_______________ YUCKY WOODY BY ANDREW O'HEHIR (01/16/98)

Who the hell is Andrew O'Hehir? Exactly the sort of person, it appears, I most detest in a movie theater. In his review of Woody Allen's new movie, "Deconstructing Harry," Mr. O'Hehir states that with this film Allen has, "convincingly scattered his remaining disciples at one stroke." To the extent that is true, I would say (loudly and accompanied by hearty bleating), "High time!" I saw this movie with my best friend, who, like me, has been waiting for years, interminably, for Woody Allen to break out of the apparent neurosis that constricted his work, making it a pallid and thinly stretched simulacrum of real, serious European cinema. We knew he had it in him and, because we did (but also, mostly, because there was little else out there), we dutifully trotted off to each succeeding premiere -- only to be confronted, of course, with the usual (and, disconcertingly, increasing) contrivance wrapped in pretentiousness; and all of it together caught in the amber of bourgeois sterility. Most of these films reflected the smugness and utter lack of vitality (intellectual or otherwise) of the American would-be intellectuals who stood in line for them -- those disgusting petit-bourgeois of narrow notions and nerves, who shrink from anything that has any real life to it -- especially and above all, sex; those minions of philistinism for whom "taste" is of paramount concern (and against whom, most notably, Vladimir Nabokov railed so well). These are the folks whom Allen has so bravely offended with his new film. As my friend and I sat there watching it, we each found ourselves astounded (in between bouts of convulsive laughter) at the breakthrough he had made; and astounded, as well, at the vitality apparent in this new film. For us, at least, this film accomplished what it probably intended: restoring to -- or, rather, endowing on -- Allen, his artistic integrity and auteur credentials; finally -- and for now. And it also accomplished something else (also doubtless intended): The business with Soon-Yi (which really is none of our business) is forgiven; how can you hold that against a guy who spent years corralling into the theater (and the salon) every pretentious philistine in the world, seemingly, only to drive them away so gloriously, their shorts in a twist? To Woody Allen I say, "Bravo!" Welcome to the world of Real Art. To those of his former fans who find themselves on the sidelines now, I say welcome to the art of the real world. I say this especially to your "reviewer," Mr. O'Hehir. He'll have to find another dad, I guess. He has my condolences, but not my sympathy. -- Doug Thacker Andrew O'Hehir's piece on Woody Allen was simply a masterpiece. Wow! What writing! -- Laura Hamilton I have just finished wading through Mr. O'Hehir's piece on Woody Allen. Yes, "Deconstructing Harry" was not a fine film. But dear God, must we be subjected to the self-serving musings of a flatulent intellectual who laments the loss of his father figure? At one point, O'Hehir describes the split between the pro-Farrow camp and the pro-Woody camp as reminiscent of the Stalinist-Trotskyite split. Get a life. Deep down, Woody Allen fans know that the director's talents reside in his ability to lampoon the bombasts and smartened up blowhards of the world. Mr. O'Hehir should stick to discussing Mahler with the Chardonnay crowd and find a hobby. -- Michael A. Duffy Northwestern University I have been a film fanatic my entire life -- literally, as I was first exposed to it at the age of 4, sitting on my mother's lap, staring up in awe and wonderment at the Cinerama screen carrying the images of Kubrick's "2001: A Space Odyssey." Nine years later the bond between film and I was cemented forever with the release of "Star Wars," which brings me to Woody Allen. Let me explain. The following spring, as the Oscars were handed out, I hated Allen -- with a passion common only to 13-year-old boys -- for the supreme crime of having made a movie that was winning all the big awards. On and on it went, all night: best picture, best director, best writing, etc., etc. I knew who Allen was; I had once seen him in "Casino Royale" on TV. I would not forgive him until I was a sophomore in college. In that year, in San Francisco, on 19th Avenue and Taraval, there once stood a theater called the Parkside. Tickets and popcorn were incredibly cheap, and the owners seemed to love movies, the showing of which they subsidized by tearing the seats out of the loge and turning it into a day-care center. It was in the Parkside's balcony that I discovered the real Woody Allen of "Bananas," "Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Sex," "Love and Death," "Take the Money and Run" and, to my great surprise and grudging joy, "Annie Hall." But later on I realized that to understand Allen one need only watch a single film. "Stardust Memories," when it came out, was savaged by most mainstream critics in much the same way and for the same reasons that O'Hehir attacks "Deconstructing Harry." I distinctly remember that Siskel and Ebert both commented that Allen was betraying his audience by telling them, in effect, that they were dumb for saying things such as "We like all your movies; especially the early, funny ones," and wanting only more of the same. There was the same shaking of heads, the same disenchantment from longtime fans. But the fact is, Allen himself seemed to be in complete agreement. He was more or less talking to himself -- something for which he was roundly criticized -- when the aliens tell him, "You want to help the world? Tell more funny jokes." What Mr. O'Hehir doesn't seem to understand, or perhaps doesn't want to understand, is that Woody Allen is first and foremost a comedian. A brilliant comedian, to be sure, but a comedian nevertheless. He wrote gags for Sid Caesar at the same time that Mel Brooks did, and in point of fact Allen's early films were just slightly more elevated than Brooks'; indeed, one could argue that "The Producers" was better than anything Allen did until "Annie Hall." Movies like "Interiors" and "September" were experiments, interesting but beside the point. Frankly, I find Mr. O'Hehir's pretensions a bit off-putting. Woody Allen has made many very good films and, arguably, a couple of truly great ones. The one thing they all have in common is they are comedies. As to Soon Yi, I was surprised but not shocked. Great artists are nearly always supremely selfish people. When Allen said, as a way of explaining himself, "The heart wants what it wants," I recognized the tone of the truly self-absorbed. Of course, self-absorption is what Allen's best movies have always been about. --Rob Anderson This is for Andrew O'Hehir: You must, repeat MUST, resist the urge to become the David Horowitz of Woody Allen movies! Your article was great! For the first time, I understood how Woody gets all those beautiful young girls! Now that Woody has become an embarrassment to you, you want to reject him like you did your real Father. Don't do it! "Deconstructing Harry" was unsuccessful in only one major way: It didn't succeed in making us Woody Allen groupies think being Woody Allen would be such a bad thing! He's still a sexy image, even though he's clearly an asshole. I'm not kidding about your article being great. There are a lot of us whose image of New York sophistication and humor are based on the Wood Man. I can't remember ever hearing the story told before. I do remember, however, thinking that the other people on line with me at Woody movies were in my Karrass (I'll bet you were influenced by Vonnegut, too!). -- Ben Bochner SALON | Jan. 20, 1998

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