Whatever Works

is a film made by a man whom the French adore. It is also the perfect title for Woody Allen’s new, groundbreaking film about a beautiful, young woman who falls for a psycho, neurotic, bitter older man who thinks the world is out to get him and that his existence is meaningless save for those rare moments of happiness attributed to luck. Then he runs away from space aliens, takes on the form of a female detective, becomes creepily close to a minor, realizes that his portrayal of the minor is actually an indication of his underlying sexual attraction to his adopted daughter, continues to rant at the world and shack up with younger women, then uses different characters to shack up with said younger women after his audience started complaining about having to watch his actual person doing so, …oh ...woops.

No but really – let’s be serious about Allen’s film that I saw today with a French audience at Les Studios, the one and only “independent” theater house in Tours. I loved every screen second during which the main character, who took on the incredibly novel persona of a passive aggressive Jew, spewed about the unavoidable doom of all humankind, getting old, and being Jewish – I especially appreciated him making those delightful jokes about concentration camps and the Holocaust! “So many parents put their children in camps! …tennis camps, magic camps, etc….they should put them in concentration camps for ten years!” These quips fit right in with the main character’s knee-slapping rants directed at the young ones carefully allocated to appear every fifteen minutes throughout the film– oh the idea of calling children "stupid" as a way of spinning humor is so new and funny that it was a real treat to hear that motif repeated over and over and over again! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahah......ha.

Okay, I beg your pardon. I’ll restrain myself now and be honest with you because I know repetition can get a little annoying– but first let me tell you about how honest I’m actually being about my depression and how all-accepting I am of everyone’s beliefs in order to explain why my belief is really the only belief that works - you know, the one that is all accepting. Something kind of unique about this film (and the only other recent film I can think of on top of my head that did this too was Unwanted with Angelina Joli and James MaCavoy), was that the main character spends the opening and closing of the film talking directly to the audience – he introduces himself – Hi my name is Boris Yelnikof – and explains away a few years of his life and how he is a quantum physics genius– then returns to the screen at the end of the film and, looking directly at the camera ….INTERRUPTION! Actors from a black and white movie jump out of the screen and someone who looks curiously like a ....via...lia...Shmia Shmarrow enters the cinematic world as the audience watches and then everyone analyzes eachother and the whole experience becomes so metaphysical and post-modern! Hurrah - oh we are so smart!

Alright alright. So it doesn’t take a magnificent brain to recognize that all his films are the same. But really – do people know? All his films are the same. So why do they watch his films? Why do you watch his films? Why did I bother to sit through 3-hours class every week for an entire semester on Woody Allen and even after learning for the 100th time that all his films are the same, pay 4.50 euro to go watch his “new” one?

I have this theory. Bear with me. America …and as I’m discovering, mayhaps France as well, simply put, likes funny men. And however much you want to accidentally push Woody into that same black man-eating abyss as Tom Cruise, you want him sing a little first…maybe dance a little too.

But what-ho if the machine's broke? Cuz the sad fact of the matter is that Whatever Works, if you haven't caught my drift by now, well, doesn't work. In all fairness, Allen does a remarkable job trying to salvage the entire production with his, par usual, downright blatancy about his agenda. At the end of the film, after all the crazy bible-belt goody-two shoes who are so representative of all Christianity utterly degrade - woops i mean liberate - themselves in sexually deviancy – Boris tells them – hey! (then looking at the camera) Do you see all those people out there looking at us? Of course, the other characters can’t – only he can - "no? he repeats over and over. You can't see them? But I can! I can!"
oh! The metaphor, it tingles. Then, wait - here comes the best part. Never has he been ballsy enough to do this in any other of his films.
Once again mooking at the camera, Boris in one witty sweep finally proclaims the very words of holy self-proclamation that have been stewing in Woody's confused heart of hearts for so long - "You know why I’m considered a genius? Because I’m the only one who can actually see the whole picture.” Which picture Allen? The one in which you’re not funny?

The sad part is, I think this will either be Woody's last movie, or he will come up with another one, much more full of doubt and uncertainty. The general trend runs that way - you thought he caught onto something in Interiors, then Husbands and wives. But then someone introduced him to a fedora wearing man named luck and things made an ever slight turn from there.

As the credits rolled, I got up, squeezed past the people still sitting – oh yeah, French people actually stay to watch all the credits – and, I ran to the bathroom because my bladder can only hold so much coke zero that I sneak into the theater. As I sat there peeing, I thought to myself, I wonder what my fellow audience members thought of this whole extravaganza? So after washing my hands while singing Happy Birthday twice, I ran back to the theater door and creepily stood close to the line of people filing out. The line of 30+ year olds filing out. The line of people that were either absolutely silent or in the middle of talking about what they wanted for dinner. I am not kidding you – as I waited in suspence to stalk the first person who said the words Woody, Allen, Boris, film, old people, sex…anything that had to do with the film, I got nothing. Actually, I heard the word “fromage,” three times – French people are so freaking quiet! Speak up! How else can I listen in on your convo, jeez.

Finally, I went outside to stand next to all the smokers, hoping a little nicotine or other such things – you know, whatever works – would at least get a little intellectualizing going on. Nothing.

Finally, I threw my hands to the air and began walking home when – BINGO! I heard the man walking in front of me say to his companion “Je ne comprende pas.” I inched a little closer. Ten minutes later, as we past by one of the empty, indefinitely closed cathedrals in Tours, the guy said in French – "I followed a little in the beginning but then lost interest in the blah blah blah.” The woman responded, “I think all of what he said to be very true.”

And there you have it. As I began to realize the implications of their conversation, the lady turned around, probably from feeling my breathing on the back of her neck, and gave me a dirty look. But no matter – I had discovered the secret as to why the French are obsessed with Woody. They either don’t understand all his heavy american-culture laden quips (surprise surprise) and just care about the funny (in which case they wouldn’t like the film like aforementioned man) or…OR…ORRRRRR…they AGREE with his philosophy. And no wonder. The title of the film, the Nike motto, French Catholicism in Tours – it is all the same idea. I can honestly say that, and seriously – please excuse my slowness, I have never really considered Christianity as more of a cultural habit then a religious belief – maybe because it was never for me, personally, that way. And believe you me – I am one of the flakiest Christians I know – but this year, after taking Korean American History and figuring out how the modern Korean-American Church is used as more of a place of cultural release rather than of worship, I was able to pick up on a similar practice here in France. Every person I’ve spoken to here about religion– I was raised this way or that way but now, hey, whatever – has told me the same thing – whatever works, whatever works, whatever works. JIMINY CRICKETS. The most popular “persuasion” here isn’t Catholicism. I must go correct the Office of Tourisme tomorrow, have them scratch that and put out brochures for The church of Woody Allen.