Café Society – review

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Few films set in Hollywood can resist constructing their plot as a picture within a picture. In February, we had the Coen brothers’ homage to 1950s cinema, Hail, Caesar! and this December’s La La Land, starring Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone, promises more of the same conceit. The trend continues in Woody Allen’s latest film, Café Society, a classic tale of ambition and disillusion in the land of the rich and famous. Bobby (Jesse Eisenberg) moves to LA to work for his millionaire producer uncle (Steve Carell) and falls instantly in love with his secretary (Kristen Stewart).

Allen’s direction is heavy-handed and ultimately unsuccessful in this film. Silences are few and far between. Nearly every scene is filled with time-setting 1930s swing or jazz. One important conversation on a beach is so threatened by the background noise of the waves that one wonders whether Allen has made an error in production. Deliberately unsubtle lighting changes are used to convey the intended mood of the moment, rather than representing the reality of events. In Hollywood, it would seem, atmosphere trumps truth. The fact that the film’s reflective aim is made painfully clear does not excuse its poor plot and bland script. There seems to be an attempt to distract from the weakness of the core relationship between Eisenberg and Stewart by introducing numerous side characters, whose backstories are told through lazy narration by Allen himself, perhaps to save on the effort of on-screen character development.

It’s not that Allen’s films necessarily depend on plot for their success. Annie Hall for example is carried wonderfully by the director’s own character and quality dialogue, rather than by any thrilling action. But few actors possess his comic timing and genuinely neurotic disposition. Eisenberg’s performance comes across as a failed attempt to mimic Allen as a leading actor. The voice and mannerisms can be perfected, but the genuine eccentricity and social ineptitude that make such a character’s narcissistic nature endearing is lacking here. That said, it would be unjust to blame Eisenberg, who was working with a remarkably lacklustre script that relies heavily on well-worn jokes about Jewish stereotypes.

An impressive performance from Steve Carell and the clever characterisation of Bobby’s Marxist uncle go some way towards achieving the humorous self-reflection the film obviously strives for. But these are unable to rescue what is, put simply, not Allen’s best work.

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