I saw Woody Allen's "Celebrity"
tonight. I had read many mixed reviews, some arguing that it was
an impotent satire, much too belated after so many Hollywood
satires about Hollywood celebrity; others that the movie lacked
novelty, being derivative of "La Dolce vita" without
the insight.
Everyone expects Allen the recluse, one who
disdains academy award nights, to trash glamour and celebrity.
It's the most natural thing for a misanthrope like him to do. And
apparently this was the angle all the critics were looking for.
But I think every review I've read completely misses the point.
"Celebrity" is not some anemic derivative of "La
Dolce vita", an indictment of the vanity and emptiness of
celebrity. On the contrary, the film wasn't a satire at all, but
an ironic ode to celebrity.
The bare-bones outline of the movie is really
sufficient to illustrate the point: Allen's protagonist (Kenneth
Branagh), very much the self-obsessed, narcissistic, neurotic
schmuck that Allen himself usually plays, is unhappy because he
hasn't accomplished much in life, either as novelist or as a
lover, and he's approaching middle age. He's also dissatified
with his love life for reasons, as usual, he doesn't fully
understand. So he spends his time as a meandering celebrity
reporter, going from one celebrity meeting to another. The
interesting thing is, all the celebrities he meets seem to be
experiencing a much happier, funner life than he is.
The counterpoint to all this is the guy's
ex-wife, played by Judy Davis in her now usual Woody Allen mode:
the neurotic gorgon. Unlike Branagh, she hates celebrities and
the life they represent. But the upshot of her half of the movie
is that she moves from being an obscure and insecure school
teacher depressed about her going-nowhere life to a happily
married and self-satisfied celebrity reporter!
The movie's "point" is really
contained in the final encounter between Branagh and Davis. He
had recoiled from the culture of celebrity and gone back to his
art; she by becoming a celebrity reporter herself, had given up
her principles, so to speak. Yet he is the one who is lonely,
without wife or girlfriend or worldly succcess; she is contented,
with husband and worldly success. That's the irony. The people
who are supposed to be leading the empty lives -- the celebrities
-- don't get the comeuppance of emotional tragedy, as they (sort
of) do in "La dolce vita". It's almost as though Allen
is trying to tell us not to be sentimental, i.e., that bad people
might get their comeuppance in satires but not in real life.
"Celebrity" is actually very much
like Allen's "Crimes and Misdemeanors" in its ironic
ending. There, Martin Laudau plays a character who commits a
great crime but ends up not repenting; Woody Allen one who
commits a "misdemeanor" but tries to atone. The two
stories converge when Laudau and Allen, previously unmet, meet at
a party and discuss rather fatalistically each other's fortunes.
The irony we are supposed to feel is that of unpunished crime and
chastened misdemeanor. Again, the wrong guy gets the comeuppance.
Both movies have a "that's just
tough" sort of feeling at the end.
By the way, the review of "Celebrity"
by David Edelstein, Slate's particularly stupid film critic, is a perfect
illustration of missing the point. It's amazing how blind the man
is. He seems also unable to separate his opinions about Allen's
personal life from his evaluation of the movie. (He also
obviously wants to fellate Leonardo DiCaprio, but I suppose
that's Cellar's territory.)
A few other comments about
"Celebrity".
Someone once remarked that Woody Allen kept
writing parts for Dustin Hoffman and casting himself in the
roles. I think it was a very good decision to cast Branagh for
the part Allen would ordinarily reserve for himself -- primarily
because the sexual liaisons become more credible and also we are
spared the orangutan arm-flailings that Allen usually tries to
pass off as acting. But most of the critics were right about one
thing: Branagh really didn't need to do a mimicry of Woody Allen.
He could have cut out the stammering, the hemmings & hawings,
the nervous tics, and still have been true to the part. (I'm not
a fan of Branagh, who has been a huge disappointment since Henvry
V. His roles thereafter prove that that performance was a fluke.)
As for Judy Davis, I can only say that she's
becoming typecast by Woody Allen movies. Will she waste her
considerable talents on more of these neurotic gorgon roles?
Plus, she looks terrible in black & white.
My comments on the Allen film (and my criticism
of the critics) should not be construed as a ringing endorsement
of the film. I thought it was a mildly enjoyable movie. But as in
most Allen films with his trademark ironic ending, much of the
story is forced adventitiously to conclude patly with that irony.
The ending isn't compelled by the logic of the narrative or the
characters, but is an artificial whimsy of Allen's. There is just
no great insight in the film or anything -- what he supplies is
the mildly wistful irony. But Allen's films are like that --
stories with a poetic punchline.
