When you see Ernest Hemingway, in a reel, you cannot ask for anything more. But then Allen wanted more so he gave us Scott Fitzgerald and Stein and Picassa and Zelda. Call it bibliophile’s utopia. Woody Allen’s 41st movie was a treat-a simple and entertaining.
The charm and ambiance of Paris has been captured in its original form, the initial starting of five minutes filled with choreography of Paris. A couple lands in Paris for a sojourn with bride’s parents, but the writer bridegroom is all in love with Paris, and wants to spent his life living in the best city for art. Gil tries to fit in with his soon-to-be in-laws. He drags through the mornings, noons and evening, only to find that its the midnights that are the best.
Clive Owen captures the wannabe writer Gil perfectly, The hollywood screenwriter who wants to be a real writer but is torn between :to be or not to be”. Owen at times reminding us of Allen himself. He has its perfections and imperfections, his own idiosyncranicies and captures his persona with panache and grace. The cast of film have name as Charlie Sheen,Carla Bruni and Rachael McAdams.
Although the movie lacks the usual philosophical depth of Allen’s old movie, but nonetheless its intense, romantic and sweet and entertaining. But the magic of midnight in Paris cannot be undermined. The power of cinema and potent of Mr. Woody Allen. Even when he makes a time machine movie with a grace and instead of dystopian future we have the wonderful days of 1910s and 1920s. Allen saves us the reasoning the fantasy of time travel and instead focusses on the art that cinema is. And its a absolute honour to watch Scott, Hemingway and Picassa all in one place.
And so I wait for 42nd, (in the meanwhile will try to complete the long list)