Suffering from writer's block and eagerly awaiting his writing award, Harry Block remembers events from his past and scenes from his best-selling books as characters, real and fictional, come back to haunt him.
A director is forced to work with his ex-wife, who left him for the boss of the studio bankrolling his new film. But the night before the first day of shooting, he develops a case of psychosomatic blindness.
New York City. Forty year old Lee Simon, a critically panned two time novelist who works as a travel writer (a job he hates) to earn a steady living, tells his shocked wife of sixteen years, English teacher Robin Simon, that he wants a divorce. Although he had not been happy with Robin for some time, she who he feels is a bundle of Catholic repressions and neuroses especially when it comes to sex, Lee finally came to the conclusion about wanting a divorce upon attending his high school reunion and seeing a roomful of losers, he believing he turning into one of them if he didn't make a drastic change. He gets a job working as a journalist for an entertainment magazine, while he writes screenplays on the side, he believing the latter a good stepping stone to finishing his third novel if the screenplays works out. The journalist job includes conducting interviews with celebrities, not only to who he can pedal his completed screenplay, but also what he quickly learns to who he has easy ... Written by
One of Woody Allen's worst films, a brilliant defense for anyone who considers Allen out-of-touch, self-indulgent, and irrelevant. A storyless mishmash of tired, unfunny gags, Woody has absolutely nothing to say and takes forever to say it (uncharacteristic for Allen, who's films have been the last bastion of auteur-brevity, the movie is a trying two hours-plus). Sure, the movie looks dynamite, and sure it's got a great cast trying its best, but can anyone honestly tell me that this movie's humor wasn't musty, it's narrative wasn't rambling, it's attempts at satire weren't annoyingly weak? A real disappointment, especially following last year's wonderfully vulgar, honest, and funny "Deconstructing Harry." This has to be the worst fall-winter film season in years.
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