By Juan Barquin
By Amy Nicholson
By Alan Scherstuhl
By Travis Cohen
By Juan Barquin
By Stephanie Zacharek
By Amy Nicholson
By Juan Barquin
In interviews, Allen has very vocally attempted to separate the character of Block from himself, pointing out his efforts to cast other actors in the role. He needn't have bothered -- he is Harry, the same way he was Alvy Singer in Annie Hall, or the depressed filmmaker Sandy Bates in Stardust Memories, this film's most obvious forebear. Some of Allen's films have been patently autobiographical, others sheerly fictional, but in almost all of them he has played essentially the same part, that of nice guy and perennial victim. In Deconstructing Harry Allen liberates himself from the pity trap -- the factor that has for some time now made his own performance in his films their weakest element. In his acting, Allen has always been a victimized vegetarian in the social food chain; with this film he turns voracious carnivore, sinking his teeth into the role of a scoundrel with a sharpness of attack long absent in his work.
Allen's biography tells us that the lovable schnook this tough, wiry man inhabited and rode to fame 30 years ago was the deliberate concoction of an ambitious introvert who coolly assessed what garnered the best reaction in his stand-up routine. Coming from a short, bespectacled fellow, lines like "I was beaten up by Quakers" got the big laughs. While hilariously funny in his best films of the 1970s, Allen's limited range became more and more outdated in the 1980s. It was probably last used effectively in Crimes and Misdemeanors back in 1989; in the 1990s, the act became embarrassing. In the recent Everyone Says I Love You, for example, Allen was quite unbelievable romancing Julia Roberts, looking, as a friend of mine put it, like her elderly Uncle Max.
With Harry Block, Allen the actor is reborn at age 62, blending familiar pieces of his persona into this new, blunt, unpleasant character. Harry's quirks -- his distaste for the country, his contempt for drugs -- are boilerplate Allen; the film's many references to its creator's recent starring role in the tabloids will be obvious to all. What's new in the film is the directness with which Harry speaks about his sexual desires and other issues -- most notably his Jewish identity, a topic that, aside from quips, Allen has pretty much left alone for most of his career. One of the best scenes in the new film is Block's argument with his sister and Zionist brother-in-law (played by Caroline Aaron and Eric Bogosian) about the nature of Judaism. Allen dares an angry joke about the Holocaust and gets away with it, an audacity both Allen the actor and Allen the filmmaker sustain through most of the picture.
Deconstructing Harry is full of surprises, right from its opening frames. Around the time of the split with Mia Farrow, Allen almost involuntarily resorted to an unpleasant shaky-cam look (Husbands and Wives), perhaps as a manifestation of the vertigo we can guess he felt at the time. Other than that, the look and feel of his films have stayed on a fairly even keel for two decades now. Viewers know the drill: plain titles on black background, jazz standards on the soundtrack, amber-hued cinematography, big names in small parts. Deconstructing Harry plays with these conventions. Allen breaks up the titles with flash cuts of an enraged Judy Davis arriving at Block's door. Jump cuts interrupt the action throughout the film, continually propelling the action forward. Many scenes in Harry are dark echoes of nicer moments in Allen's nicer movies. In one, an outdoor-loathing TV-sports fan is revealed to be not Allen but Richard Benjamin -- who in turn is revealed to be Allen's fictional alter ego. For once Allen's eclectic, star-driven casting makes sense; stars such as Robin Williams and Demi Moore play creatures of Block's imagination rather than serve as distracting cameos, as with the pointless use of Jodie Foster and Madonna in Shadows and Fog.
The many illustrated fantasies in Deconstructing Harry are quite appealing. Allen reveals himself once more to be one of the cinema's most creative imaginations as he brings to the screen the whimsies prowling through Harry Block's mind. If Allen is not Jean Cocteau, Jacques Tourneur, or David Lynch -- i.e., able to create fantastic worlds through pure imagery -- he is able, like peers such as Jeunet and Caro or Michael Powell, to find good ways to illustrate his clever ideas on film. Harry Block's trip to Hell, with Allen wisecracking his way through a lurid papier-mache landscape out of Bosch or Dante, is a good example, and one of the highlights of the film. To a greater filmmaker, Harry Block's selfishness might have been shown as hell for others, but that is not Allen. To an introvert like Block -- to an introvert like Allen -- hell, as Sartre would say, is other people.
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