MCN Columnists
Kim Voynar

By Kim Voynar

Review: You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger

Woody Allen‘s latest effort, You Will Find a Tall Dark Stranger, finds the director returning to Europe — the fertile ground which, in recent years, has served as the setting for the excellent Match Point and Vicky Cristina Barcelona and the fair-to-middling Cassandra’s Dream and Scoop. This time around he’s back in London with a story about the futile, perpetual human desire to chase after that ever elusive greener grass.

It’s a premise that could have been very funny, but Allen’s effort here feels half-hearted, at best, as if he’s shrugging and saying, “Eh, so the story, it’s not so great, but I cast some good actors in the roles and they do a pretty decent job of it. What, you expect me to knock it out of the park every time?”

And if it’s true that this isn’t Woody Allen at his best, it’s also true that even mediocre Woody Allen is still a cut above most of what you’re likely to find at the multiplex. So while this may be more a platter of bangers and mash than haute arthouse cuisine, hey, it could be worse. At least it’s not McDonalds.

So here’s what we have here: A voiceover (Zak Orf) kicks things off by introducing us to Helena (Gemma Jones), a housefrau of a certain age who’s seeking the advice of a charlatan fortune teller (Pauline Collins) in the wake of being abandoned rather abruptly by her husband Alfie (Anthony Hopkins).

Alfie, in the midst of a rather typical male midlife crisis, has suddenly realized he’s getting older, and decided to jettison his old wife and his old life in a desperate attempt to turn old age back into youth through a regimen of workouts, tanning, and a younger wardrobe. Unfortunately for Alfie, the most dedicated regimen cannot turn back the tide of time, and so he succeeds only — as most men in similar situations do, though they realize it only in retrospect — in making himself look thoroughly ridiculous and decidedly undignified.

So he does what any other reasonable man of a certain age in a certain situation would do: acquire a sexy-trashy call-girl girlfriend, Charmaine (Lucy Punch) and woo/buy her love and the promise of fathering a son with her, with as many furs and jewels and tony apartments as your budget can manage. But will even that make Alfie happy in the end? Helena, meanwhile, taking her psychic’s advice, is seeking out a new love of her own, in the form of Jonathan (Roger Ashton-Griffiths), a new-agey bookstore owner who keeps trying to communicate with his dear, departed wife.

Alfie and Helena’s daughter Sally (Naomi Watts), meanwhile, is reaching that age when she’s feeling both the tug of desire for motherhood and the elusiveness of her dream career as an art gallery owner lurking just … out … of reach. Sally is in a flailing marriage to Roy (Josh Brolin), who, after publishing a promising first novel, has been paralyzed by fear of the specter of sophomore failure ever since.

Sally takes a job as the assistant to the ever-sexy Antonio Banderas, owner of a prestigious gallery, to whom she feels an almost immediate physical attraction. If you were married to a grumpy, sloppy, once-promising writer whose unwillingness to take a day job meant you were financially dependent on your mother and unable to pursue the greener grass of motherhood, mightn’t you be tempted by a charming Banderas, slick in expensive suits, and sharing your passion for art? Sure you would. Or at least, you’d ponder it. Roy, for his part, is busy fantasizing about the beautiful woman in red who lives in a flat across the way.

In spite of a a stellar cast and some stories that are, individually, interesting enough, none of it ever congeals into a truly satisfying whole. The film overall has the feel of a bit of a rush job, of Allen just tossing some ideas at his actors, getting it all done as quickly as possible,and moving on. It lacks the magic of Vicky Cristina, the sharp wit of Match Point, and mostly just feels like we’re seeing a warmed-over rehash of something Allen has done — better — many times before.

But hey, it’s Woody Allen, right? When he’s on he’s really really on, and when he’s not, well, it’s not generally terrible, it just fails to meet our expectations of what we hope every Woody Allen movie will be. You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger falls firmly into the category of the “lesser Woody Allen” films — worth watching if you’re a buff who doesn’t miss a single Woody Allen film in theaters. Otherwise, it’s maybe worth adding to your Netflix queue.

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It shows how out of it I was in trying to be in it, acknowledging that I was out of it to myself, and then thinking, “Okay, how do I stop being out of it? Well, I get some legitimate illogical narrative ideas” — some novel, you know?

So I decided on three writers that I might be able to option their material and get some producer, or myself as producer, and then get some writer to do a screenplay on it, and maybe make a movie.

And so the three projects were “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep,” “Naked Lunch” and a collection of Bukowski. Which, in 1975, forget it — I mean, that was nuts. Hollywood would not touch any of that, but I was looking for something commercial, and I thought that all of these things were coming.

There would be no Blade Runner if there was no Ray Bradbury. I couldn’t find Philip K. Dick. His agent didn’t even know where he was. And so I gave up.

I was walking down the street and I ran into Bradbury — he directed a play that I was going to do as an actor, so we know each other, but he yelled “hi” — and I’d forgot who he was.

So at my girlfriend Barbara Hershey’s urging — I was with her at that moment — she said, “Talk to him! That guy really wants to talk to you,” and I said “No, fuck him,” and keep walking.

But then I did, and then I realized who it was, and I thought, “Wait, he’s in that realm, maybe he knows Philip K. Dick.” I said, “You know a guy named—” “Yeah, sure — you want his phone number?”

My friend paid my rent for a year while I wrote, because it turned out we couldn’t get a writer. My friends kept on me about, well, if you can’t get a writer, then you write.”
~ Hampton Fancher

“That was the most disappointing thing to me in how this thing was played. Is that I’m on the phone with you now, after all that’s been said, and the fundamental distinction between what James is dealing with in these other cases is not actually brought to the fore. The fundamental difference is that James Franco didn’t seek to use his position to have sex with anyone. There’s not a case of that. He wasn’t using his position or status to try to solicit a sexual favor from anyone. If he had — if that were what the accusation involved — the show would not have gone on. We would have folded up shop and we would have not completed the show. Because then it would have been the same as Harvey Weinstein, or Les Moonves, or any of these cases that are fundamental to this new paradigm. Did you not notice that? Why did you not notice that? Is that not something notable to say, journalistically? Because nobody could find the voice to say it. I’m not just being rhetorical. Why is it that you and the other critics, none of you could find the voice to say, “You know, it’s not this, it’s that”? Because — let me go on and speak further to this. If you go back to the L.A. Times piece, that’s what it lacked. That’s what they were not able to deliver. The one example in the five that involved an issue of a sexual act was between James and a woman he was dating, who he was not working with. There was no professional dynamic in any capacity.

~ David Simon