In his most affecting films—including his nearly uninterrupted run of masterworks from 1977-1992—Woody Allen could limn the contours of a failing love affair with a humour, grace, and intelligence that remains the envy of urban auteurs the world over. Though prone to the criticism that many of his films are mere re-stagings of the same story with new titles—or, that his filmmaking “style” is really just a vast homage to Fellini, Bergman and other giants he admired in his formative years—this has always seemed to be a misapprehension of the degree to which his films have always been, unavoidably, his own.
Allen’s playfulness, his audacity, and his unfailingly goofy sense of humour, lent an urbane American wit to those sometimes stilted European approaches. Indeed, few filmmakers of the past 50 years have developed such an immediately identifiable signature. Allen’s Midnight in Paris, now in theaters and his all-time biggest financial success, is further proof of the director’s command of the medium.
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