Whatever Works

After experiencing something of a renaissance while shooting films in Europe (well, if we forget about Scoop), Woody Allen has returned to New York for his latest comedy. Unfortunately, returning home hasn't done him any good, and Whatever Works is perhaps the worst comedy he's ever made (the worst film he ever made remains the pretentious drama September).

As someone who thinks Allen is one of the greatest filmmakers of all time, his spotty (to put it kindly) record for the last ten to fifteen years pains me. And I was uncomfortable from the opening moments of this film. We are introduced to Boris, played by Larry David, who is an irascible physicist who is a repository of all the tics that Allen has manifested over the years, but without any of the charm. David tells the audience, breaking the third wall, that we won't like him. And how! He's a kvetch, but what's worse, he's not very interesting. He insults everyone he sees for their lack of intelligence, but these slurs aren't very clever (moron and inchworm are the most common). The character is instantly tedious. It's as if a devoted student of Allen had attempted write his own Allen film.

Anyway, David is an anhedonic curmudgeon who finds life without purpose and has no social skills. But he does have a circle of friends and an ex-wife. One day he is approached by a young woman living on the street, who somehow convinces him to take her in. She's Evan Rachel Wood, and though she's an appealing performer she's asked to do the impossible here, playing a naif from Mississippi who we are somehow supposed to believe actually falls in love with David. He resists, admirably enough, citing the difference in their ages, but they eventually marry.

Now, psychologists can have a field day dissecting Allen's persistent use of May-December relationships in his films, and given what we know about his own life it is even more sordid. My take is that Allen is an individual who lives in his own bubble and has very little idea of what life for others is like. He knows that he found a much younger woman, so doesn't find the idea as disturbing as the rest of us. It would also account for his tin ear when it comes to characters like Wood's, who is a cliche of Southern stereotypes (she actually talks about catching catfish).

The film picks up a bit when Wood's mother, delightfully played by Patricia Clarkson, shows up. She's a Bible-thumper who quickly turns into a Bohemian, taking photographs of nude models and living in a menage a trois. A film about her may have been more interesting.

Of course, the greatest sin of this film is that it's not funny. David has considerable strengths as a performer, but he's not up to carrying the weight of a feature film on his back, especially when he's a conduit for Allen's warmed over word-weary dialogue.

The story goes that Allen first conceived of this script in the 70s (it was going to star Zero Mostel). He resurrected it because he had a window to make a film but no script, so he went into his drawer to dust this one off. Mistake. In fact, Allen's prolificness is doing his legacy no favors. Take a long vacation, Woody, you've earned it.