woody allen's CASSANDRA'S DREAM (2007)

it’s not easy being a Woody Allen fan. American cinema’s comic laureate has released a film practically every year since his 1969 debut Take The Money And Run, running the gamut between ribald gag-a-minute comedies and philosophically smothering chamber dramas as he carved out a body of work as curiously personal as it is significant. a handful of his films are among the all-time greats, and at least fifteen more aspire closely to greatness. but several others are just okay. and, to be very honest, an increasing number are damned dreadful. such is the curse of productivity.

in 2005, however, Woody’s diminishing batting average was unexpectedly bolstered with the home run that was Match Point, a sharp, wicked tale of luck and murder set across the pond from his beloved New York City. besides being better than anything he’d made in at least half a decade, the film exhibited an encouraging restlessness in Allen’s craft, and at the age of seventy he proved he could still surprise his audience. was it his newest muse, Scarlett Johansson, or perhaps the United Kingdom itself, that so inspired him? his subsequent film, the middling Scoop, suggests not. so perhaps it was the straightfaced, low-key crime drama?

the answer, for better or worse, lies in Cassandra’s Dream, Match Point’s opposing bookend in his British trilogy. the film centers around Ian and Terry Blaine (Ewan McGregor and Colin Farrell), two lower middle class South Londoners with a propensity for living beyond their means: Terry chases spurts of good and bad luck to the dog tracks and high-stakes private poker games, while Ian daydreams of hotel investments and woos a beautiful actress with optimistic lies. as the chasm between means and aspirations expands, their successful Uncle Howard (Tom Wilkinson) blows into town with a dark proposition dressed up in language of generosity and family loyalty: a former associate is preparing to testify regarding unsavory business practices, and must be dealt with. capital D, capital W.

and thus the brothers Blaine are faced with a tough decision, and its consequences reverberate through the rest of the film: one brother tries to cope with guilt and fear, the other with their absence. superficially, Cassandra’s Dream echoes Match Point in its form: Allen again plays the film straight (he stays behind the camera, for one) and pulls off another impressive exercise is style and restraint. in content, however, the film is much closer to 1989’s Crimes & Misdemeanors, an earlier masterpiece dealing with the spiritual implications of murder gone unpunished.

sadly, Cassandra’s Dream lives up to neither. one of the main problems is the characters: as with Match Point, he has little trouble bridging the cultural divide, but here the added problem of social class proves trickier; Allen has his heart set on nuance and realism, but his scripting undoes him, taking little care to disguise what amounts to a poored-down version of his typical milieu. this becomes a serious problem as the film progresses, as the story and its psychology hinge entirely on Ian and Terry’s desperation, but time and time again their plight rings untrue, and so the events in motion around them carry the weight of contrivance.

even worse, the film’s conscious echoes of Crimes & Misdemeanors end up working against it as well, if only because C&M is a much more definitive piece of work; Allen borrows against his own ideas a little too enthusiastically, and though Terry’s plight adds another dimension to the struggle, his weakness seems somehow affected and dramatically insufficient. Ian’s arc does push the story into pulpier territory than C&M dared tread, and the film is engaging throughout, but it’s hard to ignore the soft hum of a coasting filmmaker, especially by the film’s abrupt, unsatisfying finale, a small wonder of boring irony.

ah, but then, I’m only rough on Woody because I love him so. (this isn’t an uncommon affliction among Allen apologists.) Cassandra’s Dream is still in many regards an impressive 38th feature film by a onetime standup comedian, branching out confidently as it does into unfamiliar territory that proves just slightly beyond its grasp. and as much as Match Point has probably spoiled fans into hoping he’s got another ace up his sleeve, for the moment it’ll suffice to be quietly thankful that he’s still making stabs at greatness amidst a slow decline of recycled whimsy. see you next year, Woody.

(from the KNOXVILLE VOICE)