Deconstructing Allen's 'Harry'

Where to start? Here's the short version: Deconstructing Harry, the new movie from writer-director-actor Woody Allen is a) very funny, b) very unfunny, c) very personal, d) strangely detached, e) dense as hell and f) strangely unsatisfying. Here's the long version:

In a fragmented, occasionally surrealistic style meant to reflect the mental state of its protagonist, Deconstructing Harry tells the story of Harry Block (Allen) a--surprise--neurotic writer with a penchant for antidepressants, prostitutes and incorporating the details of his personal life into his literature. For the first time in his life, he's suffering from writer's block--get it? Harry...Block. Via flashbacks and vignettes representing Block's fiction, the film relates the author's psychosexual hangups, difficulties with fidelity and issues with religion. The movie is loosely structured around Block's repeated attempts to find someone to accompany him on a trip to his old college, where he's being honored as a literary hero despite being expelled years earlier.

Now, the deconstruction.

a) Very funny. Woody's still Woody, and as such, Deconstructing Harry is not without its moments. Late in the film comes a brilliant, enormously funny sequence in which Harry descends into Hell for a chat with the Devil (Billy Crystal, having the time of his life)--who, incidentally, is an old friend who stole Block's nubile young student-girl-friend (Elisabeth Shue '88). Most of the humor here is fresh, dead-on and perfectly timed. From the miscellaneous tortured souls ("What did you do?" "I invented aluminum siding") in the netherworld to its wonderfully nefarious ruler ("I ran a Hollywood studio for two years, but you can't trust those people"), Allen's pen bleeds snappy oneliners and razor-sharp satire. If only the preceding hour of the film had been as enjoyable.

b) Very unfunny. Jokes about dyslexic girls who stick tampons up their noses aren't funny. The word "fuck" does not make everything funny, nor does its constant use by virtually every character add anything to its content or make any kind of social statement--Pulp Fiction came out four years ago. Phrases like "hyper-aggressive tight-ass busybody cunt" are not funny and do not sound very good coming out of Woody's mouth, nor does tiresome prostitute humor ("No, no. Hit me, then the blowjob"). Richard Benjamin having sex with Julia Louis-Drey-fus in front of a blind woman isn't funny, nor does it provide the viewer with any insights into the film's characters. Overlong vignettes about murderous, octogenarian Jewish cannibals are not funny, and Woody certainly could have communicated his character's conflicted feelings regarding his religion in a classier (or at least funnier) way.

c) very personal. Ultimately, Deconstructing Harry is about a writer whose greatest epiphany comes when he stops denying the close relationship between his life and literature. Allen, who for 30 years has firmly denied any element of autobiography existing in his work, seems to be making some confessional statement with the film. Manifestly autobiographical segments, including an amusing sendup of Mia Farrow's allegations of Allen's misconduct with their child, support this interpretation. But Allen complicates things by introducing drastic contradictory elements--his character's interest in fetishist prostitutes, drug and alcohol addiction, and painfully inarticulate vulgarity seem intended to confound the audience. According to this analysis, the film reads as a kind of failed art maneuver--failed because Deconstructing Harry is not funny or moving or sad or engaging or heartwarming or heartbreaking--and we were already confused about Allen's relationship to his characters.

(d)Strangely detached--In the ways noted above, Allen distances himself from the material, but his directorial estrangement goes far beyond his own character. Through both his writing and directing, Allen systematically destroys any chance for his lead actresses, specifically Judy Davis and Kirstie Alley, to do any acting at all. Instead, he forces them into ugly, pathetic, caricatured roles not worthy of a fraction of their talent. Davis, a brilliant actress, is wasted as the strung-out, borderline-psychotic ex who comes to Harry's apartment looking for retribution. In Allen's 1992 Husbands and Wives, she delivered a devastatingly accurate performance in a not dissimilar role; here, she may as well be Sabrina the Teenage Witch. Alley's character is similarly distorted, creating a disturbing (and aggravating) trend for the film. Why won't Allen let us get close to the characters? It's this closeness that made so many of his other films work, and the denial of which ultimately kills this one.

(e)Dense as hell and strangely unsatisfying--Deconstructing Harry is a long 89 minutes. Jam-packed with tons of characters, more vignettes than Short Cuts and loads of references to Allen's previous movies, the film never sits still-but it never really goes anywhere, either. For all of its stylistic variety and experimentation--the Peter Greenaway-esque Hell sets, jarring time shifts, jump cuts and film loops--the film leaves the viewer with a feeling of emptiness. It touches upon all of the classic Allen themes, but in its hurry to make an all-emcompassing (and, in the end, annoyingly elliptical) statement about the artist's relationship to his work, fails to develop any of these to the fruition reached in Allen's earlier works. None of the characters (except Block, who turns out to be annoying, vulgar and uninteresting) are given enough attention to function in any mode other than one directly dependent on Allen's character.

If you're thinking about seeing this movie, think again. Your time would be better spent digging into the hefty Allen catalogue; he's addressed every theme and genre that Harry touches upon better in the past: Want romantic comedy with a hint of pathos? Try Annie Hall or Manhattan. Existentialist dilemmas mixed with murder? Shadows and Fog or Manhattan Murder Mystery should keep you busy. Science fiction meets wacky social satire? Rent Sleeper. Dead-on, perfect drama? Crimes and Misdemeanors and Husbands and Wives are a sure shot. Allen's even made better films in Harry's own kind-of-autobiographical-but-think-again vein: for an alternately funny and moving spin on Woody's artistic and personal angst, see Stardust Memories. Show up to Deconstructing Harry if you must (I know no amount of negative press could keep me away from a Woody Allen film), but know that he has done better, and hope that he will again. And soon

(d)Strangely detached--In the ways noted above, Allen distances himself from the material, but his directorial estrangement goes far beyond his own character. Through both his writing and directing, Allen systematically destroys any chance for his lead actresses, specifically Judy Davis and Kirstie Alley, to do any acting at all. Instead, he forces them into ugly, pathetic, caricatured roles not worthy of a fraction of their talent. Davis, a brilliant actress, is wasted as the strung-out, borderline-psychotic ex who comes to Harry's apartment looking for retribution. In Allen's 1992 Husbands and Wives, she delivered a devastatingly accurate performance in a not dissimilar role; here, she may as well be Sabrina the Teenage Witch. Alley's character is similarly distorted, creating a disturbing (and aggravating) trend for the film. Why won't Allen let us get close to the characters? It's this closeness that made so many of his other films work, and the denial of which ultimately kills this one.

(e)Dense as hell and strangely unsatisfying--Deconstructing Harry is a long 89 minutes. Jam-packed with tons of characters, more vignettes than Short Cuts and loads of references to Allen's previous movies, the film never sits still-but it never really goes anywhere, either. For all of its stylistic variety and experimentation--the Peter Greenaway-esque Hell sets, jarring time shifts, jump cuts and film loops--the film leaves the viewer with a feeling of emptiness. It touches upon all of the classic Allen themes, but in its hurry to make an all-emcompassing (and, in the end, annoyingly elliptical) statement about the artist's relationship to his work, fails to develop any of these to the fruition reached in Allen's earlier works. None of the characters (except Block, who turns out to be annoying, vulgar and uninteresting) are given enough attention to function in any mode other than one directly dependent on Allen's character.

If you're thinking about seeing this movie, think again. Your time would be better spent digging into the hefty Allen catalogue; he's addressed every theme and genre that Harry touches upon better in the past: Want romantic comedy with a hint of pathos? Try Annie Hall or Manhattan. Existentialist dilemmas mixed with murder? Shadows and Fog or Manhattan Murder Mystery should keep you busy. Science fiction meets wacky social satire? Rent Sleeper. Dead-on, perfect drama? Crimes and Misdemeanors and Husbands and Wives are a sure shot. Allen's even made better films in Harry's own kind-of-autobiographical-but-think-again vein: for an alternately funny and moving spin on Woody's artistic and personal angst, see Stardust Memories. Show up to Deconstructing Harry if you must (I know no amount of negative press could keep me away from a Woody Allen film), but know that he has done better, and hope that he will again. And soon