Light and mournful, like the omnipresent jazz piano glued under most scenes, Woody Allen’s latest film revisits many of his favourite concerns: the trappings of class, the neurosis of society, the impossibility of love and the gentle meaninglessness of it all. It doesn’t pang as sharp as Annie Hall nor bite as hard as Blue Jasmine but Café Society is charming from beginning to end.
Jesse Eisenberg excels as the Woody Allen archetype Bobby, a nervy fast-talking New Yorker who moves to Hollywood and takes a job running errands for his powerful-agent uncle, Phil (Steve Carell). As much of his work demonstrates, Eisenberg is most comfortable when acting uncomfortable and he brings Allen’s frantic, self-obsessed chatter to life perfectly here. Cooler and self-assured, Kristen Stewart’s Vonnie falls in line with the kooky-aloof love interests of Allen’s oeuvre. Both Bobby and his Uncle Phil are smitten with Vonnie and the drama unfolds from there in a familiarly satisfying-yet-unsatisfying way.
Shot by Vittorio Storaro, the film has a depth of colour and light that really stands out. Most films with this little shadow seem overlit and washed out whereas this has a genuine richness. The sunlight pours gold through windows, the Hollywood exteriors are an even sepia, the night time pool parties have a pretty warm/cool contrast and the New York café scene has the worn coldness of old folk album covers. It’s great to look at and is one of many ingredients that make the film such an easy watch.
Punctuated by the typically tired philosophy and shrugging wit (“live each day as if it’s your last; one day it will be”) of Woody Allen’s late work, Café Society sits neatly in the canon. It is no masterpiece but it is well put together with solid performances and, at 96 minutes, never threatens to outstay its welcome.
(what’s the website for that?) just to have Ramona deliver it, Scott clicks his pen, signs for the package, grabs it, bins it and sets up a date all within less than 4 seconds – one of Edgar Wright’s signature ‘hip hop’ montages. Ending with ‘So Yeah, 8 o’clock?’, the scene cuts straight to snowy night sky emblazoned with the words ‘So Yeah’ and the camera pans down to Ramona waiting for Scott. S.L.Ick.
At the Battle of the Bands, Sex Bob-ombs singer, Stephen Stills becomes panic-stricken when their rival band, Crash and the Boys, start playing. Drowned out by the music, Stephen’s monologue appears as on-screen text. Beginning with whole sentences, the chunks of his speech flash up in smaller pieces as he gets more frantic, quickening the reading pace.
Jon Bates Writes 