A former physicist dedicated to quantum mechanics and "almost nominated for a Nobel Prize", Boris (Larry David) is a deeply skeptical man who, dominated by hypochondria and pessimism, separated from his wife because he considered their marriage to be "too perfect". With no hope for the future of the human race ("They had to install automatic flushing in public toilets because people can't even be trusted to flush!"), he meets young Melody (the stunning Evan Rachel Wood) one night.), who, after running away from home, ends up moving in with the subject although he is unable to tell the difference between the words "protons" and "cretins". From there, Boris, even considering the girl an imbecile, ends up causing small transformations in his way of seeing the world in the best Pygmalion style - with the difference that, instead of becoming a "lady", Melody becomes.... well, on Woody Allen.
Arrogant and self-centered, Boris is presented to the viewer in a curious way by addressing the audience directly - and although breaking the fourth wall is not something new in Allen's filmography, it is employed in an organic and extremely efficient way in this feature: if it initially sounds just as a narrative sweetheart, it soon reveals itself as a manifestation of the protagonist's eccentricity (or schizophrenia?) and also of his self-professed genius, as he actually seems to see more than his peers. Furthermore, this is an interesting way of opening up expository narration, making it less artificial, which, of course, is a bonus from a structural point of view. Still, even though he emerges as a fitting Woody Allen alter ego, Larry David ends up sounding aggressive when the filmmaker would likely come across as sarcastic, which takes the audience a bit further away from the character (and his constantly high-pitched voice becomes tiresome). . As if that weren't enough, the idea of bringing him in with a limp might even add something curious to Boris if David didn't prove absolutely incapable of portraying his limp in a natural way.
Meanwhile, Evan Rachel Wood surprises as Melody, avoiding turning the girl into a caricature and giving an important innocence to her composition. With a name that may initially suggest the idea that the girl will bring joy (music, melody) to Boris' life, the character soon takes the opposite path, abandoning her optimistic and naive view of the world and absorbing - even if without understanding - completely - the existential crises of the partner, who, to complete, sees in the girl a fundamental characteristic: she admires him almost as much as he does himself. Patricia Clarkson and Ed Begley Jr. Do predictably well in roles that, while minor, are key to establishing the film's main theme: the liberation of the human race.
Yes, release. Sadly, accustomed to an existence governed by dogmas (religious and social), conventions and prejudices, we often prohibit ourselves from living ideas, relationships and concepts that could serve not only as beautiful experiences, but also important steps towards self-discovery and personal growth. In this sense, the New York imagined by Allen in this film is established as an oasis in the middle of a desert of repression, as if the metropolis were, in all its dimensions, a constant Woodstock (except, of course, for the protagonist, who remains too focused on his suffering to experience that universe). And it is in this sense that the title in English makes perfect sense: always moving towards the end, we have too limited a time on this planet for us to still be trapped in the fantastical absurdities imagined by ancestors in search of influence and power - and, thus, we must enjoy whatever it is that makes us happy.
With a vintage script (the film would have Zero Mostel in the lead role, but was shelved after the actor's death in 1977), Woody Allen takes up the story of Pygmalion, this time revitalized with 21st century specifics and with quotes from recent history. Of the United States and the world, such as "the election of a black president" or the Taliban. Incidentally, historical quotes abound in this film. There are also references to ancient Greeks, Egyptians, Mayans and Aztecs. In addition to the "looser" narrative, but no less pessimistic than the European tetralogy, "Whatever Works" already brings explicit metalanguage in the opening sequences, a form that the director has not used in such magnitude since "The Purple Rose of Cairo (1985)" - understand that the metalanguage of "Deconstructing Harry" or "Driving in the Dark" are of another character. Boris is the only character in the film who knows of the existence of an audience on the other side of the screen and tries unsuccessfully to show this to his friends. There are times when he addresses viewers to discuss plot elements, and with that, we already see a change in the formal attitude of the script.
Allen has already used the figure of the narrator a lot, which has always given a chronicle tone to his films. In "Whatever Works", this voice is not off, nor is it totally suggested by the montage, the soundtrack or the self-narrative story. Boris himself gives the tempo line. He is an agent and observer of the film's acts, which makes "Whatever Works" a work of great proximity to the spectator. In addition to this "omnipresence" that complicity attracts the audience, the film has one of the best executions of Woody Allen's timing, and the mise-en-scene is so communicative and so strong, that the ending could not be different: all the characters of the movie in a room, celebrating New Year's Eve. The narrative breaks (five in all) strongly mark each block. Allen does not allow the story to cross the threshold of deceleration. When the sequence runs out of steam, a break in the script's structure takes place.
If the attack in this film is on the institutions, especially on the "straightforward and rigid" family, the driving force of the work is the particularity of each member of this bureaucratic wheel and their change when in contact with a reality that shows them "the light". The theme is generalized with the entry of more characters, namely Melody's parents. First is Marietta (Patricia Clarkson), who goes from a devoutly religious and repressed housewife to an avant-garde artist who believes in free love. Then it's her father's turn, John (Ed Begley Jr.), who, from a traditional husband, for whom the male stab in marriage is natural, starts to assume a homosexuality never guessed before. Although conducted anecdotally, these stories of transformation are a hilarious way to expand on that "whatever works" philosophy that screams that, as long as we find some form of happiness, we should grab it, because nothing greater than that exists. This is the final conclusion of Boris, who, assuming the preaching character of the entire film, insists on addressing us in one of the several times that a Woody Allen character breaks the fourth wall. The protagonist's neurosis, cynicism, lack of faith and verbiage (Larry David screams at us at every moment, in a constant tone), associated with the intellectual conversations of the other characters, the praise of the New York lifestyle, the simplification of the female role, the stereotypical liberal-conservative contrast, the example of sex in the definition of relationships, the jokes that seem to be taken from Groucho Marx, and the constant references to his Jewish upbringing, make the film, for many, an exaggerated agglutination of the usual themes of the old persona Woody Allen film.
As you know, after writing the script, nothing is as personal in Woody Allen's films as the soundtrack. In this film, particularly, he chose and used music very broadly: jazz from the 1920s and 1940s (the typical musical world of his films); Beethoven's 9th and 5th Symphonies, rock, pop, bossa nova and excerpts from a Fred Astaire musical. In addition to this broad musical universe, art direction and locations deserve a closer look. It can be seen that the interior of Boris' house is relatively devoid of things, while the suburb where he lives (which comprises a Chinatown) is crammed with signs, colors, stalls, objects. In this case, Harris Savides' photography accompanied the mischaracterization of the interiors, always photographed in weak, dark tones, with a predominance of cold colors and ironically punctuated by external lights of contrasting colors - see the scene in which Boris arrives from his friends' house and there is green and yellow light shining through the window. He moves to the right and the camera follows him in a medium shot, then, in the second window, a very strong red-light shine. The same thing is repeated in the final scene: the contrast of the many lights of Fifth Avenue in the middle of New Year, to a living room almost completely brown, although elements of other colors (the Chinese lamps) adorn the room. It is not necessary to identify a contrast between the interior and exterior of man through the internal and external works.
"Whatever Works" is a deceptively simple pessimistic comedy. Its critical content is practically a universe of its own. Woody Allen identifies in the neuroses and personal issues related to the world the causes of the bad functioning of the family, which generates dissatisfaction, bad parents, bad marriages, false believers, disoriented children, people more neurotic than they should be. In the end, disbelief in humanity is patent. Pseudo-happy, the ending of the film lights the flame of good possibilities, but removes all hope of durability from these moments. Even paradoxical, the message is clear and bittersweet: although it is never forever, happiness must be enjoyed, felt and shared while it lasts. Everything can work. But it won't stay that way forever. This is not the movie that will make you like Woody Allen or Larry David, but those who are already fans of both will certainly have fun.
Arrogant and self-centered, Boris is presented to the viewer in a curious way by addressing the audience directly - and although breaking the fourth wall is not something new in Allen's filmography, it is employed in an organic and extremely efficient way in this feature: if it initially sounds just as a narrative sweetheart, it soon reveals itself as a manifestation of the protagonist's eccentricity (or schizophrenia?) and also of his self-professed genius, as he actually seems to see more than his peers. Furthermore, this is an interesting way of opening up expository narration, making it less artificial, which, of course, is a bonus from a structural point of view. Still, even though he emerges as a fitting Woody Allen alter ego, Larry David ends up sounding aggressive when the filmmaker would likely come across as sarcastic, which takes the audience a bit further away from the character (and his constantly high-pitched voice becomes tiresome). . As if that weren't enough, the idea of bringing him in with a limp might even add something curious to Boris if David didn't prove absolutely incapable of portraying his limp in a natural way.
Meanwhile, Evan Rachel Wood surprises as Melody, avoiding turning the girl into a caricature and giving an important innocence to her composition. With a name that may initially suggest the idea that the girl will bring joy (music, melody) to Boris' life, the character soon takes the opposite path, abandoning her optimistic and naive view of the world and absorbing - even if without understanding - completely - the existential crises of the partner, who, to complete, sees in the girl a fundamental characteristic: she admires him almost as much as he does himself. Patricia Clarkson and Ed Begley Jr. Do predictably well in roles that, while minor, are key to establishing the film's main theme: the liberation of the human race.
Yes, release. Sadly, accustomed to an existence governed by dogmas (religious and social), conventions and prejudices, we often prohibit ourselves from living ideas, relationships and concepts that could serve not only as beautiful experiences, but also important steps towards self-discovery and personal growth. In this sense, the New York imagined by Allen in this film is established as an oasis in the middle of a desert of repression, as if the metropolis were, in all its dimensions, a constant Woodstock (except, of course, for the protagonist, who remains too focused on his suffering to experience that universe). And it is in this sense that the title in English makes perfect sense: always moving towards the end, we have too limited a time on this planet for us to still be trapped in the fantastical absurdities imagined by ancestors in search of influence and power - and, thus, we must enjoy whatever it is that makes us happy.
With a vintage script (the film would have Zero Mostel in the lead role, but was shelved after the actor's death in 1977), Woody Allen takes up the story of Pygmalion, this time revitalized with 21st century specifics and with quotes from recent history. Of the United States and the world, such as "the election of a black president" or the Taliban. Incidentally, historical quotes abound in this film. There are also references to ancient Greeks, Egyptians, Mayans and Aztecs. In addition to the "looser" narrative, but no less pessimistic than the European tetralogy, "Whatever Works" already brings explicit metalanguage in the opening sequences, a form that the director has not used in such magnitude since "The Purple Rose of Cairo (1985)" - understand that the metalanguage of "Deconstructing Harry" or "Driving in the Dark" are of another character. Boris is the only character in the film who knows of the existence of an audience on the other side of the screen and tries unsuccessfully to show this to his friends. There are times when he addresses viewers to discuss plot elements, and with that, we already see a change in the formal attitude of the script.
Allen has already used the figure of the narrator a lot, which has always given a chronicle tone to his films. In "Whatever Works", this voice is not off, nor is it totally suggested by the montage, the soundtrack or the self-narrative story. Boris himself gives the tempo line. He is an agent and observer of the film's acts, which makes "Whatever Works" a work of great proximity to the spectator. In addition to this "omnipresence" that complicity attracts the audience, the film has one of the best executions of Woody Allen's timing, and the mise-en-scene is so communicative and so strong, that the ending could not be different: all the characters of the movie in a room, celebrating New Year's Eve. The narrative breaks (five in all) strongly mark each block. Allen does not allow the story to cross the threshold of deceleration. When the sequence runs out of steam, a break in the script's structure takes place.
If the attack in this film is on the institutions, especially on the "straightforward and rigid" family, the driving force of the work is the particularity of each member of this bureaucratic wheel and their change when in contact with a reality that shows them "the light". The theme is generalized with the entry of more characters, namely Melody's parents. First is Marietta (Patricia Clarkson), who goes from a devoutly religious and repressed housewife to an avant-garde artist who believes in free love. Then it's her father's turn, John (Ed Begley Jr.), who, from a traditional husband, for whom the male stab in marriage is natural, starts to assume a homosexuality never guessed before. Although conducted anecdotally, these stories of transformation are a hilarious way to expand on that "whatever works" philosophy that screams that, as long as we find some form of happiness, we should grab it, because nothing greater than that exists. This is the final conclusion of Boris, who, assuming the preaching character of the entire film, insists on addressing us in one of the several times that a Woody Allen character breaks the fourth wall. The protagonist's neurosis, cynicism, lack of faith and verbiage (Larry David screams at us at every moment, in a constant tone), associated with the intellectual conversations of the other characters, the praise of the New York lifestyle, the simplification of the female role, the stereotypical liberal-conservative contrast, the example of sex in the definition of relationships, the jokes that seem to be taken from Groucho Marx, and the constant references to his Jewish upbringing, make the film, for many, an exaggerated agglutination of the usual themes of the old persona Woody Allen film.
As you know, after writing the script, nothing is as personal in Woody Allen's films as the soundtrack. In this film, particularly, he chose and used music very broadly: jazz from the 1920s and 1940s (the typical musical world of his films); Beethoven's 9th and 5th Symphonies, rock, pop, bossa nova and excerpts from a Fred Astaire musical. In addition to this broad musical universe, art direction and locations deserve a closer look. It can be seen that the interior of Boris' house is relatively devoid of things, while the suburb where he lives (which comprises a Chinatown) is crammed with signs, colors, stalls, objects. In this case, Harris Savides' photography accompanied the mischaracterization of the interiors, always photographed in weak, dark tones, with a predominance of cold colors and ironically punctuated by external lights of contrasting colors - see the scene in which Boris arrives from his friends' house and there is green and yellow light shining through the window. He moves to the right and the camera follows him in a medium shot, then, in the second window, a very strong red-light shine. The same thing is repeated in the final scene: the contrast of the many lights of Fifth Avenue in the middle of New Year, to a living room almost completely brown, although elements of other colors (the Chinese lamps) adorn the room. It is not necessary to identify a contrast between the interior and exterior of man through the internal and external works.
"Whatever Works" is a deceptively simple pessimistic comedy. Its critical content is practically a universe of its own. Woody Allen identifies in the neuroses and personal issues related to the world the causes of the bad functioning of the family, which generates dissatisfaction, bad parents, bad marriages, false believers, disoriented children, people more neurotic than they should be. In the end, disbelief in humanity is patent. Pseudo-happy, the ending of the film lights the flame of good possibilities, but removes all hope of durability from these moments. Even paradoxical, the message is clear and bittersweet: although it is never forever, happiness must be enjoyed, felt and shared while it lasts. Everything can work. But it won't stay that way forever. This is not the movie that will make you like Woody Allen or Larry David, but those who are already fans of both will certainly have fun.