i can entertain the idea that by the time Woody Allen has breakfast in the morning, he goes through two anxiety attacks and only afterwards does he sit down and get creatively going. while Magic in the Moonlight was both charming and enchanting, Woody Allen gets carried away in his overactive and anxiety driven imagination in Irrational Man. truth is that in the real world he can’t keep his fantasies in check. all of his vivacious and effervescent philosophical rants and ramblings are, as always and forever, exquisite and delightful to watch. it’s not always a bad thing, but sometimes the error of his ways is thinking of these elements as a strong enough glue to patch up a story worth projecting up on the big screen.
usually, that seems to work out pretty well for him and his small light “pocket” movies. filling all his characters temper tantrums, with dark and ridiculously amusing emotional outbreaks about the futility of life itself that populates all his movies is all he ever does. but in the end, all he seems to draw up is the self portrait of the stubbornness of a prodigy child consumed by the defiance of having, maybe, i don’t know… read too much ?
his irrational man is nothing more than an intellectual caveman struck down by the banality of evil, who doesn’t even know he secretly dreams about becoming a risk taker. his very existence is defined by what the author seems to emphasize: even the back of his head is more interesting than his face. he sits quietly with a humdrum and soulless look, counting the seconds before taking another cliché sip from his alcoholic 101 kit flask.
Woody Allen’s creative juices are mixed with a couple of philosophical viagras, reasoning that’ll be enough to keep the story stiff and pumping, but in the end it only helps his cartoonish story reach a flaccid climax.
beige lunatic 