Manhattan-Woody Allen

​In an earlier review for Do The Right Thing, I included Woody Allen in the list of filmmakers whom I consider to be offensively overrated. But to give them a fighting chance at changing my opinion I decided to watch several of their films.
With Manhattan, it wasn't so much that it was a bad film per se. It has some very beautiful photography and some great scenes of exchange with sharp dialogue. But all of this is almost impossible to enjoy while ignoring the fact that Woody Allen is an absolute pervert from start to finish.
How anyone can dismiss the lines he exchanges with Muriel Hemingway (who was 16 when filming Manhattan) and is implied to be 17—is beyond me.
In a revised prologue to A Clockwork Orange, Anthony Burgess writes:
"It is the novelist's innate cowardice that makes him depute to imaginary personalities the sins that he is too cautious to commit for himself."
In some sense, I do agree with this statement.
Portions of Tully McGinty at his most reckless and reprehensible apex were taken both directly from what I had seen firsthand in others and also from tapping into my innermost caveman, who completely disregards empathy for others.
It is not that I want to engage in any of the activities that Tully pursues in his problem gambling Odyssey. But only to dig deep and imagine what it is like to live a day-to-day life where the rules that I hold, as David Higgs, and the morals that I live by and help to rest easy my head at night, cease to exist. In this, there is a certain degree of fantasy role-playing. If it feels ugly and nasty to write, then be sure to include it.
With Woody Allen though, you can see plain as day that through Muriel Hemingway he allows an entirely different fantasy of acceptable pedophilia to unfold. Woody and Muriel sleep together, have make-out sessions, go on carriage rides, and discuss their sex life.
Even typing this last bit induces nausea. But for Woody Allen, it's no big deal. And, as if to exonerate himself for such a despicable dalliance with an underage girl, he acknowledges his misdeed by slandering Muriel behind her back and then dumping her when he commences a relationship with his best friends gommar.
This could have been an acceptable romance film that displays the beauty within New York but only comes out as a narcissistic fugazi from a perverted little weasel.
I know Larry David draws a lot of his inspiration from Woody and you can tell where the pretentious mannerisms come from. But that's Larry David and not David Higgs. My original perception of Woody remains unchanged. I think he is an overrated director who indulges in sick fantasies through the medium of his films and I still cannot figure out why the arts community regards this Napoleonic Caliugla as some otherworldly genius.
I plan on watching Annie Hall as well, but after that, I am finished with Woody.
Stars: **1/2
Verdict: Pass
Cousins: Autumn in New York, Blue Car, American Beauty, The Panic In Needle Park, Midnight Cowboy