September is what I call a real estate movie, because what happens isn't nearly as interesting as where it all happens. In this case, the real estate is a cozy country cottage in Vermont, a warm and cheerfully decorated little place far from the city. The shades are always closed, but warm, golden, late summer sunlight filters through, suggesting that it would be a wonderful place to either visit or, better still, to grow old in. It looks so real and richly detailed that it is hard to believe that it is a set, built for the movie in some New York film studio. The creepy thing about Woody Allen's September is that this totally make-believe house is more realistic than the characters who gather inside.
September is another of Woody's beautifully detailed, sensitively written, lovingly acted and utterly annoying "serious" films. There is a smattering of not-particularly-funny bits of humor, designed to suggest that the characters are clever people, but once again the main traits shared by all are indecisiveness, depression and a gift for long-winded bouts of self pity. The six main characters who spend the weekend in this country home spend a lot of time talking about their feelings, though one has a hard time believing that any of them actually have real feelings. Instead everyone seems to be doing psychotherapy exercises designed to help them self-consciously get in touch with themselves. The end result of this achingly insincere sincerity is an intense desire by the viewer to want to give each and every cast member a sincere slap across the face.
During their years together, Allen gave to his partner Mia Farrow some of the best roles of her career -- as well as some of her worst. This may be the worst; certainly it allows her to indulge in her unfortunate tendency to whine and blubber in despair. The most intriguing aspect of September is that it is inspired by a bit of Hollywood legend, the death of Lana Turner's gangster boyfriend at the hands of her teenage daughter. Allen takes that infamous scandal and uses it as the seed for this film's drama. Farrow plays Lane, who is still living down the notoriety of having killed her celebrity mother's abusive boyfriend and who is now recuperating from her most recent suicide attempt. The feelings of guilt, shame, animosity, bitterness and envy shared between Lane and her mother, Diane (played by Elaine Stritch), would seem to be sufficient to sustain an interesting drama. But Allen uses the dirty little secret behind the old scandal as a minor plot twist, and instead focuses most of the film on a trite four-sided love triangle, in which passion is secondary to unrelenting discussions about each characters' unrequited passions.
Howard (Denholm Elliott) loves Lane, who loves Peter (Sam Waterston), who has a thing for Stephanie (Diane Wiest), who is married but returns Peter's feelings even though she knows that she is betraying Lane, blah, blah, blah. It all seems so high school, especially since they all talk about this, but are paralyzed to act on those feelings. Meanwhile Diane loves only Diane, even though she is partnered with Lloyd (Jack Warden), a melancholy physicist who is depressed over how utterly meaningless existence is.
The problem isn't so much the trite plotting as it is the overall and overwhelming tone of the drama. Woody walked this path before (six characters in a country house) in A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S SEX COMEDY, but did so with a sense of whimsy and an unexpected show of hopeful romance. In September, the characters all talk with that hushed, sterile, halting formality that Allen apes from pretentious European art films. Everyone seems dubbed, disconnected from both their feelings and their dialogue. They might as well be discussing their income tax returns, though that would probably inspire much more enthusiasm. Such pregnant disconnection from emotion all but guarantees audience indifference and certainly is wrong for a story delving into the life of an emotionally disturbed woman.
As for the house itself, the set design, the lighting and the cinematography conspire to make this make-believe slice of rural eden so invitingly charming that it all but betrays the notion that the little house is meant to represent a prison -- or an asylum, if you prefer. It comes to represent the past Lane wants to shed and the past Diane wants to recapture. It is a battlefield to reclaim the honesty of their shared past. To the audience, no matter how flimsy the walls, it is the single thing in the entire film that offers warmth, comfort and promise. And it is an illusion. Which may have been Allen's point from the start.
September is another of Woody's beautifully detailed, sensitively written, lovingly acted and utterly annoying "serious" films. There is a smattering of not-particularly-funny bits of humor, designed to suggest that the characters are clever people, but once again the main traits shared by all are indecisiveness, depression and a gift for long-winded bouts of self pity. The six main characters who spend the weekend in this country home spend a lot of time talking about their feelings, though one has a hard time believing that any of them actually have real feelings. Instead everyone seems to be doing psychotherapy exercises designed to help them self-consciously get in touch with themselves. The end result of this achingly insincere sincerity is an intense desire by the viewer to want to give each and every cast member a sincere slap across the face.
During their years together, Allen gave to his partner Mia Farrow some of the best roles of her career -- as well as some of her worst. This may be the worst; certainly it allows her to indulge in her unfortunate tendency to whine and blubber in despair. The most intriguing aspect of September is that it is inspired by a bit of Hollywood legend, the death of Lana Turner's gangster boyfriend at the hands of her teenage daughter. Allen takes that infamous scandal and uses it as the seed for this film's drama. Farrow plays Lane, who is still living down the notoriety of having killed her celebrity mother's abusive boyfriend and who is now recuperating from her most recent suicide attempt. The feelings of guilt, shame, animosity, bitterness and envy shared between Lane and her mother, Diane (played by Elaine Stritch), would seem to be sufficient to sustain an interesting drama. But Allen uses the dirty little secret behind the old scandal as a minor plot twist, and instead focuses most of the film on a trite four-sided love triangle, in which passion is secondary to unrelenting discussions about each characters' unrequited passions.
Howard (Denholm Elliott) loves Lane, who loves Peter (Sam Waterston), who has a thing for Stephanie (Diane Wiest), who is married but returns Peter's feelings even though she knows that she is betraying Lane, blah, blah, blah. It all seems so high school, especially since they all talk about this, but are paralyzed to act on those feelings. Meanwhile Diane loves only Diane, even though she is partnered with Lloyd (Jack Warden), a melancholy physicist who is depressed over how utterly meaningless existence is.
The problem isn't so much the trite plotting as it is the overall and overwhelming tone of the drama. Woody walked this path before (six characters in a country house) in A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S SEX COMEDY, but did so with a sense of whimsy and an unexpected show of hopeful romance. In September, the characters all talk with that hushed, sterile, halting formality that Allen apes from pretentious European art films. Everyone seems dubbed, disconnected from both their feelings and their dialogue. They might as well be discussing their income tax returns, though that would probably inspire much more enthusiasm. Such pregnant disconnection from emotion all but guarantees audience indifference and certainly is wrong for a story delving into the life of an emotionally disturbed woman.
As for the house itself, the set design, the lighting and the cinematography conspire to make this make-believe slice of rural eden so invitingly charming that it all but betrays the notion that the little house is meant to represent a prison -- or an asylum, if you prefer. It comes to represent the past Lane wants to shed and the past Diane wants to recapture. It is a battlefield to reclaim the honesty of their shared past. To the audience, no matter how flimsy the walls, it is the single thing in the entire film that offers warmth, comfort and promise. And it is an illusion. Which may have been Allen's point from the start.