A New York socialite, deeply troubled and in denial, arrives in San Francisco to impose upon her sister. She looks a million, but isn't bringing money, peace, or love...
Director:
Woody Allen
Stars:
Cate Blanchett,
Alec Baldwin,
Peter Sarsgaard
Two girlfriends on a summer holiday in Spain become enamored with the same painter, unaware that his ex-wife, with whom he has a tempestuous relationship, is about to re-enter the picture.
Director:
Woody Allen
Stars:
Rebecca Hall,
Scarlett Johansson,
Javier Bardem
A middle-aged, misanthropic divorcée from New York City surprisingly enters a fulfilling, Pygmalion-type relationship with a much younger, unsophisticated Southern girl.
Director:
Woody Allen
Stars:
Evan Rachel Wood,
Larry David,
Henry Cavill
In the forests of the Pacific Northwest, a father devoted to raising his six kids with a rigorous physical and intellectual education is forced to leave his paradise and enter the world, challenging his idea of what it means to be a parent.
Director:
Matt Ross
Stars:
Viggo Mortensen,
George MacKay,
Samantha Isler
In the 1930s, a young Bronx native moves to Hollywood, where he falls in love with the secretary of his powerful uncle, an agent to the stars. After returning to New York, he is swept up in the vibrant world of high society nightclub life. Written by
Amazon Studios
When Leonard asks Evelyn "What are you keeping from me?" and walks towards her, a reflection of the camera is visible in a picture frame on the wall. See more »
Quotes
Steve:
[to Bobby]
Unrequited love kills more people in the year than tuberculosis.
See more »
Crazy Credits
Starring credits and co-starring credits do not appear in alphabetical order even though the line "in alphabetical order" appears above the names. See more »
F. It is a complete failure. Hands down, the worst film he's ever made. Embarrassing. Pathetic. 713 cinematic clichés strung together almost at random, many of them ones he himself coined 40 years ago. Here are the same jokes perpetrating Jewish stereotypes, harping mothers, facial characteristics, Spinoza, waffling intellectuals, the same unattainable romantic ingenues falling unbelievably for a schlep (two in this case), the same pristine crowd-free dusky Manhattan skylines, now visible perhaps only in three locations if a filmmaking permit is granted, the same madcap scenes thrown in to distract from a weak, predictable story to keep you awake at Woody's arthritic nostalgia party, the same visually untranslatable but wholly textual old jokes. Here is Jesse Eisenberg looking almost - and sounding exactly - like a young Woody, a mannered performance, no doubt another of the director's self-worshipping tongue-in- cheek inside-seeking jokes. If that doesn't work, there's Woody himself opening the film and interrupting it every so often in a weary, zombie-like voice-over sounding oddly like Al Sharpton to explain to the viewer the point of what his writing and editing is incapable of realizing. Poor Woody has become a senile old man playing chopsticks on an out-of-tune piano, trapped in his own legend and incapable of a single new idea. If you remember Woody's great films, do yourself a big favor and don't see this: it'll be almost impossible to remember him well afterwards. It's sad to see great artists - and there are others - compulsively make fools of themselves late in life. Someone needs to rescue his dignity from his overpowering myopia, or he may crash into the mirror and cut himself badly. Allen's strong suit has never been self-awareness, only self- consciousness. Here is a film that surely almost everyone over 70 living within two blocks of East 70th Street and 3rd Avenue in Manhattan can relate to. There must be dozens. Think Grandpa in Depends crashing your teenage daughter's pajama party.
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F. It is a complete failure. Hands down, the worst film he's ever made. Embarrassing. Pathetic. 713 cinematic clichés strung together almost at random, many of them ones he himself coined 40 years ago. Here are the same jokes perpetrating Jewish stereotypes, harping mothers, facial characteristics, Spinoza, waffling intellectuals, the same unattainable romantic ingenues falling unbelievably for a schlep (two in this case), the same pristine crowd-free dusky Manhattan skylines, now visible perhaps only in three locations if a filmmaking permit is granted, the same madcap scenes thrown in to distract from a weak, predictable story to keep you awake at Woody's arthritic nostalgia party, the same visually untranslatable but wholly textual old jokes. Here is Jesse Eisenberg looking almost - and sounding exactly - like a young Woody, a mannered performance, no doubt another of the director's self-worshipping tongue-in- cheek inside-seeking jokes. If that doesn't work, there's Woody himself opening the film and interrupting it every so often in a weary, zombie-like voice-over sounding oddly like Al Sharpton to explain to the viewer the point of what his writing and editing is incapable of realizing. Poor Woody has become a senile old man playing chopsticks on an out-of-tune piano, trapped in his own legend and incapable of a single new idea. If you remember Woody's great films, do yourself a big favor and don't see this: it'll be almost impossible to remember him well afterwards. It's sad to see great artists - and there are others - compulsively make fools of themselves late in life. Someone needs to rescue his dignity from his overpowering myopia, or he may crash into the mirror and cut himself badly. Allen's strong suit has never been self-awareness, only self- consciousness. Here is a film that surely almost everyone over 70 living within two blocks of East 70th Street and 3rd Avenue in Manhattan can relate to. There must be dozens. Think Grandpa in Depends crashing your teenage daughter's pajama party.