Unlike later films of Allen that were more mature and more serious in-tone than the "early funny ones", like, for example, Crimes and Misdemeanours (1988) or Husbands and Wives (1992), Stardust Memory is a film rich in absurd humour, imagination, fun and frivolity, whilst also containing some of Allen's most moving and intelligent ideas. Lastly, the scene establishes the tone of the film being every bit as stark, surreal and enigmatic as anything by Bergman, Fellini, Godard, etc - with the comment on mortality, on artist expression and on the journey of life - but is also incredibly funny. Secondly, it is a comment on the nature of the character and on life itself with none of the characters satisfied with the situations that they're in and always wanting something more. The sequence works on a number of levels - firstly, as an extended homage to Fellini's 8 ½ (1963) establishing the theme of film-making and the games within the narrative, etc. The next shot shows the ugly, depressed people from the train wandering through a garbage dump, recalling elements of The Seventh Seal (1957) and One Plus One (1968) before the film reaches the end of the reel and we realise that what we are seeing is a film within a film. As he tries frantically to signal to the other train, a beautiful woman kisses the glass and laughs as Sandy's train pulls away from the station. Sandy tries desperately to convince the conductor to let him off the train so that he can switch carriages, but his pleas fall on deaf ears. As he looks out of the window he sees another carriage, this time filled with beautiful, revelling sophisticates all cheering and waving. Allen's character, Sandy Bates sits helpless in the carriage, surrounded by ugly, depressed looking people who stare back at him with dead eyes. The film opens on a train as a ticking clock fills the soundtrack. It is without question one of the filmmaker's most radical and imaginative works released at the peak of his powers, featuring a great deal of wit, warmth and human emotion alongside irreverent moments of personal homage, silliness and surrealism. At its most simple level, the film is a merciless satire on the film industry, on the notion of celebrity, and on Allen's public persona, as he here essays the role of a stand-up comedian turned filmmaker wrestling with a number of weighty personal issues, including the death of a close friend, the breakup of a relationship and the beginning of an affair - all the while trying desperately to reconcile the need for personal success in relation to artistic expression. Allen may not have found any breakthrough inspiration, but Rifkin’s Festival at least has its riffs.Funny, moving, imaginative, bold, intelligent, surreal, nostalgic and beautiful Stardust Memories (1980) is one of Allen's greatest films, if not THE greatest. Still, by Allen’s lamentable recent standards, this fitfully entertaining film could be called adventurous, while the reliably cranky Shawn and a stately, vampish Gershon are clearly having a good time and letting us in on it. Apart from a brief rural excursion, he barely ventures beyond the gorgeous La Concha bay and swanky Hotel Maria Cristina – and doesn’t even mention that the city – AKA Donostia – is Basque. Others may wish that the latest in his “tourism cycle” (following Vicky Cristina Barcelona, To Rome With Love and Midnight in Paris), showed more curiosity about San Sebastián itself. Vittorio Storaro shoots them crisply in black and white, and there are some choice tweaks: a take on Bergman’s Persona with Gershon and Anaya discussing God and death in Swedish with subtitles, and a very Jewish Citizen Kane, with the sledge renamed Rose Budnick.Īudiences may be tickled that Allen has made a film so specifically with a particular film festival in mind (there’s even a cameo by the event’s director José Luis Rebordinos). The parodies are crafted with varying degrees of wit and accuracy, and it does sometimes feel as if Allen is really paying homage to his own Stardust Memories. But Allen has a surprise up his sleeve: Rifkin runs his own festival in his head, in the form of a series of dream sequences pastiching canonical classics from the likes of Truffaut, Godard, Fellini and Buñuel. A lecherous director, for example, tells a miniskirted starlet she’d be perfect to play Hannah Arendt in his film about the Eichmann trials. The set-up yields the usual musings on art, mortality and love embedded in a sporadically witty kvetchathon, studded with a few nice gags about the movie business.
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