Whatever Works

I went to see this, the new Woody Allen film, on Sunday. I went mainly because it starred Larry David and I wasn't going to pass up an hour and a half of that. I went having often read and heard that Woody's films have been sadly below par for some time. But, delight of delights, I was pleasantly surprised.

First off, there's whole steaming buckets of bovine faeces I could chuck at this if I was feeling sullen. They relate mainly to certain Woody motifs wearing quite thin, occasional triteness of dialogue, plotting and character development and some lazy stereotypes. Myself and the two people I went with also found that we weren't sure of the first few minutes. That, however, was probably because an unannounced and awful short film had put us in a disgruntled mood and made us question if we were in the right cinema.

But I'm not feeling sullen, and the film has a lot to do with that. Despite the main character openly announcing to the audience, Brecht-style, that this isn't a feelgood film, actually it is. It was a lovely romp that made me laugh loads, it was well-acted and there was a reassuring satisfaction in the well-worn plot and character arcs, rather than a sense of groaning inevitability. Also, the misanthropy was of the best kind; a genuine love of humanity clouded by a false disdain generated by disappointment and disillusion. The love peeks through though, and for that reason, I recommend this film, inchworms.