There was a moment about five minutes into the film when I thought maybe Woody should have lopped off everything before that point and faded in right then and there. It just didn't feel like the movie had its bearings yet, it seemed to be muddling through unnecessary exposition, and the jokes were misfiring. But I got the same feeling at ten minutes, and again at fifteen, and then... well, uh oh. Of course, there were so many moments like that through the whole movie, I started to wonder if they were intentional. After all, the running gag of the whole film (from about 20 minutes in) is the movie within the movie's incoherent dailies produced as a result of the director's temporary blindness. Are we supposed to accept Hollywood Ending's failings as, nudge-nudge, an inside joke? Sorry, Woody. Didn't fly.
The only thing that really worked was Allen bumbling around like a wearied old man with countless psychosomatic disorders. In other words, Woody is perennially loveable as himself and getting to watch him standing helplessly in doorways, talking to walls, falling 20 feet off a set, and bumping into people was worth it. Everything else seemed like first-take or rehearsal junk clinging to a modestly funny, though formulaic script. And half the 20-something beauties who inexplicably throw themselves at him don't even seem to be in the same movie. Was Tiffany Thiessen's underwear part included just to kill 10 minutes and boost the teenage-boy demographic? Debra Messing's part too -- it was almost as though Woody wrote himself into a corner, conveniently removed her for as long as possible and then brought her back to try to save the ending. Sorry. Didn't fly.
Basically, the premise was solid, but the whole operation should have been tabled, reviewed, reapproached and redone. But keep the stuff with Woody Allen staring off into space.
The only thing that really worked was Allen bumbling around like a wearied old man with countless psychosomatic disorders. In other words, Woody is perennially loveable as himself and getting to watch him standing helplessly in doorways, talking to walls, falling 20 feet off a set, and bumping into people was worth it. Everything else seemed like first-take or rehearsal junk clinging to a modestly funny, though formulaic script. And half the 20-something beauties who inexplicably throw themselves at him don't even seem to be in the same movie. Was Tiffany Thiessen's underwear part included just to kill 10 minutes and boost the teenage-boy demographic? Debra Messing's part too -- it was almost as though Woody wrote himself into a corner, conveniently removed her for as long as possible and then brought her back to try to save the ending. Sorry. Didn't fly.
Basically, the premise was solid, but the whole operation should have been tabled, reviewed, reapproached and redone. But keep the stuff with Woody Allen staring off into space.