Review of Manhattan (1979) by Adam P — 06 Nov 2008

It's hard to say, but this, to me, is "minor" Allen. Generally regarded as his stab at higher art (probably because it's photographed in incredible black and white), Manhattan seems like Allen's most verbose and less profound of his serious ventures.

A man loved for his gab and one-liners can here seem nearing the extremities of our tolerance for his neurosis--the scenes between him and Tracey, his nymphet, seem to be the same conversation repeated over time.

Since the movie is mostly talking, it struggles to fend off redundancy; the characters and their thesis' repeat themselves endlessly. Relationships are notably less credible than most of Allen's other efforts; the one-note Keaton is increasingly annoying and the triangular/rectangular diagrams of love grow increasingly irrelevant.

Dotted with a few great lines, and great scenes (the Planetarium is worth watching the rest), Manhattan can't make us laugh as hard and can't make us think as much as Allen hitting his best. Still one of my favorite directors of all-time; but man, I'd hate to see it in color.