home *** CD-ROM | disk | FTP | other *** search
- <text id=91TT1275>
- <title>
- June 10, 1991: Pulp from The Woodpile
- </title>
- <history>
- TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1991
- June 10, 1991 Evil
- </history>
- <article>
- <source>Time Magazine</source>
- <hdr>
- BOOKS, Page 68
- Pulp from The Woodpile
- </hdr><body>
- <qt>
- <l>WOODY ALLEN</l>
- <l>By Eric Lax</l>
- <l>Knopf; 386 pages; $24</l>
- </qt>
- <p> Everything you ought to want to know about Woody Allen you
- could find in the Playbill for his 1969 Broadway comedy, Play
- It Again, Sam: "Woody Allen is the son of a Latvian prince. He
- came to the United States as the result of a pogrom at which he
- was the only one to show up...He is the father of two
- children, although he denies it."
- </p>
- <p> In drab fact, Woody Allen is the son of Martin Konigsberg,
- a Brooklyn butter-and-egg man. He is the father of Satchel
- O'Sullivan Farrow. He lives with, or across Central Park from,
- actress Mia Farrow. He was twice married and divorced, and kept
- significant company with another of his co-stars, Diane Keaton.
- You know this already, and you won't learn much more about his
- sleeping habits here. Eric Lax is no Kitty Kelley; he seems to
- believe, with Vladimir Nabokov, that "the best part of a
- writer's biography is not the record of his adventures but the
- story of his style." With Lax providing a sympathetic ear, Allen
- tells that story in piquant detail, from his early days writing
- one-liners for gossip columnists, through his stand-up comedy
- routines in clubs and on TV, to his present lonely eminence as
- the crafter of a distinctive, often distinguished body of films.
- </p>
- <p> He comes across as your basic nest of contradictions. His
- very name is a fiction (Woody Allen is the sort of name
- suitable for a Catskill jester, not a renowned auteur), yet he
- strips himself naked in every film. A private person with an
- itch to dine out (at Elaine's, at the Russian Tea Room), he
- wants to be admired but not approached. He says he doesn't read
- reviews of his work, yet he counts as one of the four most
- important people in his career Vincent Canby, the New York Times
- critic whose reviews have exhausted superlatives and sense in
- praise of Woody. He has few peers at the complex and honorable
- business of raising a laugh, yet he wants to play in the same
- league as Bergman, Bunuel, Kurosawa, to create "true
- literature." On those occasions when he stops scaling Olympus
- and makes a popular comedy-drama such as Annie Hall or Hannah
- and Her Sisters, he feels a little cheap, like the Whore of
- Mensa (the main character and title of one of his funniest short
- stories)--as if he has undersold his gifts to win easy
- acclaim.
- </p>
- <p> He has long realized his tendency to play to the caviar
- crowd. When he was starting in stand-up comedy 31 years ago, his
- manager Jack Rollins told him, "You do lines only dogs can
- hear." Reflecting on his first, butchered script, for What's New
- Pussycat, which became enormously popular, Allen said, "If they
- had let me make it, I could have made it twice as funny and half
- as successful." By this standard, Allen's Alice (U.S. gross: $7
- million) is 40 times as good as Home Alone (U.S. gross: $270
- million).
- </p>
- <p> Lax gets all the anguish and accomplishments down, in
- semismooth prose. Yet the suspicion nags that his highest
- priority was not to embarrass his subject. Perhaps Woody Allen
- has lived an exemplary life, but nobility doesn't make the pages
- burn, or even turn. One can't help wishing that, Latvian prince
- or not, Allen had written his own life. It would have been as
- different from this reverent read as stand-up is from doze-off.
- </p>
- <p> By Richard Corliss
- </p>
-
- </body></article>
- </text>
-
-