Whatever Works

I’m going to go back to the Entertainment Weekly quote in their review of Chuck Klosterman’s first novel to sort of sum up my feelings on the new Woody Allen movie, Whatever Works: The best thing about Woody Allen is that he makes Woody Allen movies, and the worst thing about Woody Allen...is that he makes Woody Allen movies. I was hoping for ninety or so minutes of lighthearted complaining and cheap shots taken at the expense of the chicken-fried southerners who go all in for religion, and there was plenty of that, to be sure; but there was also a thread of existential philosophy that took the form of quasi-drama when it reared its head, and that was actually sort of effective, too.

The trouble is that the curmudgeonly comedy and the philosophical drama don’t really play very well together; the film is going along reasonably well playing as satire - albeit pretty didactic satire - and then all of a sudden Larry David stops yelling and starts to use his indoor voice, and these are moments of emotion and empathy that feel genuine despite being a sudden and complete U-turn for David’s character (Boris Yellnikoff - a taller, balder - and aptly surnamed - version of the character Woody Allen usually plays in this kind of movie). On the one hand it works, because you sort of want to hope that this grumpy old man has a soul somewhere deep down inside (think the Grinch and the scene that describes the size of his heart); but on the other hand, it’s jarring to the point of making you wonder what this side of this character is doing in a comedy.

And then there’s the self-reflexivity and the breaking of the fourth wall - which is more along the lines of “Hulk smash!” than the wink and a nod in Orlando or the amusing commentary by Ferris Bueller. The movie opens with an extended scene of Boris walking away from where he was sitting with his friends at sidewalk café table and talking to the camera - making the “argument” that sort of sets the story up like one of the Canterbury tales - and it’s funny at first, but it probably goes on for a bit too long, just like most of the shtick Boris spouts throughout the movie.

Then again, I don’t know...I wasn’t sure I liked this one at first, but the more I think about it, the more that I think it works. The notion is a conceit, of course - that the city of New York (and more specifically, the island of Manhattan) can cure the ultra-religious of their delusions; and while the idea is more open-ended than that, it’s difficult to separate Woody Allen’s immodest reverence for New York City from the core of the idea, and the result is that his theme (reach out and grab whatever it is that makes you happy, whatever it is that makes you feel good - “whatever works”) is at least partially subverted by a secondary layer of meaning (but you’ll only really be happy if the “whatever works” that you find is in New York) that smacks of East Coast elitism.

But there’s a kernel of truth in there, too. Quite frankly, just about all of us could benefit from really taking the time, now and then, to consider and appreciate the fact that there is more to the world than what we know; but I don’t think that everyone who wields a Patronus shaped like a Bible would benefit from baptizing themselves in the fires of New York City - which is what happens to the three members of the Celestine family in this movie. Melodie St. Ann (Evan Rachel Wood), Marietta (Patricia Clarkson - the most underrated actress working today?), and John (Ed Begley, Jr.) come to New York as runaway, frantic mother looking for her daughter, and unfaithful husband looking for redemption.

Allen immerses them first in New York literally, so that their eyes are opened to all of the things they have never seen, and second in New York figuratively, so that they can accept their new selves and achieve a happiness they could not have achieved earlier in their lives when they were operating with a different set of beliefs and a different world view. It is the evangelical Christian moment of being born again, turned on its head and viewed from a secular humanist perspective, and then filtered through the lens of the city that never sleeps, just for good measure.

It’s sort of like being preached to, except that in this case the preacher actually wants the sheep of the flock to use their brains and think for themselves; and I know that I may be thinking way too hard about this and possibly imbuing the picture with more meaning than it actually contains or remotely deserves - but like I said, Allen slipped that string of existential philosophy in there, and he kept returning to it throughout the movie, and I’m just not completely convinced that it works. I think it’s pretty close, though. Woody Allen originally wrote this picture for a different actor to play Boris - back in 1977; and I can’t help wondering if the task of updating the script might have caused something to get lost in translation.