Reviewed by Shahir Daud

"Comedy is tragedy happening to someone else" —W.C. Fields

IT'S TOO EASY to riff dirt on Woody Allen, since he's probably best known right now for his sexual indiscretion with his adopted daughter.

But what amazes me the most about Allen's naysayer's is how few actually know his tremendous body of work. I have to admit myself, that even though I've managed to digest a number of Allen films over the years, I've only scraped the surface of an iceberg of films that could sink the Titanic all over again.


Allen's that unusual hybrid of comedian/intellectual/pretentious theatre aficionado that would probably wander the streets of New York's Soho district telling dirty jokes about Voltaire. But what makes Allen so much more appealing than his much more sombre contemporaries, (Neil Labute, I'm looking at you) is his ability to write beautifully observed characters and situations that explore modern neurosis in a way Jerry Seinfeld could only dream of. Sadly though, while his output has increased (6 films in the last 5 years), his strike rate is getting lower (how many people actually bothered to rent The Curse of the Jade Scorpion?).

But here, Allen retreats to the comedy/tragedy dichotomy that exemplified his earlier films (and for one of the greatest fictional cinema essays on the subject, you must see his 1989 film Crimes and Misdemeanours). Starting in a café, a table of playwrights argue the merits of comedy and tragedy. They decide to pick up on the same story of Melinda (Radha Mitchell), a downtrodden socialite who's fallen from grace and crashes a dinner party trying to escape her messy divorce. In the tragedy version, Melinda's arrival causes the rift between Lee (Johnny Lee Miller) and Laurel (Chloë Sevigny) to deepen. The same thing happens in the comedic version between Hobie (Will Ferrel) and Susan (Amanda Peet), but the results are far more upbeat.

In another filmmaker's hands it could have been a purely academic exercise, but Allen's having fun here, examining the difference between the two forms and playing up his strength in both. He also laces the affair with his ongoing love of music, with a soundtrack that manages to cram in Bela Bart K and Duke Ellington elegantly together.

But why I love Woody Allen personally is his self-effacing humour. Even in the films where he doesn't appear as the lead, you can feel that Woody Allen-esque personality come through all his performers. His females are contradictory, neurotic, fierce and independent, while his males are cocky, insecure and neurotic all at the same time. Standouts are Will Ferrell, who's never been this likable while still using his everyday dimwit shtick and Chiwetel Ejiofor, who's so icily seductive as composer Ellis, that it'd be difficult to imagine any red blooded female not being swept up by his gravelly delivery. While Radha Mitchell doesn't exude the charming vulnerability of Diane Keaton's Annie Hall (which Melinda's role is pretty much a composite of), she still manages to bring warmth to even Melinda's most cringe-inducing introverted scenes.

And while it's not the greatest Woody Allen film, it's a strong return to form, reminding us why we should pay attention to the neurotic little New Yorker who manages to pull of difficult lines like "I'm running out of obsequies banter," and make it side-splittingly funny.