Woody Allen's films are like the Italian railway system under
Mussolini--reliable, predictable, on-time and under-budget. Walking
into a Woody Allen movie (every year like clockwork), you can
pretty much rest assured what's going to greet you on the screen.
The main character will be a neurotic New York writer. The loose
plot will involve many and sundry sexual peccadilloes. There will
be plenty of overlapping dialogue and some recycled Borscht Belt
humor. The cast list will include half the actors in Hollywood--all
slumming for the art house crowd before returning to their next
million dollar paycheck. Well fear not, Woody Allen fans, his
latest, Celebrity, is all that and more.
The requisite ensemble cast this time around centers on Lee Simon
(Kenneth Branagh), a neurotic New York writer. It's no secret
that Woody Allen has always cast himself as the protagonist (in
person and personality) in his films. Ever since Allen became
too wizened and Yoda-like to play himself on screen, though, he's
hired a short list of talented actors to perform the task. Branagh
obliges, dropping his Irish accent and adopting a Woody Allen
impression that is as uncanny as it is annoying. Every Allenesque
hem and haw is present in Branagh's flustered delivery.
Also headlining the ensemble is Judy Davis (who, I swear to God,
I thought was Catherine O'Hara the entire movie) as Lee's brittle
ex-wife Robin. Both, it seems, are middle-age crazy. Lee is fed
up with his dead-end career as a magazine writer; he dreams of
writing the great American novel but is peddling a generic action
movie script instead. Robin is bored with her life as a mousy
schoolteacher; she wants to break free of the chains that her
strict upbringing and young marriage forced upon her. Once separated,
the Simons go their separate ways (in more ways than one).
Robin hooks up with a nice-guy TV producer (Joe Mantegna) and
spreads her wings as a small-time TV hostess. Lee fritters his
life away carrying on affairs with a parade of nubile, young babes
(Melanie Griffith, Charlize Theron, Famke Janssen, Winona Ryder).
Why are all these hot prospects throwing themselves at a divorced,
middle-aged, ill-spoken schlub? Let's just say that Woody Allen
has never been good at keeping his fantasies private.
The backdrop for all this melancholy mid-life revelry is the heart
of fame-hungry Manhattan. At least this environment provides Allen
with some fresh meat. The idea is that we (or at least these characters)
live in a world where fame strikes us all sooner or later. Andy
Warhol's tired old axiom is in overdrive thanks to today's media-obsessed
culture. In Allen's world, everyone from your plastic surgeon
to your minister is basking in his 15 minutes, getting interviewed
on "Oprah" and posing for People Magazine.
To drive home the point, Leonardo DiCaprio wanders through as
a bad boy movie star, Charlize Theron appears as a "polysexual"
supermodel and Isaac Mizrahi cameos as a pretentious painter.
Allen does have fun poking holes in the cult and culture of celebrity.
(A daytime talkshow in which skinheads and rabbis mingle nonchalantly
at the backstage snack table waiting for the fireworks to begin
on camera, is sharply funny). ... But, Woody, if you really feel
the need to air your sexual obsessions in public, may I suggest
Penthouse Forum.