Friday, 30 December 2011

INTERIORS


LOOK, I’M WOODY. HOWDY, HOWDY, HOWDY.
Starring Diane Keaton


Y

  Shambling pessimism and deep-seated psychological problems take centre stage for the first time in the only film on this list that could be construed as a straight up face-fucking horror movie. The early scenes are disjointed and confusing, the strength of the performances making up for a tangled narrative that barely holds together in a sea of beige rooms and oddly-shaped vases, nervy motions and emotional outbursts. The whole thing groans along like a sick fever dream version of Hannah and Her Sisters, the actresses at the core of the story spitting feathers at each other and building their rage and loss, culminating in a final act that’s sparse, claustrophobic and by far the darkest work of Allen’s career. In truth it’s based around the exact same themes as everything else he’s put his name to: nature vs. intelligence, feelings against thoughts, but here they’re all brought to the surface by the performances of Geraldine Page and Maureen Stapleton, the first as a lost, confused woman on the edge of death, the other a vibrant and seemingly simple old bag of fun. Together they embody the battles that rage throughout the dialogue and long glances, the icy camerawork and extended silences. Allen has never really been able to reconcile his clear love for the vibrancy and spontaneity that life can bring with his entrenched existential dread, but he’s never shown the divide as clearly as the scene where Joey, the middle daughter, watches her new step mother dance alone in the living room of their family home. The eyes behind those frames, the fingers clasped tight around the wine glass show everything that the little nerdy kid ever saw looking at others, separated by windows and walls from the interiors of life that he could never stay with. It’s a master class, and for pure, seeping dread he’s never really bettered it. By the end, when the waves shudder and roll towards the beach house, you’ll be left there shaking and cold, wondering how in God’s name this disturbed man ever made Small Time Crooks. A great film, a horrible film.

Oh. I forgot about Small Time Crooks.

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