‘I think people should mate for life – like pigeons or Catholics...’
I’m generally someone who can separate the art from the artist. John Lennon did some shitty things in his life, but that doesn’t change the fact that he is also responsible for some of the greatest music ever made. This is one of many examples of the cognitive dissonance we must all employ to enjoy some of our favourite things. And so, despite the various repugnant accusations against him, I have typically enjoyed the work of Woody Allen throughout the years. Blue Jasmine, Midnight in Paris and Annie Hall are all great films, no matter what you think of Allen as a man. But Manhattan… I dunno. Something about it didn’t sit right with me…
Isaac (Allen) is a typical Allen creation. Funny, neurotic and unsure of himself. Here, Isaac starts off by dating a 17-year-old (Mariel Hemingway) despite the fact that he is 42-years-old himself, and then winds up pursuing his friend’s mistress (Diane Keaton) along the way. Meanwhile, his ex-wife Jill (Meryl Streep) is writing a confessional autobiography about their marriage.
So yeah… the old 25 year age gap. In light of Allen’s alleged incidents of abuse, it is uncomfortable watching the scenes shared between Allen and Hemingway. And, of course, I understand that this is just a movie, but still, it’s weird. And this is a shame, because if you can park that for a second, Manhattan is a clever, and frequently hilarious, meditation on relationships and sexual politics. The characters are well drawn, the talented cast appear to be having a blast and Allen himself is on top form. It’s just tough not to succumb to the creeping doubt that there is a darker underlayer to this film.
We can’t whitewash cinematic history. Allen has been a prolific and successful director for four decades now, but this particular film is perhaps a little too close to home.