an entirely characteristic, if particularly effervescent, entry in the Allen oeuvre. really only Woody Allen will take Russian literature, philosophical dread, and cinematic art-house solemnity to use as a vast playground for urban, neurotic comedy.
one must admire the sheer audacity of its construction. It posits a universe where the grand, soul-crushing questions of Tolstoy and Dostoevsky can be punctured by a well-timed one-liner about spectacles or sexual practice. I especially liked the central monologue, that glorious, circular, and perfectly absurd bit of logic delivered with such earnest confusion by Keaton. It encapsulates the film's entire project: to dress the profound in the pajamas of the profoundly silly.
the Bergman influence imo is moreso heist than homage. to take the stark, existential terror of The Seventh Seal and recast Death as a fastidious, white-robed figure in a domestic comedy of errors is an act of sublime cultural cheek. It is the ultimate inside joke for the cinephile who also enjoys a good pratfall.
this is my 7th Woody Allen film and I can confidently say this is his funniest and he'll never top it for me. the film is a machine for generating laughs, unconcerned with historical fidelity or narrative gravity, powered entirely by the relentless, anxious energy of its creator's mind. It operates on the principle that the greatest weapon against the absurdity of existence is not solemnity, but a better, more clever joke. and on that count, it succeeds with remarkable, and remarkably persistent, grace.
an entirely characteristic, if particularly effervescent, entry in the Allen oeuvre. really only Woody Allen will take Russian literature, philosophical dread, and cinematic art-house solemnity to use as a vast playground for urban, neurotic comedy.
one must admire the sheer audacity of its construction. It posits a universe where the grand, soul-crushing questions of Tolstoy and Dostoevsky can be punctured by a well-timed one-liner about spectacles or sexual practice. I especially liked the central monologue, that glorious, circular, and perfectly absurd bit of logic delivered with such earnest confusion by Keaton. It encapsulates the film's entire project: to dress the profound in the pajamas of the profoundly silly.
the Bergman influence imo is moreso heist than homage. to take the stark, existential terror of The Seventh Seal and recast Death as a fastidious, white-robed figure in a domestic comedy of errors is an act of sublime cultural cheek. It is the ultimate inside joke for the cinephile who also enjoys a good pratfall.
this is my 7th Woody Allen film and I can confidently say this is his funniest and he'll never top it for me. the film is a machine for generating laughs, unconcerned with historical fidelity or narrative gravity, powered entirely by the relentless, anxious energy of its creator's mind. It operates on the principle that the greatest weapon against the absurdity of existence is not solemnity, but a better, more clever joke. and on that count, it succeeds with remarkable, and remarkably persistent, grace.
