Midnight in Paris

Woody Allen, 2011

I was going to front and start off by telling you that I only went to see this because my dad wanted to, but the truth is I’ve seen a lot of the late-era Woody Allen movies (and actually have yet to catch the critically-deemed “good ones” like Match Point and Vicky Cristina Barcelona) and have never really regretted watching any of them. Because I am a child of people who are members of his first generation audience,  I saw the new stuff before I ever saw the old classics, and thus the films I saw are not cheap imitations of some former glory but rather a theme park whose ethos appeals very strongly to the nerdy preadolescent I was when first introduced to his work: Woody World, where neuroses are an attractive, even laudable commodity and you have to do very little work to feel included in and at one with the patina of urban sophistication that pervades his consistent milieu.

The exchanges between our protagonist Owen Wilson and the pompous windbag played by Michael Sheen (an actor who I’m finding increasingly intriguing) will, to those versed in both old and new school Allen of the intellectual standoff that ends with the fantasy intervention of Marshall McLuhan in Annie Hall. And in fact much of Allen’s work comes from this places of exasperated, unrecognized superiority. But Allen wisely concludes that no mere mortal, no matter how sophisticated or fascinating, can compete with Paris, and I think the film works better than many of his past efforts because Allen keeps his ego right-sized and acknowledges thoroughly his position as starry-eyed pilgrim before the City of Lights.

I respected and really connected with this position because it so closely mirrors my own. I studied French for eight years in school (it’s slipping away, but I’m taking a refresher course this summer), but I’ve only been there three times for all-too-brief vacations. And the more I learn, the more I realize that I don’t know the real France at all, but I’m still dwelling in this fantasy land where the food is so good and the sites so beautiful that anyone with even the slightest artistic inclination couldn’t help but be inspired. Thus watching the film made me wistful for experiences and feelings I haven’t experienced. Who knows, maybe I’ll make it there someday.The allure of the memory of expats in Paris in the 20s also resonates with me, as evinced by a period of by life where I decided I was going to become the female Henry Miller by doing every weird slummy thing I could think of.

 

I’ve often mentioned (and indeed felt) this feeling of nostalgia for something never experienced. (Kudos to Matt Weiner and the women on Mad Men for curing me of the notion that life would have been better for me in an earlier time.) Reading Infinite Jest I discovered there’s actually a philosophical term for this phenomenon, which of course I’ve forgotten. I think Allen walks a nice tightrope with this central issue, providing his viewer with all of the pleasures of this kind of fantasy while also keeping a critical eye on its pitfalls.

I’ve often wondered whether Owen Wilson’s well-publicized personal problems could actually be a boon to his career, rendering him a depth and gravitas that belies his sunny persona (and, let’s face it, the roles he often chooses.) I remember remarking to at the time it all happened that his brother played the suicidal character in The Royal Tenenbaums but the moment when Owen’s character opines “I always wanted to be a Tenenbaum,” hits at a melancholy more dangerous for the affability that usually masks it. Interestingly, nostalgia plays a big role in the Wes Anderson milieu, and in light of his performance in this film its interesting to speculate what role Wilson, in his frequent role as Anderson’s co-author, contributes to that effect.

When I was in college I lived with this guy who everyone said looked a lot like Owen Wilson. He was from Georgia so he had this lackadaisical Southern charm going on, but he was the child of academics so he also had this intellectual neurotic edge. My point is that there is such a thing as “Southern neurotic,” which I believe Wilson displays here. For me the later Allen films are more successful when the lead actors can take the protagonist role that Allen clearly still writes for himself and turn them into some other interesting quantity. I think the, for lack of a better term “magical realism” of the story also suits Wilson’s persona. He takes bewilderment and eagerness to an elevated and captivating level.

I’ve become a fan of Marion Cotillard, and really how can you not be, she has a kind of incandescent loveliness. I do think this film, although she fulfills the requirements  of the role perfectly, is part of a dangerous pattern of casting her in roles where she has nothing to do but be lovely and provoke a response in her male co-stars. Much as I love her collaborations with Wong Kar-Wai, I worry that his use of Maggie Cheung may be trapping her in a shrine to her own loveliness. Both actresses are capable of so much more.

So now it’s time for a little confession. I watch Law and Order the way most people do, whenever you catch it on reruns and don’t want to think or want to have the TV on in the background when you do some mindless chore.  But I became a regular, deliberate viewer thanks to Corey Stoll. He was playing the Jerry Orbach role of the wisecracking detective, which always helps, but neverthe less so there was somethi ng about him (even with that moustache), something visceral and lively. It is perhaps a testament to his talent that I loved this film’s portrayal of Hemingway but didn’t identify the actor as Stoll until after the film was over. Although I’m obviously a fan of his writing, the macho huntin’ and shootin’ stuff never did much for me. Stoll projects a real vitality, openness and warmth behind this blustery bravado, and for me it was impossible to take my eyes off him.

Comments

[Dan C.]

AJ,

I knew someone just like that in college. Love the blog. Must say that I like the nostalgic expatriate Woody much more than the Highsmith-lite Woody of Matchpoint...which may have to do with how knowing the knowing inauthenticity is in each case.