Post by StevePulaski on Apr 24, 2018 15:22:03 GMT -5
Alice (1990)
Directed by: Woody Allen
Directed by: Woody Allen
Mia Farrow.
Rating: ★★
NOTE: Part of "Woody Allen Mondays," an ongoing movie-watching event.
Alice Tate (Mia Farrow) is a pampered New York housewife who has been struggling for weeks with an achy back. Her and her husband of fifteen years (William Hurt) have a functional if unromantic relationship with two children who are largely cared for by a nanny, leaving her to spend her days shopping and socializing. Nonetheless, her nagging pain prompts her to seek the treatment of acupuncturist Dr. Yang (Keye Luke) in New York's Chinatown. Upon her arrival, Dr. Yang hypnotizes Alice, informs her that the source of her pain is not her back but rather her head, and gets her to indulge in herbal medicines, the likes of which to get her to be a bit more lucid in life.
Alice is a woman who has ostensibly went through life with barriers up so as not to be hurt as well as someone whose life has been greatly restrained by her worst enemy — herself. With Dr. Yang's medicines, however, she notices small changes in her daily routine, such as her willingness to go along with a handsome jazz musician (Joe Mantegna), as well as larger ones, like her ability to disappear into thin air, which is the result of a potion Dr. Yang gives her upon hearing of her affair. Given how receptive he is to her story and the speed at which he provides her with the right supplement, there's reason to believe Dr. Yang has seen it all, and Alice, later able to engage with spirits such as her first lover, Ed (Alec Baldwin), who returns a ghostly force, embraces new experiences with the help of magic forces.
The plot of Woody Allen's Alice is both capable of producing comic fodder and commentary on society's need for emotional healing and feeling, which is why the film is especially disappointing because it inspires neither. It's a work stuck in neutral, like a car remaining stagnant on a road while its backdrop moves to the right at great speed ala a very cheap play. Allen has fallen in love with the concept at hand and the thought of his creative power combating delusion with illusion that its clouded his ability to get the film out of the vapid funk that prevents it from capitalizing on the incredible potential of this story.
For starters, Farrow is an actress who is usually at her best when given a role with concretion. This is why the best of her filmography includes works like September and Husbands and Wives because in those films she's given a clear direction with her character, be it dramatic and somber or lively and fluid. In Alice, Allen gives her an awkward middle-ground where her identity is one that's either assigned to her by other individuals, like her husband, who sees her as this plain but likable homebody, or at the mercy of Dr. Yang's many herbal concoctions. Whatever the assigned role, Farrow has a difficult time cracking Alice, and in turn, so do we, and it makes it difficult to find the near-two hours we spend with her particularly engaging. She's essentially a blank-slate of a character defined in large part by the copious amounts of absurd instances done onto her.
Even Alice's relationships with her husband and the musician don't come alive like we expect them to. Farrow and Mantegna don't ignite the way so many perfect pairings in Allen films often do. The closest Alice comes to finding chemistry amongst its actors is during the aforementioned scene between Farrow and Baldwin, where Baldwin brings his calm but confident demeanor that, at the very least, allows some stability to manifest in the screenplay. Other than that, the film's relationships compliment the uncertain tone in the regard that it compiles a host of likable talent only to have them teeter-totter in terms of trying to strike the right balance. Like the tone, however, the performances can't elevate what is ultimately a problem with the narrative.
Cinematographer Carlo Di Palma's is sure to enact the distinctly autumnal color palette Allen films of the era are known to replicate, including Interiors, Radio Days, and the previously mentioned September. But discarded are the witticisms Allen loves to sprinkle into his usually dynamic screenplays in favor of a story of magical realism that doesn't feel magical and only somewhat realistic because if we were to drop in on many New York housewives struggling with a backache, their stories would likely be this banal.
Starring: Mia Farrow, William Hurt, Joe Mantegna, Keye Luke, Blythe Danner, and Alec Baldwin. Directed by: Woody Allen.