MAGNET contributing writer Jud Cost is sharing some of the wealth of classic films he’s been lucky enough to see over the past 40 years. Trolling the backwaters of cinema, he has worked up a list of more than 500 titles—from the silent era through the ’90s—that you may have missed. A new selection, all currently available on DVD, appears every week.
Annie Hall (1977, 93 minutes)
If you watch enough pathetic stand-up comedians who’ve wormed their way through old friendships, onto the late-night talk-shows of Letterman, Leno or Conan, it doesn’t take long to realize how rare Woody Allen’s talent is. The semi-autobiographical Annie Hall is the film that made critics take the former stand-up’s movies seriously enough for it to win the Best Picture Oscar of 1977.
It all begins with Allen telling a joke into the camera. “Two elderly women are at a Catskill Mountains resort and one says, ‘The food at this place is really terrible.’ And the other one says, ‘I know, and such small portions.’ “And that’s how I feel about life, full of loneliness and misery, suffering and unhappiness. And it’s all over too quickly,” says the prolific director playing neurotically successful New York comedian Alvy Singer. “Annie and I broke up, and I still can’t get my head around that,” he confesses. “I keep sifting the pieces of the relationship through my mind, trying to figure where did the screw-up come. A year ago we were in love.”
Twelve months earlier, Alvy paces nervously in front of a Manhattan art-house, currently playing Ingmar Bergman’s Face To Face, when he’s approached by a man who thinks he’s recognized a celebrity. “Are you on television?” he asks as a 40-watt light bulb begins to flicker inside his cranium. “Were you on Johnny Carson?” the man demands. “Once in a while,” answers Alvy, trying to fend off the fan who’s now calling out to a friend, “Hey, it’s Alvy Singer!” and is asking for an autograph “for his girlfriend.” As Alvy reluctantly pulls a pen from his pocket, the fan says, “Make it out to Ralph.” “Your girlfriend is named Ralph?” asks the beleaguered comic.
Finally, a cab screeches to a halt in front of the cinema, and Alvy all but drags Annie Hall (Diane Keaton) out of the back seat. “Jesus, what did you do, come by way of the Panama Canal?” he barks. “I’m in a bad mood,” Annie warns Alvy. “You’re in a bad mood? I’m standing here with the cast of The Godfather,” he replies, navigating his way around the autograph-seeker to the box office.
“Has the picture started yet?” he asks the ticket girl. “It started two minutes ago,” she says. “That’s it,” says Alvy. “I can’t go in two minutes late.” Annie answers, “You’ll only miss the titles and they’re in Swedish.” “Let’s go see The Sorrow And The Pity,” Alvy offers. “Oh, come on. We’ve seen it, and I’m not in the mood for a four-hour documentary on Nazis,” Annie says. “Well, I’m sorry,” he explains, “I’ve gotta see a picture exactly from the start to the finish—because I’m anal.” She laughs derisively, “That’s a polite word for what you are.”
