Scott Marks noon, Jan. 11
- Rated R
Life and love among the literati in New York City, photographed in stiff, heavy, arty black-and-white by Gordon Willis, and flooded with the music of George Gershwin. Woody Allen, having stayed behind the cameras on his Interiors, is back on screen as his own hero. He has evolved less as an actor than as a writer-director, however. And as a consequence, he displays a rather schizophrenic, or perhaps hierarchical, sense of humor: some of his characters are not funny by any standard or stretch; some are funny, albeit rarely, in the sense of being satirical targets, or joke-butts; and some (actually only one of these, and you know who) are funny in that they are in monopolistic command of the one-liners, the witty repartee, the epigrams, the bon mots. With Diane Keaton, Mariel Hemingway, Michael Murphy, Anne Byrne, and Meryl Streep. 1979.
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