To mark the release of Whatever Works , Woody Allen’s 40 th movie, Entertainment Weekly film critic Owen Gleiberman has ranked each of Allen’s films . As a Woody loyalist — in my book, he’s a member of a small club of artists who’ve made both tragic and comic masterpieces — I commend the effort. But the rankings are so preposterous I wonder whether the list is meant purely as a provocation rather than an earnest expression of preferences.
The first eyebrow-raising choice is Bananas at No. 3—it’s a decent slapstick, but it’s a slight effort even when compared with Woody’s other comedies, like the autobiographically rich Radio Days , the more fanciful Alice (ranked at 32!) or Gleiberman’s 10 th -place pick, The Purple Rose of Cairo .
Equally shocking is Gleiberman’s contention that Match Point is Woody’s sixth-best movie. Match Point is nothing more than a poor man’s Crimes and Misdemeanors (11 th place), lazily shot by a director who obviously doesn’t know London well.
One more puzzling decision: ranking September last. Not the greatest Woody Allen movie, I concede, but Dianne Wiest, Mia Farrow, and Sam Waterston all deliver solid performances, making September a perfectly watchable little drama. Certainly it’s leagues better than the offensive Whatever Works , which Gleiberman mysteriously ranks at 26.
There is, however, one film Gleiberman and I agree on: Manhattan . Gleiberman gives it his No. 1 spot, and while I wouldn’t go so far (I prefer Crimes and Misdemeanors ), it’s certainly Allen’s most lyrical film — the most moving love letter ever sent to New York City, perhaps to any city. It’s also a great counterpoint to Whatever Works , in part because it deals with the same May-December theme. The relationship between Larry David and Evan Rachel Wood in Whatever Works is perplexingly asexual and ends in a childishly easy fashion, with Wood explaining she’s fallen for a lustier contemporary. Manhattan , on the other hand, is entirely forthright about Mariel Hemingway’s sex appeal, the possibility of genuine, passionate attachment across generations, and also the older man’s desperation when she’s finally ready to move on. Here’s the classic closing scene:
Have I been too hard on Gleiberman? Am I too easy on Woody Allen’s Bergman knock-offs? Post your thoughts in the “Fray.”
