In 1930's Hollywood, the powerful agent, Phil Stern, is attending a party and receives a phone call from his sister living in New York. She asks for a job for her son and Phil's nephew, Bobby, who decided to move to Hollywood. Three weeks later Phil schedules a meeting with Bobby and decides to help him. He asks his secretary Veronica "Vonnie" to hang around with Bobby, showing him the touristic places. Bobby immediately falls in love with Vonnie, but she tells that she has a boyfriend, a journalist that travels most of the time. However, Vonnie's boyfriend is indeed a married man that is also in love with her and soon she has to make a choice between her two loves.Written by
Claudio Carvalho, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
During the nightclub sequences, apart from the New Years Eve scene when they play "Auld Lang Syne", the band musicians are obviously miming or not playing their instruments, although we hear them play various jazz tunes. 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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