall.   

With a constantly repetitive jazz retro soundtrack that continuously plays the same song on repeat, feeling like a recurring headache after a while, the film is shot by veteran cinematographer Vittorio Storaro, who creates a mosaic of constantly shifting light and color, especially faces, where a palette of artificiality bathes the screen throughout.  Enter Mickey, who offers Ginny a doorway out, having an affair that couldn’t come at a better time, where she goes all in, like water gushing out of a broken dam, becoming an unstoppable force.  While liking the attention of an older woman and all the associating drama, which he thinks will be excellent material for his plays, Mickey remains more coy about his motives, taking it slower, enjoying the ride, not turning it into such a big deal, which is what she does at every opportunity, constantly reminding him, where he’s her lifeline to a way out.  But Carolina’s youth and good looks complicate the status quo, perking up his antennae, as she’s not like other girls in the neighborhood, having traveled around the world in luxury and style, literally blowing him away, falling for her in spite of himself.  Knowing how this would crush Jenny, he does it anyway, even if it goes against all rationale of good sense, as Carolina is the forbidden fruit.  Of course he does this behind Ginny’s back, never letting on, pretending like nothing’s happening when he knows full well there’s a spark, which changes the dynamic with Ginny, who knows something’s up, but Mickey turns into another good-for-nothing man who deceives her, unable to trust the whole lot of them, turning against all men in the process, spiraling even more out of control, taking refuge in the bottle, with Humpty eventually joining in, becoming the picture of a pathetic drama without an ounce of humanity on display, where instead it’s all bluster.  The male characters are deplorable, every one a sleaze, while the women at least fare better in their scenes together, but in the end Allen’s grim and overly fatalistic view taints all.  With mob heavies Tony Sirico and Steven Schirripa from The Sopranos on Carolina’s tail, she is dangerous merchandise, making her all the more enticing to a young unattached male like Mickey, who seems to have his own issues with illusions, where he’s like a deer in the headlights, hypnotized by her allure, unable to help himself, striking while the iron is hot.  The stage is set for a final showdown with Ginny, but like Blanche, she’s already lost in the cobwebs of her own delusions, barely recognizable as a person, losing every last trace of her dignity, where it all derails into a tailspin of unfiltered torment, each little bit only adding to the collective hell of having to endure more, wiping out any hint of reality, where all that’s left is a waking nightmare that never ends, where she can’t ever wake up, stuck in an endless Sisyphean death spiral of human misery and suffocation, becoming all-consuming, like a fever dream.  Lost in the haze, the film is back where it starts, mired in that sinking feeling of utter futility.  Spare us the drama, Woody, as behind the curtain, nothing is real.  

Café Society

CAFÉ SOCIETY       B-            
USA  (96 mi)  2016  d:  Woody Allen                Official site [France]

While Woody Allen has traveled the world making films, taking his talents to London, Barcelona, Paris, and Rome after earlier affirming his existence in his hometown of New York, this is his first venture into the glamorous world of Hollywood on the West Coast, previously foreign territory for this director and a place he adamantly refuses to visit when they’re handing out Academy Awards.  Appropriately, he bathes this venture in a golden hue of the past, featuring the exploits of cinematographer extraordinaire Vittorio Storaro, notable for the ravishing look of The Conformist (Il Conformista)  (1970) and APOCALYPSE NOW (1979), though shot digitally this time, creating a nostalgic tribute to a golden era of Hollywood, much as he did to Paris in Midnight in Paris (2011).  Marking the third time an Allen film has opened the Cannes Film Festival, the event was met with an article penned by Allen’s own son Ronan Farrow (though some believe Frank Sinatra may be his biological father) in The Hollywood Reporter, May 11, 2016 (My Father, Woody Allen, and the Danger of Questions Unasked (Guest ...) reminding the world about the lingering sex abuse allegations made by his sister Dylan, claiming Allen molested her in 1992 when she was just seven years old, damning accusations that should appall the world, charges that Allen has vehemently denied, yet somehow he remains free to pursue his own interests as criminal charges were never filed due to the fragile state of the victim who remained traumatized afterwards.  Dylan revived her accusations in a letter to the New York Times February 1, 2014 (An Open Letter From Dylan Farrow - The New York Times), which was followed by a strong rebuke by Allen a week later, Woody Allen Speaks Out - The New York Times, and a summation of the charges in an article by Maureen Orth in Vanity Fair, February 7, 2014 (10 Undeniable Facts About the Woody Allen Sexual-Abuse Allegation ...).  While there may never be a resolution to this matter, it leaves behind a moral stain that will always be associated with this director, where some refuse to see his films, as evidenced by this Melissa Silverstein article written for The Guardian, May 12, 2016 (Why I won't be seeing Woody Allen's new film | Melissa Silverstein ...).  Actors working with Allen have to come to terms with this issue when deciding whether or not to work with him, as Rosie O’Donnell for one has refused to work with him, though she was the initial choice for the lead in SWEET AND LOWDOWN (1999), yet so far, he has always had the cream of the crop at his disposal, with premiere artists literally flocking to work with him.  Nonetheless, this murky past figures prominently in each and every Allen film, especially when the films themselves push the boundaries on moral transgressions, perhaps inadvertently exaggerating the nature of the offense, creating extremely uncomfortable moments for the audience that exist with no other director.  How ironic, then, that Allen is a comedy writer, as there is an underlying element of personal tragedy linked throughout all his works that might more accurately be described as Greek tragedy. 

Another mixture of comedy and pathos, Allen himself at age 80 voices the inner narration heard throughout, the first instance since RADIO DAYS (1987), though he’s not immediately recognizable, as one of the weaknesses of the film is the hollow sound quality of the narration itself which sounds as if recorded in a tunnel.  Nonetheless, it’s always a pleasant experience to hear Allen voicing his own films, and not just have various characters essentially assume his voice, as the autobiographical description reflects his singular wit and humor, especially as he introduces new characters in the film.  Opening in the Bronx during the 1930’s, the exact circumstances of Allen’s own birth, accompanied by the upbeat jazz riffs of Vince Giordano’s The Lady is a Tramp - YouTube (3:50) and Benny Goodman’s I Didn't Know What Time It Was - Benny Goodman - YouTube (3:19), one would have no recollection that we’re right in the middle of the Depression as Bobby Dorfman (Jesse Eisenberg) grows weary of his bickering parents, as he’s fed up working at his father’s jewelry store and leery of going into business with his older brother Ben (Corey Stoll), a rumored gangster who always brings home a fistful of cash, whose trigger happy inclinations serve as comic relief, while his constantly complaining sister Evelyn (Sari Lennick) is already married off to Leonard (Stephen Kunken), a serious-minded, professorial New York Communist Jew.  Naïve and optimistic, yet wanting more out of life, he seeks the big dreams of Hollywood, where his mother Rose, Jeannie Berlin, daughter of Elaine May and so powerful in Margaret (2011), calls in a favor from her Hollywood hotshot brother Phil (Steve Carell, originally slated to be Bruce Willis, but he was quickly fired), a hugely successful agent to the stars (who never utters a sentence without namedropping an A-list celebrity), hoping he can find Bobby a job.  Amusingly, Phil surrounds himself with luxury, constantly traveling and attending swanky parties, remaining so tied up with work that Bobby continually gets the brush off, as it’s literally weeks before he can even get an appointment.  When he does, the office is so huge that families of ten could live inside it, suggesting his ego is even more inflated.  Taking him under his wing, he introduces Bobby to his secretary Vonnie (Kristen Stewart) and instructs her to show him around town, turning this into a period costume drama bathed in a continuous stream of jazz music.  Noticeably brighter from the constant sunshine, the mood of the film elevates as well, as the two kids aren’t particularly impressed by the wretched display of extravagant wealth in Beverly Hills, preferring instead each other’s company where the is an ease and non-pretentious air about their developing friendship, much as there was when working together in Adventureland  (2009), exhibiting a screwball style of comedy, though she acknowledges already having a boyfriend.  When Phil throws one of those extravagant Hollywood parties at his home, viewed as a mansion among rows of other mansions, Bobby meets some fellow New Yorkers, Rad Taylor (Parker Posey, bubbly as ever), who runs a bi-coastal modeling agency and her husband Steve (Paul Schneider), quickly becoming fast friends.  

While watching movies at Grauman’s Chinese Theater like Barbara Stanwyck in THE WOMAN IN RED (1935) or running to the beach in Santa Monica, Bobby can’t get enough of Vonnie (short for Veronica), falling head over heels, though he’s something of a klutz, while she clings to her longstanding relationship that is a soap opera in itself, remaining so secretive that Bobby hasn’t a clue, exposing a bizarre love triangle where a nephew is competing against his uncle for the same girl, with Uncle Phil promising to leave his wife, but backs down at the last moment, opening the door for Bobby who dreams of swooping her back to New York, thinking they can live in the Village and start life anew.  Riding a rollercoaster of mood shifts and changing allegiances, the gist of it is Phil ultimately changes his mind, leaving Bobby heartbroken when Vonnie chooses him, like it initially plays out in Billy Wilder’s The Apartment (1960) with Shirley MacLaine running away with her boss on New Year’s Eve, similarly referenced here in the final scene.  Limping back to New York with his tail between his legs, he goes into the nightclub business with his brother Ben, who clears any competitors out of the way in ruthless fashion, burying bodies in wet cement, paving the way for an upscale afterhours club called Café Society, a hangout for the rich and famous, including politicians and gangsters, where Bobby schmoozes with the customers while behind the scenes Ben handles the money.  Bobby thrives in this environment with his nervous chattiness, allowed to wallow in his misery while continually meeting new people, with Rad introducing him to a lovely New York socialite, none other than Blake Lively as Veronica (sharing his lost love’s name), a well grounded, beautiful girl who becomes his new companion, eventually marrying her and starting a family together.  What’s perhaps obvious is that no real sparks fly between Bobby and Veronica, while the same can be said for Phil and Vonnie, which is perhaps the point, suggesting they are mismatched lovers tossed a curveball by the winds of fate.  So it shouldn’t come as any surprise when Phil and Vonnie walk through the doors of the club, having traveled around the world in luxury, yet all they can talk about is themselves, becoming the picture of a prestigious upper class, suggesting people change with age, embracing all that she used to ridicule, where the couple’s emptiness and inherent phoniness is completely exposed.  When Vonnie finally has some free time, she spends it with Bobby, reigniting feelings they each felt had passed them by, taking a carriage ride through Central Park that ends with a kiss, with Allen recreating that iconic shot of the Queensboro Bridge in MANHATTAN (1979), New York Architecture Images-Queensboro Bridge, this time without the rhapsodic Gershwin musical score, where if anything, it feels deflating—right place, wrong time.  Like ships passing in the night, they each go their separate ways, only to dwell on their regrets about the one that got away in a poignant final sequence.  As she did in 2014 Top Ten List #3 Clouds of Sils Maria, Kristen Stewart excels throughout by underplaying her character, radiantly lit in each shot, showing a complexity of character, always leaving the audience wanting more, while others are underutilized (Lively), feel miscast (Carell), or don’t really stand out (Eisenberg), yet the concept of Ben the Jewish hit man *is* truly priceless, eventually arrested and given the electric chair, converting to Christianity at the last moment, as unlike Judaism they offer an afterlife, posing the toughest question of all for his Jewish mother, like “Sophie’s Choice,” asking which is worse, his execution or his conversion to Christianity?  While there are zany moments, with Allen hilarious in spots, where his narration especially is greatly appreciated, adding brief insights into Jewish family life, but outside of Stewart’s performance, this is yet another Allen venture that continues to be set in the upper bourgeois world of the wealthy, like a return to Great Gatsby territory, where only the down-to-earth characters ring true.   

Of special note, this is the first Woody Allen film, other than LOVE AND DEATH (1975), without co-executive producer Jack Rollins, the legendary talent agent of Lenny Bruce, Nichols and May, Billy Crystal, Robin Williams, Joan Rivers, David Letterman, and longtime manager of Allen for over 45 years, who continued to list him in his film credits even after he retired, but he passed away last year at the age of 100.