Woody, are you kidding me?
OK, it's 3:30 a.m., an hour only fit for 18 year olds in love, ER nurses, and brand new mothers. Yet here I am, none of these, blogging about a wildly overrated movie from 2005. Why? Because I am watching cable, and I have the worst cold in the history of illness.
Let's just get right to my thesis here: how exactly did Woody Allen manage to turn a profit on making the same film twice? After much desperate searching for a movie free of a) creepy sex scenes or b) women being killed, I ironically settled on Match Point to keep me from angrily obsessing on my dry, hacking cough that will never, ever go away, ever. Hearing that Match Point was some sort of "Woody Allen comeback" and all, I thought I could just roll my eyes through the Woody Allen font in the title sequence, and the thought-provoking crackly victrola tunes and all to at least possibly see something not too irritating or violent as I sat stewing in the dark, surrounded by kleenex, blankets and my everpresent companion, the needling, incessant, raw-throated cough, as it stole hours upon hours of sleep from my life.
Well, OK. Creepy sex scenes and murder came along somewhere in the seemingly endless running time of 124 minutes despite my best intentions; Alice, this was not. But that wasn't even the worst part, no sir. If I am not mistaken, this peice of cinematic crap got some sort of Oscar nomination (for Best Film Lifted Wholesale From Other Film By Same Director, I can only assume). This clown even called it "Allen's finest movie since Manhattan." Now, I am not a Woody Allen fan. He is completely indulged by Hollywood and allowed to release torrents of films on the moviegoing public year after year that reflect some sort of musty, stylized hothouse flower New York candy land that no human has ever experienced, and we are expected to consider them great when they are about as relatable and relevant as your great grandpa's spats. OK, what was that about spats? It's 4:00 a.m. people, and I'm coughing, and I'm pissed.
But at least you could rightly expect each of his movies to be vaguely unique. Right? As in, not blatantly and totally lifted, character, moral, and plot point, from something he already did? Did he really think he could just wait a decade and then dust off Crimes and Misdemeanors, recast it with the latest tinseltown man bait, and then kick back while the greenbacks rolled in? Isn't that Joel Shumacher's job?
I'm starting to think Woody Allen actually may have killed a woman, and is trying to let us know via repeated cinematic confessions, complete with identical operatic soundtracks and oblivious, tittering rich people in linen pantsuits. It's OK, Woody. No one seems bothered by your other morally suspect activities, so consider yourself above the law. But for god's sake, I don't want to see this damned movie again in 2016.
Let's just get right to my thesis here: how exactly did Woody Allen manage to turn a profit on making the same film twice? After much desperate searching for a movie free of a) creepy sex scenes or b) women being killed, I ironically settled on Match Point to keep me from angrily obsessing on my dry, hacking cough that will never, ever go away, ever. Hearing that Match Point was some sort of "Woody Allen comeback" and all, I thought I could just roll my eyes through the Woody Allen font in the title sequence, and the thought-provoking crackly victrola tunes and all to at least possibly see something not too irritating or violent as I sat stewing in the dark, surrounded by kleenex, blankets and my everpresent companion, the needling, incessant, raw-throated cough, as it stole hours upon hours of sleep from my life.
Well, OK. Creepy sex scenes and murder came along somewhere in the seemingly endless running time of 124 minutes despite my best intentions; Alice, this was not. But that wasn't even the worst part, no sir. If I am not mistaken, this peice of cinematic crap got some sort of Oscar nomination (for Best Film Lifted Wholesale From Other Film By Same Director, I can only assume). This clown even called it "Allen's finest movie since Manhattan." Now, I am not a Woody Allen fan. He is completely indulged by Hollywood and allowed to release torrents of films on the moviegoing public year after year that reflect some sort of musty, stylized hothouse flower New York candy land that no human has ever experienced, and we are expected to consider them great when they are about as relatable and relevant as your great grandpa's spats. OK, what was that about spats? It's 4:00 a.m. people, and I'm coughing, and I'm pissed.
But at least you could rightly expect each of his movies to be vaguely unique. Right? As in, not blatantly and totally lifted, character, moral, and plot point, from something he already did? Did he really think he could just wait a decade and then dust off Crimes and Misdemeanors, recast it with the latest tinseltown man bait, and then kick back while the greenbacks rolled in? Isn't that Joel Shumacher's job?
I'm starting to think Woody Allen actually may have killed a woman, and is trying to let us know via repeated cinematic confessions, complete with identical operatic soundtracks and oblivious, tittering rich people in linen pantsuits. It's OK, Woody. No one seems bothered by your other morally suspect activities, so consider yourself above the law. But for god's sake, I don't want to see this damned movie again in 2016.
posted by Strikethru at
3:16 AM
1 Comments:
You are so right about Match Point. Every few years the critics get all excited about some new Woody Allen movie and claim it is the big comeback everyone has been waiting for. "Woody's back!" they say, or "this is Allen's best since Annie Hall!" I have been falling for this for years.
After Match Point, though, I think I've finally learned my lesson. I actually would have felt less ripped off if they had just re-released Crimes & Misdemeanors and promoted it as a new movie.
I hope your cough finally went away.
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