Though Woody Allen is a controversial figure in Hollywood
these days, it’s hard to dispute that he is one of the most prolific filmmakers
working today. His old-fashioned
sensibilities have led him to make one film a year for forty-four years, many
of which are quite good and don’t require the type of immense budgets that
franchise-spawning blockbusters require. Allen even made one of the best films of
2013, Blue Jasmine, a fantastic
feminist piece that was made all the more tragic in light of its creator’s own
alleged proclivities toward abuse and molestation. And now, as a follow-up, Allen has made
perhaps one of the most egotistic and self-justifying pieces of his career,
part response to the accusations against him, part shallow, aimless romance.
In the 1920s, Stanley Crawford, a renowned illusionist
played by Colin Firth, receives a visit from an old friend who tells him of a
mystic who is in dire need of debunking.
Stanley takes great joy in exposing fraud spiritualists, and so leaves
with his friend to expose a young woman who is swindling a family into thinking
their dead patriarch can communicate to them through séance. That young woman is named Sophie, and played
by Emma Stone, and as Stanley and Sophie begin to banter back and forth, two
things start to happen. One is that
Stanley begins to doubt his pessimistic and rational view of the world in light
of Sophie’s apparently wondrous telepathic skills; the other is that a
chemistry starts to develop between the two leads in classic romantic style.
It is worth noting that Firth and Stone do a fantastic job
with the roles given to them, finding a chemistry that works despite the film’s
often predictable and clichéd script.
This is a testament to the talent both performers have, considering how
dull this film could have been without them.
The romantic plot is obvious from the moment the two leads lay eyes on
each other, and it is clearly only a matter of time before she is exposed as a
fraud and he decides he doesn’t care because he has discovered the ability to
love. It all feels very trite, and it is
an unwelcome departure from Woody Allen’s generally more cerebral offerings.
And it is also worth noting just how much this film feels
like an autobiographical excuse for Allen’s tendency to date and marry women
much younger than himself. Now, I don’t
know Woody Allen, and I recognize that age does not need to be a prohibitive
factor when founding a relationship, but this film feels very much like Allen
making a self-justified stand that relationships between people with large age
gaps are not subject to scrutiny.
There’s a certain amount of aloof perfection to Stanley’s character that
seems to mirror Allen’s own self-avowed perception, with some of the more
obnoxious flaws mildly accentuated for romantic tension’s sake. And Sophie is little more than a waif, in
dire need of the guidance this wiser, older man can offer her. This feels like a shallow and sexist
justification for Allen’s own history of romancing younger women and is played off
as a match made in heaven without any character questioning it. Part of this is due to the film’s
chronological setting, but it was also made with modern audiences in mind,
making this kind of theme questionable at best.
I did not enjoy Magic
In The Moonlight. It is way below
the standards that one generally expects from Woody Allen, and it feels like
such a blatant attempt at public image repair that it distracts from the
lackluster love story that is ostensibly the main focus. If you want a recent Woody Allen flick, go
watch Blue Jasmine. Whereas that was a high for the prolific
director’s career, this film is a new low.
Have an opinion on Woody Allen, either as a man or
director? Leave your thoughts in the
comments below.
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