Terry can’t stand Woody Allen’s films. Can’t say I blame him. For my own part, Allen’s been the one auteur whose films I go to see, even though there’s about a 60% chance I’m going to be disappointed (a percentage that has risen considerably in the last decade). His unfortunate disaster-to-gold ratio has left me reluctant to revisit his ouevre. I haven’t loved a single films of his since Everyone Says I Love You. But I still love Bananas, The Purple Rose of Cairo, Hannah and Her Sisters, Crimes and Misdemeanors, and Manhattan (and, hell, even Deconstructing Harry, which I hoped would usher in a more down-and-dirty Woody, but didn’t). The titles in this bunch more than make up for such nauseating misfires as The Curse of the Jade Scorpion, Don’t Drink the Water (1994), Celebrity, and Stardust Memories,, the insufferable Bergman clones (Interiors and Shadows and Fog), and the so-so attempts to find an “earlier, funnier” Woody that no longer exists (Manhattan Murder Mystery and Small Time Crooks).
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