Blonde-haired, broken-nosed
Alter-ego loves his jazz
And we smile, cry
I should say right off the bat that I’m not nearly as familiar with Woody Allen’s films as I’d like to be. Like everyone, I’ve seen the staples — Annie Hall, Manhattan, Hannah and Her Sisters — but not much beyond that, certainly not enough to make any claim toward “Woody literacy.” In this case I am practically Woody illiterate! More than a few podcasts and articles I’ve caught in the last few months have seemed to go to great pains trying to place his latest, Midnight in Paris, in the filmmaker’s overall creative spectrum. Better than Vicky Cristina Barcelona? Not quite Zelig? (The guy’s made something like three movies a year for the last four decades, so the rearranging here is obviously hard.) I’m not the person to tell you, the Woody expert, where this one fits. But what I CAN tell you is that short of re-watching Toy Story 3, it’s probably the most satisfying movie you’ll see this summer.
Henning
smpage
Lifting Fog 