Now one thing is certain, I have always been an advocate for separating art from artist, and have still managed to derive unlimited and unapologetic joy as I am sure many of you out there boast the same ability of dispatching personal feelings over to the side for certain artists of controversy and irreverence, who often come replete with checkered pasts and at time presents. Fritz Lang - why that consummate martinet and rumored wife murderer! And given those character flaws, I never had any such qualms about being thoroughly besotted with Metropolis, Scarlett Street and The Big Heat and I will say that other Austrian emigre - Otto Preminger, though he was a rogue, and I am speaking first-class variety here; alas to go through life without revisiting Bonjour Tristesse and The Thirteenth Letter - oh I shudder the very painful thought of such. And there is a slight mercy in the form of the generational gap and the fact that some of the directors whose private lives have yet to be desired can be treated with a bit of the ol' Ostritch effect; and since some were born during the era that the James Gang ruled the wild,wild West, can still be completely admired from afar and in the afterlife as it were. But what to do when the legend is still alive and just happens to be a diminutive artistic giant in the form of a Woody Allen?
Now most folk whether they are ardent admirers of Allen or not would be oh so hard-pressed to dismiss his unwavering genius and for many years myself, I have been shooing off all the naysayers and other self-righteously opining souls that beat my brow, pounced on me any opportunity they could get to scrutinize my unconditional love of the auteur - and for these decades, I stood by my man (so to speak) - chalking up Mia Farrow's allegations in the abuse scandal, to the actress's bitterness over a floundering relationship, uneven career and outrageous agenda to besmirch Allen. And there I couldn't help but see this ubiquitous news item, one that has been niggling me since perusing it. And in the light of the untimely demise of another genius and who was sincerely one of today's hopefuls, Philip Seymour Hoffman, I had about all of the shock I could take for an otherwise sedate Groundhog Day, Super Bowl evening afternoon. Dylan Farrow in an open letter decided to renew the 1993 allegations in what may well become an unyielding game of emotive ping-pong, but with allegations as serious as these one does as much as one does not wish to - wonder if the smoke does indicate fire. Reading the graphic disclosure of an act that may or may not have taken place in the erstwhile couple's home, given it's content, has personally knocked me for six.
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| Zelig mit freunde |
Sadly and consequently the tragedy exists irrespective of the actual occurrence. The insoluble quandaries march on. Is Woody Allen secretly this depraved, did Mia Farrow cunningly condition her daughter Dylan with the repeated narrative, becoming a meditation as part of some well contrived masterplan to mar the reputation of a man who at the time of my writing is firmly in his golden years and a recent achiever of a lifetime award for his significant contributions to the cinematic world; and that was likely on the cusp of calling it a day in one of those call it a day zones situated in Boca Raton. Will these allegations affect him at all ? And selfishly, is it possible to reap any delight from viewing his films now?
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| Genius is a felony in some states. |
Admittedly although I truly am as I say an advocate of separating art from artist, I still cannot until this day muster up any impetus to see a Roman Polanski offering, although ironically and contradictory I did many moons ago happen upon Rosemary's Baby,( but I assure thee it was strictly for Cassavetes and not Miss Farrow) and having to forgo his acclaimed 'Apartment trilogy' ain't easy, but will I ever be able to look a Polanski film in the eye again - nosiree that is just never going to happen. So maybe this could well be, though I hope it isn't hasta la vista baby time for Mr Allen, I hardly even knew ye, why couldn't you just be the nice neurotic Jewish boy that hailed from my neighborhood and went to the same high school I did, (years before I was enrolled,mind you) but dammit Woody, just say it isn't so! I really did think the sun shone out of your tuches!