So it’s understandably jarring to see Woody Allen, the quintessential New York snob, playing a pony-tail sporting Los Angeleno perfectly comfortable with the emptiness of his existence. That ponytail goes a long way toward negating the fundamental Woody-ness of Allen’s being, yet Woody remains Woody no matter how incongruous the setting. Mazursky has Allen’s character do things the real and reel Allen would never do. He buys Italian suits. He totes around a surfboard. He listens to music made after World War II. He says things like “Christ, where’s my fucking Saab?!” He seems comfortable in a mall. He goes hours without referencing Kierkegaard or Camus. Most shockingly, he has sex with a Jewish woman roughly his own age.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
I discovered a running feature on the Onion A.V. Club called "My Year of Flops". In this series, movie reviewer Nathan Rabin has been recounting in great detail some of the worst Hollywood films ever made. The following is an excerpt from his review of Scenes From a Mall: