Plot intro
Insecure, neurotic, snobbish comedian Alvy Singer (Woody Allen) and cheery, happy-go-lucky Annie Hall (Diane Keaton) fall in love and have a relationship. But it rapidly comes to light that they are basically flogging a dead horse.
Ah Woody Allen, that old chestnut again. With such serious allegations persisting against him, it’s akin to watching a Kevin Spacey film in that it becomes incredibly hard to separate art and artist - because he’s on the screen the whole time. If it’s a film he’s only directed, it’s easier to forget his involvement because he’s not there acting away in front of you. It’s this that makes me think watching Cate Blanchett in his film Blue Jasmine (in a few decades time) will be that bit more easy as he didn’t star in it.
I’m not quite sure why Keaton won for this film. She’s naturalistic, sure, and a breath of fresh air in terms of quick, realistic line-delivery, but with Faye Dunaway’s win the previous year still lurking in the memory, Keaton doesn’t seem to do anything nearly as exceptional here. She’s likeable and a bit neurotic and there’s some great laughs (particularly when she’s driving the car badly while shouting “I’m a terrific driver”), but ultimately although she’s the title character, the film is about Alvy’s view of Annie, and his own neurotic approach to dating.
The film does have that sense of innovation around it, with plenty of experimental techniques thrown in - subtitles that reveal what the characters really think about them, ghostly selves that appear during sex to show how removed they are - even an odd moment of Disney-esque animation. And while this keeps it feeling newer, a lot of the humour has dated in it and doesn’t come anywhere near raising a laugh.
I also think that the film smacks of misogyny and male ego. There are so many points where we are invited to laugh at the female characters not understanding Alvy’s jokes. Shelley Duvall, in a brief couple of scenes, comes across as airheaded and faddish, and it’s a view that seems to be applied to most (if not all) women in the film. Allen does show Alvy up to be unlikeable too, but he’s always cleverer and quicker with his words. Women, in this film at least, appear highly superficial.
Back to Keaton - there are some odd moments when she sings and I can’t work out if these are meant to be spellbinding. However Keaton doesn’t have the best voice, so it all drags a bit. Ultimately she does a nice job on the role, but I think it’s purely a sign of how trendy a character Annie is that Keaton won. There doesn’t feel like much innovation or excellence on display.
At the very end of the film, Alvy and Annie meet again, with different partners. It’s a wide angle shot so you can’t see any faces or details, but IMDb reliably informs us that Alvy’s new partner is played by none other than Sigourney Weaver in her first film appearance. Together with Jeff Goldblum’s cameo in a party scene and Carol Kane’s short scenes at the start, this is a veritable who’s who of not-yet-famous names.
The humour that may have had people rolling in the aisles is entirely dated and has almost completely dissipated. There were so many jokes and punchlines that didn’t even raise a smile from me. A product of its time.
Mark
4/10
This is our second viewing of Annie Hall after reviewing it for our Best Pictures project and I think I’m coming into it with a slightly (very slightly!) more favourable perspective than Doug. Yes, it’s Woody Allen, a problematic film-maker with an evidently dysfunctional family life. This does leave a sour taste in the mouth, and I am yet to find motivation to watch any of his other works.
However, I do enjoy the film’s playful storytelling techniques. These range from small moments such as Allen unexpectedly throwing comments at the camera like Phoebe Waller-Bridge in Fleabag, to much bigger set-pieces such as an animated sequence, subtitles, ghostly recreations of the characters, and a cameo from philosopher Marshall McLuhan, whom Allen brings on to prove to an intellectual rival that they are completely wrong about the philosopher’s writings. Without these the film would be a dreary, dull slog even at just 90 minutes (the second-shortest Best Picture winner), as the story is ludicrously simple and dependent entirely on character interactions and meta-theatrical structure.
I also disagree that the film is completely misogynistic. Granted, the few female characters in the film are generally presented as superficial and air-headed, which dates the film considerably. But in the juxtaposition of Alvy and Annie, I actually think Allen gives himself a role that is entirely unlikeable. Alvy, at best, is neurotic, evidently has anxiety and OCD, and struggles to enjoy life because he finds the negative in all things. At worst, he is insulting, narcissistic and some of his behaviour verges on gaslighting. He sneers and challenges Annie when she describes Sylvia Plath’s poetry as “neat”; he sneakily uses jokes as way to mock others’ perceived lesser intelligence and cultivation without coming across as aggressive; and even when Annie manages to garner a modicum of success as a singer, his celebration of her is peppered with either criticism or a passive-aggressive reminder that he helped her along the way.
Annie, on the other hand, is who the audience is supposed to like and identify with and I think that Allen, making Annie the titular character, has written her as the hero of the piece. She may not be as intellectual or deep-thinking as Alvy, but she is far from unintelligent and loves art, photography, history, literature and culture. But she is superior to Alvy because she gets such a thrill from just experiencing the art and therefore lives a happier, more emotionally prosperous life. She is the one who comes out on top in the end, with a singing career in LA and an escape from the grey, overpriced, dilapidated New York City. Probably the biggest flaw in the story-telling is what on earth Annie sees in Alvy in the first place, as it is she who strikes up conversation with him initially and invites him back to her apartment first.
The film is, indeed, dated. This ranges from the fact that Annie is paying $400 a month for a Manhattan apartment with a balcony and can somehow afford food, through to the quiet, simplistic, dialogue-heavy story which nowadays comes across as drab, unfulfilling and a little pointless. I suspect it fits in better in the '70s, a time when Annie’s fashion sense and independence, and Alvy’s dysfunctional personal life and social inferiority revolutionarily inverted typical gender roles in films. No longer is the hero the cleverer, stronger, more emotionally resilient half of the couple - now it is the heroine.
I did enjoy the scene early on when Alvy and Annie are lining up for a four-hour documentary about Nazis. Alvy becomes increasingly frustrated with another cinema-goer who is loudly expressing his (much more educated) opinion behind them, to the point where Alvy imagines himself outwitting the man by bringing on aforementioned philosopher Malcolm McLuhan to explicitly berate him.
The beginning of the love story itself is flawed to me. As far as I can see, there is nothing to draw gorgeous go-getter Annie towards sombre Alvy whatsoever, so why does she even approach him? Girl, do better.
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