Woody Allen is one
of the most prolific directors working in Hollywood today. Having averaged one
film per year since 1969, the American filmmaker has garnered a reputation as
one of cinema’s great comedic storytellers. One of the auteur’s most prominent
thematic preoccupations is death. Allen’s fear of dying has been a recurring
theme throughout his career, to the extent that his strenuous routine has
become a distraction from the existential dilemmas of life (Lax, 2009, p. 114).
Through this essay, I will use a semiotic lens to illustrate Allen’s death
anxiety as it has evolved over the past 44 years. His career will be divided
into three stages: Allen’s “early, funny ones” (1969-1975); his more dramatic,
experimental work (1977-1999); and his lighter, more accessible films and
European travelogues (2000-present). I will examine how Allen abandoned his
slapstick roots to become a more serious, purposeful filmmaker. My overarching
stance is that Allen’s stylistic choices are influenced by his identification
as an atheistic existentialist. As most of Allen’s films are driven by dialogue
and characters, a semiotic analysis is intrinsically difficult, and I hope my
research fills a gap in the existing literature about his films.
Before dissecting
Allen’s work, it is crucial to understand that the director’s projects are
deeply personal and perpetuate their own collective ethos. While Allen has
consistently denied elements of autobiography in his films, the separation of
Allen the filmmaker and Allen the character is difficult to achieve.
Annie Hall (1977)
This is evidenced
through the opening scene of Annie Hall,
where Allen’s character, Alvy Singer, directly addresses the audience with a
monologue. Through signifiers such as “a tweedy sports jacket, a shirt but no
tie, and his trademark horn-rimmed glasses,” (Fabe, 2004, pp. 179-180)
audiences assume Allen is speaking as himself, the director. However, when
Allen says, “Annie and I broke up,” he asserts himself as Alvy Singer, the
protagonist (Fabe, 2004, p. 181). While this scene is not concerned with
biological death, it signals the metaphorical death of the author (Fabe, 2004,
p. 179). Indeed, Annie Hall was
Allen’s first attempt at making a comedic drama that appealed to the human
condition. Until then, his films were farcical comedies with parodic overtones.
However, these “early, funny” films by Allen are worth discussing as they
explore many of the themes, including death, that would characterise Allen’s
later films.
The outrageous
nature of Allen’s early comedies provided him the opportunity to reduce
existential problems to mere jokes. Death, as well as God’s silence, could be
placed in “unexpected and reductive contexts,” (Hirsch, 1990, p. 160) softening
their blow to the human psyche. Sleeper (1973)
is a science-fiction spoof about Miles Monroe (played by Allen) who is
cryogenically frozen in 1973 and revived 200 years later in a totalitarian
state. It is arguably Allen’s most visually ambitious film from his early
career.
Sleeper (1973)
In Sleeper, Miles is wrapped in aluminium
foil when he is brought out to be thawed. Aluminium foil is generally used to
cover food that we intend to eat at a later point. Here, foil is a preserver of
life, used to avoid the decay of the human body (Mooney, 2011, p. 117). Food is
a recurring theme throughout Sleeper as
it is intrinsically related to survival.
Sleeper (1973)
In one scene,
Miles continuously slips on novelty-sized banana peels. He is being felled by
that which sustains him, as “the life of the mind is interrupted by the claims
of the body.” (Hirsch, 1990, p. 160). This is Allen’s way of grappling with the
intangible, and it echoes his statement in Love
and Death that “the body has more fun [than the mind].” Allen’s slapstick
antics are a brief respite from thoughts of mortality.
Love and Death is Allen’s satire of
Russian literature, particularly Tolstoy’s War
and Peace (Lax, 2009, p. 351). Again, Allen uses comedy to undercut the
significance of death, this time by holding “vaudevillian conversations with
God.” (Hirsch, 1990, p. 160).
Love and Death (1975)
In an early scene,
Allen’s character, Boris, recalls a childhood dream where waiters stepped out
of coffins in a foggy field and danced the Viennese Waltz. This foreshadows
Boris’ later conceptualisation of nature as “an enormous restaurant,” where
animals must eat other animals to stay alive. Boris thinks of the world as a
place where he can be subsumed by forces larger than himself, including death
(LeBlanc, 1989). Here, the restaurant is stripped of its elegant connotations,
transformed into a place where only the strong survive. In Boris’ dream, there are
no people to be served, only people to do the serving. The long shot positions
the viewer to perceive the waiters as preying creatures.
Love and Death (1975)
In Love and Death, death is personified as
the Grim Reaper, dressed in a white cloak as opposed to the archetypal black.
This deviation from conventional representation reflects Allen’s framing of the
film as a comedy. By humanising death, he makes it a comedic subject. It is no
longer an abstract idea that plagues his every waking hour. In the final scene,
Allen’s character partakes in a “dance of death” with the Grim Reaper, an
obvious homage to Ingmar Bergman’s The
Seventh Seal. This scene highlights a disconnect between European and
American cinema. As Bruns (2009) writes, “The Scandinavian attitude is to take the negative seriously. Allen
takes it comically.” (p. 18). Allen’s comical treatment of death is still
an acknowledgement nonetheless. His dance with the Grim Reaper is an
affirmation that one must find enjoyment in life as a means of distraction from
the inevitability of death.
Annie Hall (1977), Interiors (1978) and Manhattan
(1979) all provided glimpses of a more focused, cinematically-conscious
Woody Allen. However, it was Stardust
Memories (1980) that would announce Allen’s detachment from his screwball
comedies of old. Stardust Memories was
Allen’s attempt to “become someone else, someone both ‘other’ and better—more
serious, more probing—than a zany comedian, a professional New York neurotic
and cutup.” (Hirsch, 1990, p. 196). Human mortality is not a major theme in the
film, but much treatment is given to the death of Allen’s comic persona that
defined his “early, funny” films. The film is shot in black-and-white, a
stylistic choice that coincides with Allen’s subdued character. Allen plays
Sandy Bates, a filmmaker who is hassled by his fans to avoid making serious
films and restrict himself to comedies.
Stardust Memories (1980)
In Sandy’s
apartment, a blown-up photograph of Nguyen Van Lem’s Vietnam War execution
hangs on a wall. The photograph mirrors Sandy’s psychological state at the
time. Like Lem in the photograph, Sandy is in a position against his will.
However, the imposing size of the photograph is a reminder that, for all of
Sandy’s pressure, he still has the privilege of being alive. One of Allen’s
recurring ideas is that life is meaningless because the universe is expanding
or decaying (Conard & Skoble, 2004, p. 9).
Stardust Memories (1980)
There’s a scene in
Stardust Memories where Sandy is
describing the impermanence of life on Earth, lamenting that “matter is
decaying.” As he delves deeper into his monologue, the camera zooms into a
medium close-up of his body, implying that Sandy is harbouring narcissistic
thoughts about the longevity of his own work. However, when Sandy says that
everything—including the works of Beethoven and Shakespeare—will perish, he
walks out of the frame and the camera lingers on a blank wall. This reflects
Allen’s philosophy that nothing lasts, and that all matter will one day
disappear. Several flashback scenes depict Sandy performing magic tricks as a
child.
Stardust Memories (1980)
One such scene
shows a young Sandy making a globe float. The globe is an iconic sign that
represents Earth. Sandy’s manipulation of the globe reflects Allen’s desire to
control the human predicament. Allen has said that “reliance on magic is the
only way out of the mess that we’re in.” (Schickel, 2003, p. 136). Ultimately, Stardust Memories is an important film
in Allen’s canon. A character in the film observes that comedians say “I
murdered that audience” when their jokes are going well, and it’s this synergy
of comedy and drama that distinguishes the film from Allen’s earlier efforts.
Hannah and Her Sisters (1986) is often
cited as one of Allen’s most balanced films. Girgus (1993) writes that it
“realizes the creative potential of all of his important films as well as the
fulfillment of a promise about his artistic values and objectives.” (p. 89).
There are several story arcs in the film, but the most relevant in terms of its
exploration of death is that of Mickey Sachs (played by Allen). Mickey is a hypochondriac
who is terrified of living in a godless universe where all human endeavour
amounts to nothing. Allen toys with the film’s chronology to heighten the
anticipation of cause and effect (Bordwell & Thompson, 2010, p. 103). We
see Mickey come into the frame with a cheerful demeanour—a drastic contrast to
the depressed man we saw earlier in the film. He recounts to a friend how a
failed suicide attempt led him to appreciate the gift of life. Through a
flashback, we see Mickey’s suicide attempt and his subsequent trip to a cinema
where he watches Duck Soup. This
scene is incongruent with Allen’s worldview that “life is inherently and
utterly meaningless.” (Conard & Skoble, 2004, p. 7). Mickey manages to
salvage some meaning from the film he is watching, concluding that life can be
enjoyable even if there is no afterlife. Allen has even conceded that he
“copped out” (Conard & Skoble, 2004, p. 125) with a convenient ending to
the film. Hence, the scene where Mickey watches Duck Soup can be construed as Allen’s attempt to escape scrutiny.
Hannah and Her Sisters (1986)
The cinema is
Allen’s comfort zone, and it is where Mickey Sachs sits transfixed to a screen
with darkness obscuring his face. In the film’s final scene, Holly (played by
Dianne Wiest) announces that she is pregnant with Mickey’s child.
Hannah and Her Sisters (1986)
As both characters
embrace, we see them reflected in a mirror. The mirror forces the audience to
question the reality of the moment (Bailey, 2001, p. 114). It may also be
Allen’s way of examining his own, and Mickey’s, place in the world. As someone
about to venture into fatherhood, Mickey must determine whether he is fit for
the role. The prospect of fathering a child may allay his fears of dying without
a legacy.
Deconstructing Harry (1997) stands as
one of Allen’s most personal films. If Stardust
Memories was Allen’s response to an audience that wanted nothing but to
laugh, Deconstructing Harry is his meditation
on the struggle of dramatic writing—of separating art from the artist. Allen
plays Harry Block, a writer who uses the people around him as inspiration for
his novels, much to their chagrin. Harry interacts with these characters in
fantastical sequences, where they appear not so much as people, but as phantoms
of Harry’s past. Indeed, this detachment from human feeling has inspired the
idea that the characters in the film are “corpses and vampires of lost love and
life.” (Girgus, 2002, p. 165).
Deconstructing Harry (1997)
This notion of
characters who cannot realise their human agency is apparent from the opening
scene, where Lucy (played by Judy Davis) arrives at Harry’s apartment via taxi.
This scene is repeated several times to the point that it resembles a technical
glitch. This scene echoes Stephen Heath’s observation that film “depends on
that constant stopping for its possibility of reconstituting a moving reality.”
(Girgus, 2002, p. 165). The monotonous repetition of Lucy’s entrance emphasises
her deathly existence, whereby she serves as Harry’s plaything.
Deconstructing Harry (1997)
In one surreal
scene, Harry takes an elevator down to Hell. Instead of elevator music, we hear
a voice informing us that Hell has several levels—each one reserved for people
who have committed various transgressions. The people in Allen’s Hell indulge
in hedonistic pursuits as jazz music plays in the background. It is evident
that Allen does not conceive of Hell as “eternal punishment after dying.”
(Girgus, 2002, p. 166) To him, existence is
hell. He is surrounded by people who have become nothing but fodder for his
creative output, which will ultimately perish when he dies.
Since 2005, most
of Allen’s films have been European productions. Allen finds it is convenient
to shoot in Europe because he can secure favourable financing deals (Lax, 2009,
p. 163). Allen, now in his 70s, has experimented with different genres and
styles. He now feels a greater sense of creative control, but may feel slightly
reticent about his age and longevity as a filmmaker. Match Point (2005) revisits a theme that was addressed by Allen in Crimes and Misdemeanors (1989)—namely,
that a godless universe means crime will go unpunished. Allen has said that he
wanted to explore murder in a philosophical context so Match Point wasn’t reduced to a “genre piece.” (Lax, 2009, p. 24).
Match Point (2005)
Allen rejects the
conventions of a traditional crime film, choosing not to show the murders
committed by the protagonist. Chandler (1997) writes, “Semiotically, a genre
can be seen as a shared code between the producers and interpreters of texts
included within it.” Thus, Allen’s deviation from the codes of the crime genre
forces his audience to consider the philosophical implications of murder. The
protagonist, Chris, murders two people without being punished. The nature of
the film medium results in the audience’s complicity with Chris’ crime. Viewers
can only watch and silently condemn his actions. Any attempts to intervene are
as fruitless as God’s.
Match Point (2005)
In one scene,
Chris is shown reading Dostoevsky’s Crime
and Punishment. The protagonist of the novel also commits a murder in the
belief he will go unpunished. Chris puts
the novel down and picks up The Cambridge
Companion to Dostoevsky. The novel has mimetic power (Hall, 1997, p. 24) in
that it represents aspects of human nature. The study guide, on the other hand,
is a synthesis of theories. Chris’ dissatisfaction with the novel reflects
Allen’s worldview as an atheistic existentialist. Unlike Dostoevsky, he does
not believe in the redemptive power of guilt (Siassi, 2013).
To Rome with Love (2012) provides
insight into Allen’s anxiety over death and ageing. It marked Allen’s first
acting role since Scoop in 2006—a
possible indication that he equates acting with living. To remain off-screen
would result in the death of the “Woody Allen character” he has maintained
since he began starring in his own films. In one scene, Monica (played by Ellen
Page) marvels at how Rome was once a magnificent civilisation, but now stands
as a collection of ruins. She calls this realisation Ozymandias Melancholia—the sinking knowledge that nothing ever
lasts.
To Rome with Love (2012)
This is contrasted
with the following scene, wherein Monica and Jack walk inside a modern
auditorium—a place of artistic output. Jack says his ambition is to “build
radical structures” and “change the architectural landscape.” An extreme long
shot is used to emphasise the inferiority of Monica and Jack to their
surroundings. This resonates with Allen’s philosophy that the artist’s
productions are futile to the ravages of time. An artist cannot live through
their work.
Fundamentally,
Woody Allen’s atheistic beliefs have shaped much of his cinematic output. While
Allen’s films are indeed driven by dialogue and character development, the
director symbiotically blends cinematic codes and conventions with his ideas. Allen
considers death to be the enveloping force that renders all human endeavour
meaningless. His films explore both the cessation of life and the metaphorical
‘death’ of characters and ideas. Despite the significant longevity of Allen’s
career, he has managed to remain consistent in the views he espouses. Even his
earliest films, which were ludicrous farces, contained glimpses of Allen’s
cynical worldview. As he became more philosophical in his filmmaking, Allen
explored themes such as the transience of the universe, the separation of art
from the artist, and freedom from punishment in a godless universe.
References
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