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gbrumburgh-1's rating
Similar, yet different, from his other films ("The Brother's McMullen" and `She's the One'), writer/director/producer/actor Edward Burns, with his typical minuscule budget, broaches on Woody Allen territory this time as he explores the ooohs, aaahs and owwwws (mostly the owwwws) of the marriage and dating game. The sights and sounds of New York is in the air as the movie zeroes in on six disparate Manhattanites, all of whom trying their damnest to find the no-real answer to happiness. No belly-laughs here, but a lot of knowing smiles.
This brash, perceptive, ultimately winning cyclical comedy first introduces us to good-looking, nice-guy Tommy (Ed Burns) who has just split up with his girlfriend and has been thrown out of her apartment. Tommy takes a sudden interest in evasive school teacher Maria (Rosario Dawson), whom he meets in a video store. Maria is divorced from small, tough-talking schlmiel Ben (David Krumholtz), a doorman and rock musician wannabe who cheated on her. Ben, still pining for Maria, finds a welcome distraction in edgy student/waitress Ashley (Brittany Murphy), who is having an affair with a much older and married dentist, Griffin (Stanley Tucci), whose suspecting wife Annie (Heather Graham), a real estate agent, has her eye on one of her customers, Tommy (back to Ed Burns again), who is (remember?) looking for a new pad since his girlfriend kicked him out. So much for the Kevin Bacon six degrees of separations and divorces angle.
To punch up the thought processes of our six relationship-minded specimens, Burns has given his film a documentary/reality TV feel. Each of our protagonists express their own individual and personal philosophies on the meaning of love and sex with a `man on the street' interviewer. These telling bits are conveniently spliced here and there into each of their ongoing stories, which are not only a biting commentary on the social scene, but often humorously contradict their actions and intent.
Burns, a native New Yorker, gives us a passionate, authentic, down-to-earth vision of his 'hood. No picaresque postcard images are to be found here. No tourist-like views of Rockefeller Center, the Statue of Liberty, Times Square, etc. And just as dressed-down and down-to-earth is his solid ensemble cast. The stories are evenly laid out with no one performance getting short shrift. Burns, Dawson, Tucci, Murphy, Klumholtz, and Graham all have meaty roles here and each of their stories are well-presented and attention-grabbing. The philandering Tucci character, the least sympathetic of the bunch, still manages to drum up some pity, if not sympathy, for his subsequent actions. What's more, the outside circle, the peripheral friends/instigators/colleagues, etc., add immeasurably to the humor and atmosphere of the piece, particularly Aida Turturro as a worldly wise teacher/friend of Dawson's, Dennis Farina as Burns' overt male chauvinist boss, Michael Leydon Campbell in dual roles as a rocker and male half of a bickering married couple, and Callie Thorne as the bickering wife.
No one treats New York better than Woody Allen. With "Sidewalks of New York" Edward Burns pays tribute to this fair city, and he pays homage to Mr. Allen -- 1992's "Husbands and Wives" in particular. Notice Burns' analytical approach to his characters, the hand-held camera work and jump-cut style of editing (which is actually smoother and less jolting than in Allen's above-mentioned film), the pneumatic jazz score, the reflexive, conversational-like bantering between his characters, the episodic storylines, and, most importantly, the obvious devotion he has for NY. It all but spells out W-O-O-D-Y. But, in this case, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. He's learned well from the master.
This brash, perceptive, ultimately winning cyclical comedy first introduces us to good-looking, nice-guy Tommy (Ed Burns) who has just split up with his girlfriend and has been thrown out of her apartment. Tommy takes a sudden interest in evasive school teacher Maria (Rosario Dawson), whom he meets in a video store. Maria is divorced from small, tough-talking schlmiel Ben (David Krumholtz), a doorman and rock musician wannabe who cheated on her. Ben, still pining for Maria, finds a welcome distraction in edgy student/waitress Ashley (Brittany Murphy), who is having an affair with a much older and married dentist, Griffin (Stanley Tucci), whose suspecting wife Annie (Heather Graham), a real estate agent, has her eye on one of her customers, Tommy (back to Ed Burns again), who is (remember?) looking for a new pad since his girlfriend kicked him out. So much for the Kevin Bacon six degrees of separations and divorces angle.
To punch up the thought processes of our six relationship-minded specimens, Burns has given his film a documentary/reality TV feel. Each of our protagonists express their own individual and personal philosophies on the meaning of love and sex with a `man on the street' interviewer. These telling bits are conveniently spliced here and there into each of their ongoing stories, which are not only a biting commentary on the social scene, but often humorously contradict their actions and intent.
Burns, a native New Yorker, gives us a passionate, authentic, down-to-earth vision of his 'hood. No picaresque postcard images are to be found here. No tourist-like views of Rockefeller Center, the Statue of Liberty, Times Square, etc. And just as dressed-down and down-to-earth is his solid ensemble cast. The stories are evenly laid out with no one performance getting short shrift. Burns, Dawson, Tucci, Murphy, Klumholtz, and Graham all have meaty roles here and each of their stories are well-presented and attention-grabbing. The philandering Tucci character, the least sympathetic of the bunch, still manages to drum up some pity, if not sympathy, for his subsequent actions. What's more, the outside circle, the peripheral friends/instigators/colleagues, etc., add immeasurably to the humor and atmosphere of the piece, particularly Aida Turturro as a worldly wise teacher/friend of Dawson's, Dennis Farina as Burns' overt male chauvinist boss, Michael Leydon Campbell in dual roles as a rocker and male half of a bickering married couple, and Callie Thorne as the bickering wife.
No one treats New York better than Woody Allen. With "Sidewalks of New York" Edward Burns pays tribute to this fair city, and he pays homage to Mr. Allen -- 1992's "Husbands and Wives" in particular. Notice Burns' analytical approach to his characters, the hand-held camera work and jump-cut style of editing (which is actually smoother and less jolting than in Allen's above-mentioned film), the pneumatic jazz score, the reflexive, conversational-like bantering between his characters, the episodic storylines, and, most importantly, the obvious devotion he has for NY. It all but spells out W-O-O-D-Y. But, in this case, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. He's learned well from the master.
Sadly, I've been let down by most of Woody Allen's recent comedies. So it was most rewarding indeed to see the Woodman back again true to form (after a lengthy drought) with 1994's Bullets Over Broadway." Fun, foamy, and clever, it has everything we've come to love and expect from the man.
While "Take the Money and Run" and "Bananas" first turned trendy audiences on to his unique brand of improvisational, hit-and-miss comedy episodes, and the more neurotic, self-examining cult hits like "Annie Hall" and "Manhattan" cemented his Oscar-winning relationship with Hollywood, the comedy genius has stumbled mightily in this last decade. Attempting to contemporize his image with the coarse, foul-mouthed antics of a Coen or Farrelly brother (see "Mighty Aphrodite") is simply beneath him, and has been about as productive as Stevie Wonder taking a turn at hip-hop. Moreover, casting himself as a 65-year-old romantic protagonist with love interests young enough to be his grandchildren (see "Curse of the Jade Scorpion") has left a noticeably bad aftertaste of late. With "Bullets Over Broadway," however, Allen goes back to basics and wisely avoids the pitfalls of excessive toilet humor and self-aggrandizing casting, and gives us a light, refreshing bit of whimsical escapism. Woody may not be found on screen here, but his presence is felt throughout. Though less topical and analytical than his trademark films, this vehicle brings back a purer essence of Woody and might I say an early innocence hard-pressed to find these days in his work.
John Cusack (can this guy do no wrong?) plays a struggling jazz-era playwright desperate for a Broadway hit who is forced to sell out to a swarthy, aging king-pin (played to perfection by Joe Viterelli) who is looking to finance a theatrical showcase for his much-younger bimbo girlfirend (Jennifer Tilly, in a tailor-made role). The writer goes through a hellish rehearsal period sacrificing his words, not to mention his moral and artistic scruples, in order to appease his mob producers who know zilch about putting on a play. The rehearsal scenes alone are worth the price of admission.
Aside from Allen's clever writing, brisk pace and lush, careful attention to period detail, he has assembled his richest ensemble cast yet with a host of hysterically funny characters in spontaneous banter roaming in and about the proceedings. Cusack is his usual rock-solid self in the panicky, schelmiel role normally reserved for Woody. But even he is dwarfed by the likes of this once-in-a-lifetime supporting cast. Jennifer Tilly, with her doll-like rasp, is hilariously grating as the vapid, virulent, and thoroughly untalented moll. Usually counted on to play broad, one-dimensional, sexually belligerent dames, never has Tilly been give such golden material to feast on, putting her Olive Neal right up there in the 'top 5' fun-filled film floozies of all time, alongside Jean Hagen's Lina Lamont and Lesley Ann Warren's Norma Cassady. Virile, menacing Chazz Palminteri as the fleshy-lipped Cheech, a "dees, dem and dos" guard dog, reveals great comic prowess while affording his pin-striped hit man some touching overtones. Dianne Wiest, who has won bookend support Oscars in Woody Allen pictures (for this and for "Hannah and Her Sisters") doesn't miss a trick as the outre theatre doyenne Helen Sinclair, whose life is as grand and exaggerated off-stage as it is on. Her comic brilliance is on full, flamboyant display, stealing every scene she's in. Tracey Ullman is a pinch-faced delight as the exceedingly anal, puppy-doting ingenue, while Jim Broadbent as a fusty stick-in-the-mud gets his shining moments when his actor's appetite for both food and women get hilariously out of hand. Mary-Louise Parker, as Cusack's cast-off mate, gets the shortest end of the laughing stick, but lends some heart and urgency to the proceedings.
While the play flirts with a burlesque-styled capriciousness, there is an undercoating of seriousness and additional character agendas that keeps the cast from falling into one-note caricatures. And, as always, Woody's spot-on selection of period music is nonpareil. With healthy does of flapper-era Gershwin, Rodgers & Hart, Cole Porter, Hoagy Carmichael, not to mention the flavorful vocal stylings of Al Jolson and Eddie Cantor, Allen, with customary finesse, affectionately transports us back to the glitzy, gin-peddling era of Prohibition and slick Runyonesque antics.
I remember the times when the opening of a new Woody Allen film was a main event. As such, "Bullets Over Broadway" is a comedy valentine to such days. In any respect, it's a winner all the way, especially for Woodyphiles.
While "Take the Money and Run" and "Bananas" first turned trendy audiences on to his unique brand of improvisational, hit-and-miss comedy episodes, and the more neurotic, self-examining cult hits like "Annie Hall" and "Manhattan" cemented his Oscar-winning relationship with Hollywood, the comedy genius has stumbled mightily in this last decade. Attempting to contemporize his image with the coarse, foul-mouthed antics of a Coen or Farrelly brother (see "Mighty Aphrodite") is simply beneath him, and has been about as productive as Stevie Wonder taking a turn at hip-hop. Moreover, casting himself as a 65-year-old romantic protagonist with love interests young enough to be his grandchildren (see "Curse of the Jade Scorpion") has left a noticeably bad aftertaste of late. With "Bullets Over Broadway," however, Allen goes back to basics and wisely avoids the pitfalls of excessive toilet humor and self-aggrandizing casting, and gives us a light, refreshing bit of whimsical escapism. Woody may not be found on screen here, but his presence is felt throughout. Though less topical and analytical than his trademark films, this vehicle brings back a purer essence of Woody and might I say an early innocence hard-pressed to find these days in his work.
John Cusack (can this guy do no wrong?) plays a struggling jazz-era playwright desperate for a Broadway hit who is forced to sell out to a swarthy, aging king-pin (played to perfection by Joe Viterelli) who is looking to finance a theatrical showcase for his much-younger bimbo girlfirend (Jennifer Tilly, in a tailor-made role). The writer goes through a hellish rehearsal period sacrificing his words, not to mention his moral and artistic scruples, in order to appease his mob producers who know zilch about putting on a play. The rehearsal scenes alone are worth the price of admission.
Aside from Allen's clever writing, brisk pace and lush, careful attention to period detail, he has assembled his richest ensemble cast yet with a host of hysterically funny characters in spontaneous banter roaming in and about the proceedings. Cusack is his usual rock-solid self in the panicky, schelmiel role normally reserved for Woody. But even he is dwarfed by the likes of this once-in-a-lifetime supporting cast. Jennifer Tilly, with her doll-like rasp, is hilariously grating as the vapid, virulent, and thoroughly untalented moll. Usually counted on to play broad, one-dimensional, sexually belligerent dames, never has Tilly been give such golden material to feast on, putting her Olive Neal right up there in the 'top 5' fun-filled film floozies of all time, alongside Jean Hagen's Lina Lamont and Lesley Ann Warren's Norma Cassady. Virile, menacing Chazz Palminteri as the fleshy-lipped Cheech, a "dees, dem and dos" guard dog, reveals great comic prowess while affording his pin-striped hit man some touching overtones. Dianne Wiest, who has won bookend support Oscars in Woody Allen pictures (for this and for "Hannah and Her Sisters") doesn't miss a trick as the outre theatre doyenne Helen Sinclair, whose life is as grand and exaggerated off-stage as it is on. Her comic brilliance is on full, flamboyant display, stealing every scene she's in. Tracey Ullman is a pinch-faced delight as the exceedingly anal, puppy-doting ingenue, while Jim Broadbent as a fusty stick-in-the-mud gets his shining moments when his actor's appetite for both food and women get hilariously out of hand. Mary-Louise Parker, as Cusack's cast-off mate, gets the shortest end of the laughing stick, but lends some heart and urgency to the proceedings.
While the play flirts with a burlesque-styled capriciousness, there is an undercoating of seriousness and additional character agendas that keeps the cast from falling into one-note caricatures. And, as always, Woody's spot-on selection of period music is nonpareil. With healthy does of flapper-era Gershwin, Rodgers & Hart, Cole Porter, Hoagy Carmichael, not to mention the flavorful vocal stylings of Al Jolson and Eddie Cantor, Allen, with customary finesse, affectionately transports us back to the glitzy, gin-peddling era of Prohibition and slick Runyonesque antics.
I remember the times when the opening of a new Woody Allen film was a main event. As such, "Bullets Over Broadway" is a comedy valentine to such days. In any respect, it's a winner all the way, especially for Woodyphiles.
Ya gotta have heart...as they say in the song. But `Sweet Charity,' a story of a luckless girl's neverending search for true love, doesn't. It sings a lot...a LOT!...but it never really SINGS. Lord knows, it knocks you over the head in its attempt. Dancer/director Bob Fosse (in his debut) throws lots of pizzazz and pop art distractions our way, but he can't disguise the fact that underneath all the gaudy hoopla is a simple story that's begging to be told, well, more simply. It's hard to care for this girl when her story is buried under tons of unnecessary spectacle. Dancer/director Gene Kelly had the same problem with `Hello, Dolly!' Maybe it has something to do with a dancer's visual and flashy sense of style. When in doubt...accessorize! Oh well, whatever mistakes Fosse made with this one, he redeemed himself twelve-fold with `Cabaret' a few years later.
Shirley MacLaine is a smart, obvious choice to handle the midadventures of Charity Hope Valentine. MacLaine has been down this road many times before...the kooky loser, the prostitute with a heart of gold. Her credentials include some of the best: "Some Came Running," "The Apartment," and "Irma la Douce." As Charity, MacLaine is pure show biz. She gamely takes on all of Fosse's garish extras and doesn't get lost, but it's a strenuous, no-holds-barred performance and it shows. She has much to compete with and Fosse doesn't help things by foisting every imaginable 1969 techno flash invented on her - scores of stills, jarring zoom-shots, pop art psychedelics, you name it -- giving everything a choppy feel to it. Every dramatic scene oozes pathos and bathos. Every hopeful scene gushes with giddiness. Every song comes out of the starting gate bigger, glitzier, more manic, more depressing, more invigorating, and, ultimately, less effective than the one preceding it. From Shirley's dizzy 'Somebody Loves Me' sequence as she dances about New York City to the wide-eyed `If They Could See Me Now'; from the relentlessly somber `Where Am I Going' to the relentlessly overdone `I'm a Brass Band,' every souped-up song for Charity chips away at the heart and soul of her...making her more of a cartoon and showcase for a big star. With all due respect to MacLaine, I often wonder what Fosse's then-wife at the time, Gwen Verdun, who originated the role on Broadway, might have done. The multiple Tony-winning dancer/actress was not a bankable film star and had the same kind of thin, reedy voice as MacLaine, but there is a built-in frailty and openness in Verdun that might have better suited the role.
As for the support staff, John McMartin as Oscar, a prospective suitor/savior, is rather bland and lost in all the chaos, a dim memory by picture's end. Ricardo Montalban is typically suave and narcissistic while Barbara Bouchet is breathtakingly beautiful, but both of them are forgettable too. Stubby Kaye, usually a sunny scenestealer, doesn't get to show off his stuff as well this time with only a so-so version of "I Love to Cry at Weddings." Groovy Rat Packer Sammy Davis Jr.'s brief time on the screen gives the movie a time capsule feel with his `un-cool' version of `The Rhythm of Life.'
The true star is, of course, Fosse's trail-blazing choreography. Paula Kelly and Chita Rivera, as two of Charity's dance hall pals, add electricity to the seedy surroundings as they front the chorus of come-on gals in the crackling `Hey, Big Spender' number and join MacLaine in a soaring version of `There's Got to Be Something Better Than This.' The highlight, however, belongs to the kitschy `Frug' sequence. Fosse is at his best here though the sequence seems out of sync with the rest of the movie. For me, it's a natural tape rewinder.
Part of the problem (for those of us art-house snobs anyway) is the genuine awe we feel for `Nights of Cabiria,' Fellini's foreign masterpiece from whence this musical came. After seeing the tiny, Chaplinesque Giulietta Massina whose sad clown eyes spoke volumes as the gutsy, pitiable streetwalker determined to find love and a life of respect, much of "Sweet Charity" rings hollow and over-the-top.
There is entertainment value for sure, for anything by Fosse is definitely worth a look. But the heart of this movie is about as fake as the heart tattooed on Charity's shoulder. It becomes much ado about nothing.
Shirley MacLaine is a smart, obvious choice to handle the midadventures of Charity Hope Valentine. MacLaine has been down this road many times before...the kooky loser, the prostitute with a heart of gold. Her credentials include some of the best: "Some Came Running," "The Apartment," and "Irma la Douce." As Charity, MacLaine is pure show biz. She gamely takes on all of Fosse's garish extras and doesn't get lost, but it's a strenuous, no-holds-barred performance and it shows. She has much to compete with and Fosse doesn't help things by foisting every imaginable 1969 techno flash invented on her - scores of stills, jarring zoom-shots, pop art psychedelics, you name it -- giving everything a choppy feel to it. Every dramatic scene oozes pathos and bathos. Every hopeful scene gushes with giddiness. Every song comes out of the starting gate bigger, glitzier, more manic, more depressing, more invigorating, and, ultimately, less effective than the one preceding it. From Shirley's dizzy 'Somebody Loves Me' sequence as she dances about New York City to the wide-eyed `If They Could See Me Now'; from the relentlessly somber `Where Am I Going' to the relentlessly overdone `I'm a Brass Band,' every souped-up song for Charity chips away at the heart and soul of her...making her more of a cartoon and showcase for a big star. With all due respect to MacLaine, I often wonder what Fosse's then-wife at the time, Gwen Verdun, who originated the role on Broadway, might have done. The multiple Tony-winning dancer/actress was not a bankable film star and had the same kind of thin, reedy voice as MacLaine, but there is a built-in frailty and openness in Verdun that might have better suited the role.
As for the support staff, John McMartin as Oscar, a prospective suitor/savior, is rather bland and lost in all the chaos, a dim memory by picture's end. Ricardo Montalban is typically suave and narcissistic while Barbara Bouchet is breathtakingly beautiful, but both of them are forgettable too. Stubby Kaye, usually a sunny scenestealer, doesn't get to show off his stuff as well this time with only a so-so version of "I Love to Cry at Weddings." Groovy Rat Packer Sammy Davis Jr.'s brief time on the screen gives the movie a time capsule feel with his `un-cool' version of `The Rhythm of Life.'
The true star is, of course, Fosse's trail-blazing choreography. Paula Kelly and Chita Rivera, as two of Charity's dance hall pals, add electricity to the seedy surroundings as they front the chorus of come-on gals in the crackling `Hey, Big Spender' number and join MacLaine in a soaring version of `There's Got to Be Something Better Than This.' The highlight, however, belongs to the kitschy `Frug' sequence. Fosse is at his best here though the sequence seems out of sync with the rest of the movie. For me, it's a natural tape rewinder.
Part of the problem (for those of us art-house snobs anyway) is the genuine awe we feel for `Nights of Cabiria,' Fellini's foreign masterpiece from whence this musical came. After seeing the tiny, Chaplinesque Giulietta Massina whose sad clown eyes spoke volumes as the gutsy, pitiable streetwalker determined to find love and a life of respect, much of "Sweet Charity" rings hollow and over-the-top.
There is entertainment value for sure, for anything by Fosse is definitely worth a look. But the heart of this movie is about as fake as the heart tattooed on Charity's shoulder. It becomes much ado about nothing.