A closer look at Serenity -- Why didn't it save Firefly?

After the Fox TV network lost faith in the show they'd ordered and coldly watched it die, both fans and the cast and crew of Firefly were heartbroken, but the good vibes surrounding the show were strong enough for the almost-impossible to happen: A major feature film was made.

Serenity was creator Joss Whedon's vision, pure and unfiltered (for the most part), without any of the meddling executives. Unlike Fox, Universal actually wanted to see more Firefly.

The feature film version (named, for legal reasons, Serenity after the central ship), was an opportunity for everyone who believed in the show to prove the world (and especially Fox), that it shouldn't have been cancelled, that its universe did hold widespread appeal. Fans on both sides of the camera hoped that this could be the new Star Wars. Some wryly speculated that its success might even spawn a TV spin-off...

Except none of that happened.

Despite garnering critical praise and winning numerous awards, Serenity was a flop at the cinema, and, although DVD sales helped put the movie into the black, they weren't high enough to create interest in a sequel.

Initially there were some grumbles about how the film had been marketed, but after all this time, was that the only reason it failed to set the world alight? Were there flaws within the film itself?

After recently working my through all 14 episodes of the Firefly TV series, and falling in love with it all over again, I viewed the film with fresh eyes, made a few notes... and came to the conclusion that, yes, I think there may have been a few issues with the movie itself.

Note: This isn't a "review" of Serenity, it's a critical look at what I see as its major faults, with a specific focus on how someone new to the Firefly universe might perceive them (it was them who needed to be won over, after all). And while the film did successfully convert me to a Firefly (and Joss Whedon) fan, it never managed to cross-over to a larger market, and I wanted to know why.

Here's what I see as the film's undeniable problems...


Best. Opening. Ever.

Ok, so this is the opposite of a problem, but watching the film again for this piece, it struck me how Serenity has just about the best opening 10 minutes of any sc-fi film ever. It's smart, gripping, exciting, it's near perfect. After it's finished, the title appears, and a wonderful, lifting score kicks in. It's goosebump city.

A portion of the audience has already decided that this film is utterly amazing (I was in that portion). Just as you think it can't get any better, a chunk of metal flies off the spaceship, and with a quick cut, before we can even laugh, we see the Captain turn to his pilot. "What was that?" And so begins the story proper. And so, unfortunately, do the problems.

We're introduced to our protagonists, the crew of Serenity, through a long scene without any cuts. According to writer/director Whedon, this was done to try and give the audience a sense that they were on "solid ground" after all that jumping around in time and space. In other words, this ship just got real. (Sorry.)

I love continuous takes as much as the next continuous takes fan, but there's a time and place for them, and this one doesn't really work for a number of reasons. For a start, it didn't make me feel on "solid ground". It's actually very frantic, we're pummelled with lots of information, and lots of camera movements. That could be fine by itself, but definitely doesn't do what Whedon hoped it would.

There's a bigger problem as a result of this shooting choice, however, and that's the fact that we don't get all the information we need. Dramatic moments do not have much available film language with which to give them any weight. You can't cut to someone's reaction, for example, you can only swing the camera around as fast as you can. With film, the camera should be part-narrator, helping to tell the same story the actors are.

Using long takes seems to work best when you're in a scene where you know who everyone is, and what the stakes are going in (see Crimes and Misdemeanors), but it definitely works against you when you're trying to impart lots of information. You can't easily inform the audience about what's important, and what's non-essential (but amusing) chit chat, and it's possibly because of these limitations that the Simon and Mal confrontation doesn't work as well as it should. It's a great moment on paper, but it doesn't work for someone new to the characters because the film language doesn't give any indication of its importance.

Also, rather unfortunately, the ADR work on the scene (where actors dubbing their lines in a studio afterwards to hide the clomping the camera crew in the background) was very poorly done, making us feel even less "connected" to what's happening. (The opposite of what Joss said he wanted.)

And unfortunately the problems are just the beginning for the newbies...

The Chase Sequence

Our first major force of conflict appears, they are known as "Reavers". We don't know anything about them, but in order for them to be a legitimate threat the audience has to believe one thing: The Reavers are a very real and very terrifying danger. Even if you're a group of fully-armed war-vets and mercenaries, it's pant-wetting time. The audience needs to believe this for not only the chase sequence to work, but also for the story to work as a whole. After they've been introduced, the idea of meeting one again should haunt the audience.

Whedon attempts to sell this necessary fear in a simple (and you might say, classic) way: If all the characters are scared at the mere mention of Reavers, then not only must they be something worth being scared of, but it's left up to the audience to decide exactly why.

This can be a very effective trick, as I'm sure we all know. A viewer's imagination can tailor a movie monster's menacing qualities to their own idiosyncratic fears, in theory creating a scarier threat for themselves. All it takes is a sense of creeping danger to get audiences' creative fear-juices flowing...

Unfortunately, when the Reavers appear, the viewer is completely in a comfort zone: A bank-heist that's actually going well, and is highly amusing to boot. There's no real sense of threat, and no reason to believe the characters can't handle anything the universe throws their way. It's even broad daylight, in a populated area. There's nothing to help germinate a sense of fear in the audience (although I think Whedon was hoping the jump from funny to fearful would be unsettling).

Outwardly there's even less to fear: Our heroes carry guns, while the Reavers are apparently too feral for that. We're never actually shown how ineffective four people with guns could be against a horde of Reavers. Hell, we never even see a horde of Reavers, we only really see about three, but surely guns could take them out?

We also don't actually know how tough our characters are. If we'd already seen them kick ass against a terrifying foe, but then act afraid of Reavers, we may be able to gauge that this new enemy was a very serious threat (this is how they were introduced in the series). But we don't. Our protagonists have only tackled a group of country-bumpkins, and since they've just committed a crime, it's natural to think that they'd like to leave ASAP anyway, Reavers or no Reavers.

This lack of terror hurts the movie immediately, and is felt so strongly that, when we see a townsman run towards our gang, begging to be taken with them, my immediate thought was not, "He wants to get away from the Reavers", it was, "Poor guy, stuck on this backwoods world, wants to go on space adventures with some space bandits". (I did get what Whedon wanted me to get, just not immediately.)

And the damage continues: In the ensuing chase sequence, our heroes are escaping from... what? A bunch of stunt men in make-up? A ship covered in red paint? It's hard to feel emotionally involved because we have no reason to feel our protagonists are in any real danger. Also, it's not very well directed, sad to say. (Joss Whedon is apparently very aware of début directorial short-comings on the film's Blu-ray, admitting he'd completely re-shoot the whole scene if he could.)

The chase's climax is also falls limp; Our hearts should already be pounding when a final bit of flaming debris nearly slices Mal in two (this "second shock" trick worked brilliantly in Die Hard), but not only is our heart beating calmly, but the debris looks far too flimsy as it bounces along the deck. It's a huge shame, as the script is tight and the story beats are good.

We're then back on Serenity, with the crew and their ill-gotten gains, and we've learned a lot about the characters and their relationship to one another, that's good. (Watchers of the original series will have note that Mal has returned to his infinitely more interesting "hardened" self from the original pilot.)

Unfortunately there's one more problem...

The Bar Fight

In a bar, that classic Western/sci-fi staple, we learn that the successful bank-heist has turned somewhat sour. Mal is being forced to give up 15% of his crew's earnings, but in an odd editing choice, we're not allowed to hear the justification as to why. A few words from his shady employers explaining that they're taking the extra percentage simply because they can, would have been all that was needed, and indeed this dialogue was filmed, but it was cut (presumably in order to try and make the viewer focus more on River -- a controversial choice).

So we're left wondering what's going on, why the one plot thread they've been introduced to has been yanked out of earshot, when River suddenly gets "activated". The inevitable bar fight ensues.

Although Summer Glau's flexible fighting skills are incredible, the brawl itself doesn't emotionally engage with the audience because there's no context: Why are the people in the bar fighting with her? If they're under threat, why aren't people trying to escape?

When Luke Skywalker had his scuffle with the ugly man with the death mark on three systems, the rest of the bar acted in a way we could understand: Avoid a fight, hope it will go away on its own. In Serenity it becomes a Wrestlemania cage fight for no apparent reason.

I'm fairly certain that the idea was supposed to be that a dispassionate and indiscriminate killing machine had just been released into a public space, but once again there's not a sense of immediate danger because the exit appears to be available to everyone in the bar, and hardly anyone is shown making a break for it. If these people want to stay and fight and get their asses kicked, then you can't help but feel that's their problem. Sure, some people try and leave, but the set design and direction never makes us feel as though River is holding people these people against their will: A lot of them seem to be attacking her.

What are we supposed to be feeling here? Are we supposed to feel bad for the patrons as River is taking them down? (Are they all thugs? Are they normal tax payers looking for a quiet night out? Do they want to escape? If they want to fight, why do they want to fight? Out if pride? Out of ego? Out of a desire to prove how manly they are? Out of self-defence? For the enjoyment of a battle? To see if they could best her? We don't know.)

Compare this again with the cantina in Star Wars. That venue had a vibe. You expected trouble there. You felt like you knew the patrons, that they weren't faceless nobodies. You could probably can imagine how they would react in this situation. Can anyone say the same about the patrons of the Serenity bar? Were they hard-working, innocent miners looking for a drink after a long day drilling? Were they all smugglers and bandits making shady deals? Were they deadly mercenaries? We don't know: They were just more stuntmen in generic costumes.

This confusion about who is attacking who and why is a shame because it hurts the final shot of the fight; Mal slowly putting down his weapon, his heart racing. This would have worked much better if it we'd felt he was in danger against his will. Instead we're wondering why this cold, selfish man didn't run out the bar's open exit. (Although it's possible he was trying to protect the patrons of the bar, it doesn't seem to be in keeping with his character -- although maybe I'm wrong there.) This problem isn't as bad as the audience not fearing the Reavers, but it also wasn't as engaging directed as it was written, and so another opportunity to engage the audience was lost.

Either way, the audience should have had two big jolts of adrenaline at this point in the movie. They should also be secretly hoping that the Reavers aren't going to come back.

If they'd had those things, I think the film would have been largely fine at this point. Everything would have been set up so the subsequent story turns would have had all the weight and resonance they needed.

Well, apart from one other minor hiccup before we reach the end: Shepherd Book.

Everyone unfamiliar with Firefly had no idea who the hell he was, and it felt like we should have (I was one of them). The scene with Mal and Book was pointless and weird, and didn't help explain who this man was or why the crew were there. Or what his relationship with them was. But hey, that's pretty minor compared to these other problems.

(Note: Shepherd Book was originally on Serenity throughout the film, and it was another unknown character they sought refuge with. When Whedon was forced to write Book out of the story, it made sense to switch the characters -- the crew did have a relationship with him, after all. At least for fans of the show -- those new to the party were wondering why such weight was given to his scenes.)

The Ending

Ok, I lied. There is actually one final big problem: The triumph of the protagonists is not something we, the audience, can easily relate to. Consider, once again, the final battle in Star Wars or The Matrix. When our heroes win, we feel their victory, we feel their triumph. In Serenity, their (most obvious) successes are felt by unknown people across the universe. People we don't care about. Our heroes survive, but they also suffered serious losses, and this "down" feeling is what we're left with. Yes, I believe that more people felt and related to Zoe's pain, than Mal or River's salvation.

You big whiner! So you're saying Serenity failed as a movie?

Absolutely not, at least not for fans of the series. Upon watching it an additional time for this blog post (to make sure I wasn't totally wrong about the problems I'd identified), I noticed that it actually works as a perfect ending for the series itself.

For the first time I saw really Mal's story. And not Mal's story from the beginning of the film, but his story from the beginning of the series. In the very first scene of the series, we watch Mal lose all faith as he has everything he believes in taken away from him. In the final scene of the film, we see man restored, optimistic about the future, with something to believe in again. (And, aptly enough, the first episode of the show shares the title of the movie.)

This layer means that the passengers we watched Mal take onboard at the beginning of the series, Simon, River, and Book, actually held the key to his own personal salvation. This character arc is in the film, but Whedon buried it deep.

If you missed it, consider Shepherd Book's dying words. A man of faith talking to a man without any: "I don't care what you believe. Just believe it."

Likewise, thanks to River, Mal discovers a truth that leads to him finally seeing something bigger than himself (self-obsession is usually the cause of nihilism). By the end of the film he's a whole person again, his heart no longer dead.

In the process of re-developing his own belief system he shatters that of his nemesis, The Operative, who is the ultimate nihilist. (His final words, after Mal tells him he'd better not see him again, "You won't. There is nothing left to see.")

River also finds her salvation through Serenity, finally finding peace at the end of the film thanks, not just to the love of her brother, and the family she's found on the ship, but to Mal for helping her excise her demons (in the original script it's made clear that a large part of her mental problems stem from the horrible truth about Miranda).

Serenity is Mal's and River's story, of how they saved each other, and if there's ever a sequel, we'll be seeing a different side to them than we've ever seen before. (Note: There's never going to be a sequel.)

In this way, it's actually an utterly fantastic and rewarding script. But we knew the problem was never going to be on the page, didn't we?

But...

Unfortunately it took me five watches to see Mal's journey. As a first-time viewer I wasn't left with a sense of joy, or even success, it was pain and loss. Hell, it wasn't even bittersweet. Our losses as a viewer were too great, and the gains too small, too hidden. Joss cut us too deeply to notice the salve he tried to apply. And yes, Wash's death is a big part of that.

(Interestingly, Whedon justifies his decision to kill Wash on the Serenity Blu-ray commentary, making the point that if the audience is upset, it means he did the right thing. The obvious response to that is: Dear Joss, if you killed off Willow, you would probably have to go into hiding. That doesn't mean it's the right thing to do -- it just means you made us care. Signed, Everyone.)

Wouldn't you have just loved the movie even more if Wash and Book survived? I know I would have. And indeed that's exactly what happened in Whedon's original 190 page "kitchen sink" version of the script (available online, Firefly fans!). And don't forget that Whedon revealed that he had every intention of resurrecting both characters if there was a sequel. (There won't be a sequel.)

That original script also featured this wonderful piece of dialogue between Zoe and Simon, that really helps the audience become aware that Mal's spiritual salvation is an important part of the story:

SIMON

You were in that same war. But
you live almost like a person
might; you have an actual
relationship — a marriage. You
didn't turn into some... Gorgon...

ZOE

I'm career Army, my whole family
is. I was already in when the war
started. Mal volunteered. He
joined the fight because he
believed. He believed his planet
should be left alone. Believed we
would win if we gave our hearts to
it, that his generals wouldn't lay
down arms while his men were still
dying around him... that God would
help us in our darkest place.

She cinches a knot tight, moves to the next body.

ZOE
(continuing)

See, that's the difference between
Mal and me. All I ever lost was a war.

So, when all is said and done, we finally have a complete understanding as to why we won't be seeing any more Firefly: Because the executives at Fox sold us all down the river.

The end. 

So you want to go to Hollywood?

This questionnaire is something I read on Bruce Campbell's website 10 years ago. I found it so thought-provoking that it has stayed with me all this time.

I recently wanted to show it to a friend but was dismayed to discover it was no longer to be found on the internet. Thankfully, after some jiggery-pokery involving The Wayback Machine (a website hosted over at Archive.org), I was able to retrieve a copy.

I think it deserves to be preserved and, if you've ever entertained notions of working in the dream factory known as Hollywood, contemplated.

I hope you find it as interesting and provocative as I did.

Top tip: There's no wrong answers, so be honest with yourself.

Visit Bruce Campbell at: www.bruce-campbell.com. Also, buy his books!

---

To all good people contemplating a leap into the frigid waters of the entertainment industry, please read the attached questionnaire. I consider this to be a kind of litmus test for those of you with grand aspirations. Read, ponder, act...

Best,

Bruce "Mr. Know-It-All" Campbell

I aspire for a career in the film/television industry because:

    a) I need a quick million.
    b) I have personal problems and being rich and famous will solve them.
    c) I failed as a Clinical Psychologist.
    d) I've got show biz in my blood.

My ultimate goal(s) is(are):

    a) To win an Academy Award © or:
    ___1) An Emmy.
    ___2) A Star on Hollywood Blvd.
    ___3) A trip to Disneyland.

    b) To be famous. I will be famous when:
    ___1) I win a Peoples Choice Award.
    ___2) I get recognized at my high school reunion.
    ___3) Everyone on the planet knows and loves me.

    c) To be stinkin' rich. I will be rich when:
    ___1) My phone stops getting cut off.
    ___2) I can buy medicine for little Billy.
    ___3) I can do a leveraged buyout of MCA and cast myself in anything I want.

    d) Both b and c.

    e) To be gainfully employed doing what I enjoy.

My main cultural influences are:

    a) Films where things blow up a lot.
    b) Nick at Nite.
    c) Literature.
    d) Life.

I hope to become involved in this type of project:

    a) Story-driven.
    b) Genre-driven.
    c) Forget it, Mom will drive.

I know I am talented because:

    a) Um, because my friends and loved ones say so?
    b) I know it in my heart.
    c) I received the "Ken and Barbie" award in high school.
    d) I have an extensive resume.

I define talent as:

    a) The ability to do one thing, really well.
    b) The ability to be mediocre at lots and lots of things.
    c) The ability to suck the chrome off a trailer hitch.
    d) The ability to make my friends think I'm cool.

My unique talent lies:

    a) In front of the camera - I want to act.
    b) Behind the camera - I want to direct...oh yeah, and write too...
    c) In front and behind the camera - I want to be a hyphenated person.
    d) Behind the Auto Parts store.

I define the success of a film by:

    a) How well it does at the Box Office.
    b) How well it is received by the critics.
    c) How hard everyone worked on it.
    d) How many good-looking women/men I met on the crew.

I will be successful when:

    a) I meet the right people.
    b) My new Hummer arrives.
    c) I own my own island.
    d) I get that tummy tuck for Christmas.
    e) Hell freezes over.
    f) Nonsense, I am successful now.

I will fail if:

    a) I don't meet the right people.
    b) Failure is not an option.
    c) Enough people tell me I will.
    d) The odds are too great.

The market price of my soul is:
(hint: you will need to know this at some point)

    a) $1,000,000 in tax-free Municipal Bonds.
    b) 3 magic beans.
    c) I cannot be bought! My self-esteem is priceless!

* Take this test before you ride the rails west.

Hint: There are no right or wrong answers.

My new project: Grim Fandango Deluxe

Come see: Grim Fandango Deluxe

My Woody Allen-athon: Part 3 (1981 - 1987)

Part three of my experiences watching every Woody Allen movie in chronological order

The most exciting blog series on the internet.

You can find part one here (along with an explanation as to why I decided to embark on this project): Woody Allen-althon: Part 1

As my project progressed I ended up reading more and more interviews with Allen in order to get a different perspective of his work for my "Afterthoughts" on each film, but I tried not to read anything about a film I hadn't watched yet.


A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S SEX COMEDY (1981)
wd: Woody Allen, e: Susan E. Morse, dp: Gordon Willis, p: Charles H. Joffe and Jack Rollins

This is Allen's second period film, this time set in turn of the century America, and it looks beautiful. After the stunning imagery of Manhattan I probably shouldn't be surprised, but this is the first time that beauty like this has been shown in colour in any Allen film, and from how it looks, I can only say that I believe he's truly mastered the technical aspects of film-making at this point in his career.

Sure, there's still plenty of his trademark "static camera with people walking in and out of frame", but thankfully not too much (I'm definitely finding myself getting fatigued at this particular technique at trying to make dialogue scenes 'quirky' and 'interesting', surely he has more tricks up his inventive sleeve?), but there's some gorgeous scenes here. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if putting his dialogue heavy scenes in some visually interesting places (like a dense forest with a perfectly empty spot for a character's face -- a wonderful shot in this movie) was something that inspired him to choose this setting.

Despite the Shakespeare connection, the title made me think of a frivolous 60's sex comedy, but the film itself was actually very warm, thoughtful and charming, and doesn't go for laughs a minute. I was quite surprised by this, but really only because of the title (I feel it mis-sells and cheapens the film a bit).

The philosophical musings and period setting reminded me of Love & Death, but it was a bit more of a "grounded" (if that's the right word) comedy. (There was only a bit of "zaniness", and what was there was worked very well.) The main theme of the film was harsh rationalism versus whimsical hopes and dreams, and Allen comes down on the side of the latter, in a very amusing way.

The plot of the film (three couples spend a weekend together in a big house, and everyone has their eye on someone else) helps pull you through the slower moments: Hilarious misunderstanding and wacky sex-antics must be just around the corner, you believe, but really the film comes out as quite subdued, but in a very warm and romantic way.

Ultimately a very enjoyable and well-crafted treat from an auteur who's still finding new and interesting things to do.

Afterthoughts
According to Allen, this movie was just something he wrote in two weeks while getting ready to make Zelig (see below). He wanted to create something "light", so he wrote it and shot it before the aforementioned film (although they actually overlapped for a bit).

Apparently no-one came to see it and it was considered a financial failure (just like September, Allen noted in 1994).

I still have fond memories of this film, and would definitely watch it again if I was in the mood for something sophisticated but light.


ZELIG (1983)
wd: Woody Allen, e: Susan E. Morse, dp: Gordon Willis, p: Charles H. Joffe and Jack Rollins

Zelig is a phenomenal change of pace for Allen and surely his most ambitious film so far (if only technically). The entire film is a 'documentary', like Take the Money and Run, but this time done with much more seriousness and attention to detail: The film never breaks out of 'character', as it were, and always feels like a real documentary. As a result the film is narrated, in the usual documentary way, with modern-day talking-heads intermixed with 'archive' footage (the latter of which features Allen).

Although Zelig is, as noted, very technically impressive with incredible attention to detail (the older footage looks incredibly real, which is wonderful), its documentary style does keep the audience at an emotionally cold distance, even though there is a strong story, which is well told. This hollow feeling is sometimes hard to ignore, and in some ways the film feels as vacuous as the titular character.

The ultimate message of the film is "be yourself", and it feels a little weak. In spite of the film's flaws, I cannot be too harsh, though. Allen is adept at spinning a good story from his characters and the film keeps you interested, knowing how to pull you along.

In all, Zelig is definitely an entertaining and very clever film. Allen is still pushing himself into new territory and is, I'm happy to discover, still finding new ground to break. It's just a shame that I didn't connect with the film as much as I would have hoped.

Interestingly, the character of Zelig never talks directly to camera (unlike other main characters), and I wonder if this artistic choice is the reason why I felt so distanced.

Afterthoughts
Quotes from Allen about fascism


BROADWAY DANNY ROSE (1984)
wd: Woody Allen, e: Susan E. Morse, dp: Gordon Willis, p: Charles H. Joffe and Jack Rollins

Broadway Danny Rose is another light-hearted comedy from Allen. It's a bit of a 'caper', in precisely the way I usually dislike comedies (I think it's very hard to do a 'caper' well, and even Allen struggles a bit to keep the pace up) but it's still a wonderfully constructed movie with a very warm touch.

The story is deftly told and Allen has created an interesting character for himself to play -- even if he's probably not the best person for the role, and falls into his 'neurotic' routine a lot of the time. Thinking back, this is probably the film's weakest aspect: This character, ageing Broadway producer Danny Rose, despite looking very different, felt exactly like the same character Allen has played many times in the past.

The other characters, however, are much more rounded (Mia Farrow really shows off her versatility too, she's barely recognisable). The other main character is good, too, although the actor playing him (Nick Apollo Forte) has a few sub-par moments (not that surprising giving he was a real-life cabaret singer, with limited experience in acting).

The film is light-hearted and fun, with silly bad guys and funny situations, in fact there isn't a mean-spirited bone in its filmic body. The only real let-down is, as I said, Allen falling back on one-liners during moments of duress (and really, aside from the oversized glasses, excessive hand-gestures, and saying things like "darling", it really is the same character we've seen him play many times before).

This problem is a little surprising considering how writing strong characters has been one of Allen's strengths in the past, and while everything else in the film shows real skill, it's undeniable that his own character is a bit stunted.

The ageing comedians who bookend the film, and who "narrate" the story, are a great touch, but as a result if feels like we never really "meet" Danny Rose. Like Zelig, he's just someone we hear about from others.

Anyways, the film is shot in black and white and it feels very "right" for the story, and ultimately I really enjoyed watching it. Once again Allen shows talent for a well-crafted and solid story, while doing something very different. Even with the problems with Allen's character, there doesn't feel like there's anything stale here, and I'm really looking forward to the next film.

Afterthoughts
Allen apparently contradicts himself in two interviews... Very confusing.


PURPLE ROSE OF CAIRO (1985)
wd: Woody Allen, e: Susan E. Morse, dp: Gordon Willis, p: Charles H. Joffe and Jack Rollins

Wow, what a great film. A perfectly constructed piece of fiction, even if I'm not totally over-the-moon with how it ended. Hard to believe that this is from the same mind that created Manhattan -- this film revels in its fiction.

I think this is easily Allen's most successful mix of fantasy and drama so far. I really liked Broadway Danny Rose, but looking back this feels leagues beyond it. I was very swept up in the story and the film kept that difficult 'hyper-real'/drama balance perfect throughout. (Something I more used to seeing failing rather than succeeding.)

It was also, shockingly, a very nice change of pace to watch an Allen film without Allen appearing in it. I think by keeping himself behind the camera it really allowed the film to go places it couldn't have gone otherwise. (I think it's really getting difficult to see Allen in any other character than the one he's famous for -- and even his style of delivery, as most clearly heard through Mia Farrow's character in this film, is now getting clichéd.)

The cinematography is refreshingly different here, too. The static-camera 'half-joke', so long ago worn out its welcome from when it first appeared in Annie Hall, is now completely missing. The camera had some nice dramatic movement, too.

The casting was great, the film never lulled, it was perfectly constructed and very entertaining. I imagine, rightly or wrongly, that the ending may have been controversial. I did foresee the betrayal (I was thinking two scenes prior that that's what I'd do if I were writing it -- although I still had a happy ending in mind), but I didn't enjoy how it ended, despite its realism. A film so fictional shouldn't end like that, I think. It felt far too serious, and almost a cheap-shot/sucker-punch to the audience.

I have to admit though, that despite finding it somewhat odd/hard to believe that Farrow's character could so easily "escape" again, so soon (which makes her seem very shallow), the ending did play well. To be fair, I'm not sure how Allen could have ended the film with a happy ending (don't tell me that was a happy ending) without dipping from the quality of the previous 80 minutes.

I also think it's worth mentioning that the look/cinematography of the "30s movie" was really spot on. The acting was, too (except maybe Jeff Daniels's, which stuck out a bit). The storyline of this fake film, however, seemed hideously poor, even for a jokey pastiche. Still, that was probably deliberate pandering to modern-day audiences (or possibly even a reference to some terrible 30's films I've never seen).

I fully expect Allen to return to realism for his next film. I feel we've had far too much fiction lately for his tastes -- and possibly mine: Give me something contemporary, Mr. Allen, and make it good!


HANNAH AND HER SISTERS (1986)
wd: Woody Allen, e: Susan E. Morse, dp: Carlo Di Palma, p: Charles H. Joffe and Jack Rollins

A wonderful emotional drama! What comedy was there (Allen's characters searching through religions, etc.) wasn't even needed -- this is Interiors done right (ok, maybe that's controversial, but aspects of it, definitely); they're both dramas, both modern day, both centering around the lives of three sisters.. but Hannah wasn't nearly as self-important. It took me on an emotional roller-coaster without me even being aware of it, until it was over and it hit me.

It's interesting because the drama was done so well (it really didn't labour under the weight of its own pretensions) that I found the comedic moments to be the weakest. It's not that they weren't funny, it's just that they weren't needed -- the drama was just wonderfully effective by itself.

I related to many parts of the story -- Michael Caine's character's relationship problems (feeling the need to look after someone, but finding himself with a wife who was actually very self-sufficient). Diane Wiest's lack of confidence (with Mia Farrow's character dampening her enthusiasm). Woody Allen's character's desire to find reasons to live in a meaningless and Godless universe.

The pains were all there, and I imagine lots of people were able to relate to them, but only Allen's character's troubles were totally resolved at the end of the film. Caine had an affair and realised he loved his wife -- but they never dealt with the actual problem: That he didn't feel like he could look after Mia Farrow (did they talk and resolve it? It would be hard work and probably wouldn't work in the long run). Weist's pain was not resolved in any way other than finding someone who appreciated her work (although her family were shown to enjoy it, too) - nothing was 'fixed' - if they weren't enthusiastic she'd still be hurt. It's an interesting thing to note, because despite all this, the ending feels very upbeat and emotionally satisfying. In fact, you could very well describe Hannah as a 'feel good' movie.

Casting was superb, direction was great, Farrow is someone else once again. The cinematography, the first collaboration between Allen and Carlo Di Palma, wasn't beautiful, but the film has its own look, and told the story well. The static camera gag was all gone -- phew!

Interesting to note: If this film was as successful as I think it should have been, then I imagine Allen should feel a lot more confident doing drama in the future. Will we see a lot more of it? Will he move on after his next film Radio Days (which I'm aware is a comedy) to doing drama until he has a dramatic failure? Time will tell!

In all I have to say that this really was a wonderful film. The perfect tone of the drama elements is what Interiors should have had (well, in a way -- they are different films). Intelligent, provoking, warm, optimistic, funny (in places) and entirely effective at what it set out to do. Allen is still very vital and his work is a real joy to watch. I think Hannah and Her Sisters might stick out as one of his most successful, along with Annie Hall.

Random notes:
After the fallout from Stardust Memories (see part two of this series) it's surprising that Allen would put Mia Farrow in a role where she is, essentially, herself: She loves being a mother, she has adopted kids, and talks about wanting to live in Connecticut. Very surprising! Anyone could easily read all kinds of relationship problems into the movie -- she's too self-sufficient, he respects her, but doesn't love her. It feels like he settled for her (in the way Allen's character did at the end of Stardust Memories!). Maybe it's all hindsight, and shouldn't be read into, but after the furore with people getting confusing Allen with his character in Stardust Memories, it's a surprising choice -- they even use her real kids and her real mother in the film! So strange.

Although Allen was playing the same sort of character he usually plays, he felt very different for a lot of it, here. He actually had a very strong character that wasn't diluted by the inevitable humour. Having a different main male lead (Caine) was great, too. Another thing to note is the oddness at how late Allen's character was introduced so late into the film, because he becomes a major character afterwards, even though he's separate from the other stories.

Lots of surprisingly great small roles were here, too: Julie Kavner, Daniel Stern (back from Stardust Memories), and even a young Julia Louise Dreyfuss.

Almost exactly the same three sister dynamic from Interiors is seen here: Central "strong" one, insecure/artistic one, lost one. Is Hannah's lighter tone less realistic than Interiors, I wonder? Not sure, but I prefer it.

Afterthoughts
As I stated, the ending feels genuinely upbeat and leaves the audience on a high. A very difficult thing to do convincingly in a drama, but Allen really pulled it off, despite the fact that many of the characters don't have a satisfying resolution (a strange dichotomy that's probably worth examining!). Unfortunately, Allen saw the same holes in the resolutions as I did and says that he didn't consider the ending to be upbeat at all. "Vaguely hopeful" is how he describes it, which kind of kills one of the film's main successes... the 'happy' ending. Once again Allen is at odds with his audience.


RADIO DAYS (1987)
wd: Woody Allen, e: Susan E. Morse, dp: Carlo Di Palma, p: Charles H. Joffe and Jack Rollins

Radio Days felt like Allen's love letter to the 1940s, particularly its music. That's really what I take away now that it's finished. It's very nostalgic and is beautiful in many ways, but I felt some barrier preventing me from totally getting sucked into its world -- possibly it's hyper-real moments, or maybe its unusual structure. Jumping from character to character allowed for some great moments (some hilarious) but it also maybe stopped me from connecting on a deeper level to any of them. Or, possibly more accurately, the film wanted me to connect with the nostalgia, but I couldn't (for some reason).

None of this is to say that structure/jumping around was flawed, if anything it shows Allen's mastery of storytelling that something so discombobulated should feel so cohesive. It is, as ever for Woody Allen movies, entertaining, enjoyable and by no means lacking -- I just didn't love it.

It's strange to think back to a Midsummer's Night Sex Comedy and see how much Allen has changed and progressed in that short time. It's hard to believe that that filmmaker would end up making a film about his own childhood.

One thing that might have kept from me from falling in love with the nostalgia was the film's look -- it just wasn't very pretty. In fact in places it looked TV ugly -- quite surprising, but perhaps due to what must have been a demanding shoot (so many period details, locations, extras, etc.). Production wise, the attention to detail was phenomenal, above and beyond what I'd expect from a Woody Allen film. I have to wonder if they had a larger budget on this one.

This film tries very hard, and very nearly succeeds, in capturing what I imagine it must have felt like living in the 40s. Growing up with your family around you all the time, learning and living through the radio. The outbreak of war, welcoming in 1944, the little girl trapped in the well. Some great moments, but I found myself pulling back and not feeling totally immersed in this world.

The cast was excellent, if a little too star-studded (Diane Keaton, Tony Robbins, Jeff Daniels all have cameos - as if he called in every favour), but some other were unintentional, Seth Green, William H. Macy, etc. The only weak link was Mia Farrow who grated the high-pitched Sally White (although she was great as the sophisticated version of her character). It felt like a throw back to Singing in the Rain, but didn't work nearly as successfully.

In all, a solid film, filled with sweetness and nostalgia, but one that I felt failed at thoroughly engaging me.