Woody Allen 1996 USA
Starring: Goldie Hawn, Alan Alda, Drew Barrymore, Tim Roth, Natalie Portman, Edward Norton, Gaby Hoffman, Natasha Lyonne, Julia Roberts, Lukas Haas
Put simply, Woody Allen is one of my favourite directors of all time although not one with a perfect record. When he switched from pure slapstick and farce to a mixture of self-analysis, comedy and drama many were downright scornful and a lot of those who weren't still preferred his "earlier funny films", a subject Allen himself addressed in 1980's Stardust Memories. In recent years his detractors, and even many of his fans, have gone further, claiming that his best days are long gone and any new releases are middling reruns at best - 2006's vastly underrated Scoop even failed to receive UK distribution. In my book though I view him much in the same way as I do Jean-Luc Godard in that his name on a poster will guarantee my attention and usually my money but, as someone who has created classic upon classic, he's allowed to miss sometimes. 1996's Everyone Says I Love You is a standout of his late period, sitting between the lightweight but likeable Mighty Aphrodite and the admittedly hilarious flagellation of Deconstructing Harry, and marks a mild, somewhat uncommon experiment from a man often noted for his over-anxiety. The film is a musical if not a normal one, the song and dance numbers being executed with a knowing aura and a voiceover immediately debunking any generic assumptions viewers may have ("we're not the usual musical family"). In basic terms it's an above average Woody Allen ensemble piece embellished with many of his beloved jazz standards performed by the impressive cast (except Drew Barrymore, who convinced Allen that her singing voice was too awful even for the 'untrained person' vibe he was aiming for). The family in question is made up of Alan Alda and Goldie Hawn and their various children (played by, amongst others, Barrymore, Gaby Hoffmann and a young Natalie Portman). Their son is heavily in the doghouse because he's become a conservative republican. Another, the narrator, is Hawn's daughter from a past marriage to Allen. As ever some things remain the same and Allen is Allen on top wisecracking, neurotic but casually optimistic form regularly lamenting the end of a catalogue of relationships. One girlfriend was a poet and a member of Mensa but also a heroin addict (he assumed it was insulin) while a second doubled as an archaeologist and a nymphomaniac. His latest dream woman is played by Julia Roberts but his efforts to get her are decidedly underhanded and even sinister. Everyone does well but particularly Allen, both in singing and inventively adapting the songs to make them different to any past versions. At one point I'm Through With Love is amended into a rap (Nat King Cole never said 'motherfucker' professionally) and later Hooray for Captain Spaulding is sung in French by a chorus of dancing Groucho Marxes. The Marx Brothers are a big influence, not just in the combination of one-liners and brilliantly choreographed songs but also in the film's best scene, a wonderfully natural glimpse of a couple who never were, Hawn and Allen, both of them wearing fake moustaches and holding oversized cigars, making each other giggle. Allen of course is Groucho, not traditionally good-looking but oddly attractive and reeling off the zingers a mile a minute. There's more than mere witticisms however, Allen having skilfully woven in nods to the fickleness of romance, the champagne charity of the upper classes, the frighteningly exploitative methods some men will use to win over a vulnerable woman and love based in self-validation. The film is whimsical and warm, seasonal and silly, an anxious acknowledgement with a shadowy epicentre; in other words, classic Allen.