Short Take: Annie Hall

With Annie Hall, writer-director Woody Allen moved away from the fanciful, parodistic mode of his earlier films. He embraced a far more naturalistic approach, with the humor becoming richer, and the material taking on a far greater gravitas. But as strong as the best of his subsequent work was, it was all in the shadow of this pivotal effort. It is probably best described as a comic romance. A New York stand-up comedian (played by Allen) reflects on his life. He touches on his childhood, his Jewish upbringing, and his two failed marriages. But what preoccupies him the most is his up-and-down relationship with the title character (Diane Keaton), an aspiring singer from the Midwest. The story of their affair is a lovely showcase for some of Allen's best observational humor and incidental jokes. The mundane, even homely aspects of a romantic relationship have never been made funnier. Allen's onscreen persona, a nebbishy urban neurotic, is realized with such wit that the portrayal seems like a template for the similar characters in his other films, which can only hope to approximate it. And then there's Diane Keaton. She's charming and hilarious when the relationship begins, but she also lets one see the ditsy, self-deprecating behavior is a mask the character uses to put others at ease. There's a willful, at times cynical woman underneath. It's a rich, rounded characterization, and deservedly Keaton's signature role. The cast also includes Tony Roberts, Paul Simon, and Carol Kane. Allen cowrote the screenplay with Marshall Brickman. There's speculation, sometimes assumed as fact, that the film is a semi-autobiographical treatment of Allen and Keaton's real-life romantic relationship in the early 1970s. Allen denies this, and the known facts of the two's lives bear him out.

Short Take: Andy Warhol's Bad

This review was originally published on Pol Culture.

The 1977 film Andy Warhol’s Bad, directed by Jed Johnson, is a cult movie in the worst sense of the term. Like many so-called cult pictures, it’s a broad social satire, punctuated by moments of grotesque violence, that congratulates itself for its quirky outrageousness from the first frame to the last. The script, credited to Pat Hackett and George Abagnalo, centers on a middle-aged New York grandmother (Carroll Baker) who runs a hair-removal business out of her kitchen. It’s not enough to make ends meet, so she also manages a team of hit women who specialize in taking out pets and unwanted children. A hunky layabout (Perry King) joins up and spends his time getting to know them while waiting for orders on a job. The film chortles over how appalling the various characters are, and the only consistent moral voice is the grandmother’s insufferably whiny daughter-in-law (Susan Tyrrell). It's quite a freak show. The most obscene moment is when a young mother, tired of waiting for the hit woman to arrive, throws her baby out the window of her high-rise apartment. The sensibility at play is a smirky, adolescent misanthropy. It’s the sort of thing a smart-alecky teenage boy might think was brilliant satire. The film was the last one produced under Andy Warhol’s aegis.

Short Take: The American Friend

This review was originally published on Pol Culture.

The scenes of The American Friend, German director Wim Wenders’ 1977 adaptation of the Patricia Highsmith novel Ripley’s Game, almost always take place at either dusk or dawn. It’s a fine visual analogue for the predicaments of the main character (Bruno Ganz), a hapless German family man whom gangsters recruit as an assassin. Wracked by conscience no matter what he does, he’s caught in the tension between the light of good and the darkness of evil. Wenders, working with the outstanding cinematographer Robby Müller, is ingenious when it comes to such poetic visual glosses on the story. He and Müller also make terrific use of the film’s locations--including Hamburg, Paris, and Manhattan--which are strikingly atmospheric without ever seeming glamorous. What Wenders doesn’t have is a feel for the melodramatic suspense necessary for good pulp storytelling. The film is absorbing, and the strong performance by Ganz catches one up in his character, but it’s ultimately a thriller without thrills. If one is looking for an exciting narrative, one is far better served by Highsmith’s novel. Dennis Hopper co-stars as Ripley, the shady American art dealer who manipulates the Ganz character into murder. One has mixed feelings about his portrayal. Highsmith’s character is a clean-cut, charming sociopath with a taste for the good life. The film’s Ripley is a creepy, uncouth looney-tune. The characterization isn’t at odds with Wenders’ conception of the story, and one is grateful that Hopper shows some restraint. The performance is a good deal removed from the psycho schtick he devolved into later in his career. But the amoral enjoyment to be had from Highsmith’s character isn’t to be found. Lisa Kreuzer plays the Ganz character’s fretful wife. Several directors appear in supporting roles, including Nicholas Ray, Samuel Fuller, and Gérard Blain.