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17 of 18 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Is Woody Religious?, April 6, 2003
Woody Allen is the most deeply religious of movie directors; He just doesn't know it yet."Crimes and Misdemeanors" (an obvious nod to Fyodor Dostoyevsky) is Allen's most engrossing quest for moral order in the universe, which quest leaves him -- and the viewer -- utterly bereft. However, unlike the bleak "Interiors" or Allen's hilarious send-up on impending death being the impetus for finding God in "Hannah and Her Sisters," Allen's treatment of God, morality and free will is multi-faceted, and doesn't come to any pat answers. In fact, it is Allen's ambivalent contemplation of religion and ethics that conservative critics find lacking at best, or disingenuous at worst. I see it differently: Agree or disagree with him, Allen is an atheist who is nonetheless tormented by the conclusion he has reached that there is no God. His is no knee-jerk atheism, as he has clearly thought through the philosophical issues involved, wavering between Nietzschean will to power and outright denial, to existentialist reluctance in the face of the ultimate meaningless of life beyond the here-and-now. "Crimes and Misdemeanors" is peopled by a sterling cast, whose lives and choices are in direct conflict and contrast with one another; Yet, all speak with one voice, in Allen's exquisitely economical and pointed dialogue. Judah Rosenthal (Martin Landau, in the role of a lifetime, so perfectly is the dialogue tailored to his cadence of voice and gestures), like Job, is a man who has everything he could ever want. Unlike Job, when he sees his wealth and seemingly ideal family life (with wife Claire Bloom) jeopardized, he turns his back on God. The catalyst for Judah's life crisis is Dolores (Angelica Huston), a lonely airline stewardress with whom he's having more than a fling. When Dolores realises that she means nothing more to Judah than a mistress, and that his marital overtures to her were hollow, she turns on him with neurotic vengeance, threatening to expose not only their affair, but Judah's shady financial dealings. Frozen by fear of exposure, Judah turns to his rabbi (played by Sam Waterston) for advice. As wise as the advice is, it leaves too much to chance, that Judah can still indeed face exposure, shame and ruin. So, then he calls on his hit-man brother (Jerry Orbach) to quietly make Dolores -- and all Judah's problems -- disappear. And they *do* disappear, but with one hitch: Judah is suddenly consumed with guilt, and the one distant God now appears to haunt him and watch his every move. It is interesting watching Judah as he tries to reconcile his amoral crime with his ambivalent beliefs towards the Almighty. The scene in which he visits his childhood home in New Jersey brings back ghosts from his past, and we see his relatives sitting around the Seder table, in heated debate over the existence of God and the search for a moral order in the universe. Being a Woody Allen movie, of course the nasal aunt who dismisses God as a childish fantasy -- given the evidence that He did nothing to stop the Holocaust -- wins the day, thus influencing the adolescent Judah, who is being watched by the older Judah, an invisible prescence within the dining room. Two other plot threads run alternately hilarious/serious: Allen co-stars as Clifford Stern, an independent filmmaker, who lives on the financial and emotional handouts from his sexually barren wife. When she arranges for him to film the life of her brother, Lester, a successful commercial TV producer played by Alan Alda (whose sleazy character is a cross between Norman Lear and Ted Turner), Clifford bristles at Lester's shallowness. Things get wilder as Cliff tries to woo Halley (played by Mia Farrow), a public TV producer. Meanwhile, Halley -- who at first brushes off Lester's slick advances -- starts being attracted to Lester. Meanwhile, Clifford is filming the life story of a philosopher of positive thinking, Holocaust survivor Dr. Levy. When the professor turns negative and commits suicide (and Halley simultaneously throws Cliff over for the boorish Lester), Clifford concludes that there is nothing but random moral choas, and that indeed -- echoing Nietzsche -- God is dead. The movie ends with Clifford and Judah meeting at the wedding of Rabbi Ben's daughter. The Rabbi has now gone fully blind, despite Judah's attempts to restore his eyesight. Yet, Judah observes, the guilt over Dolores' murder have dissipated, and confides hypothetically to Clifford that life can indeed be good for a murderer, provided he feel no moral guilt for his crimes, and that morality is but an impediment to fruitful living. After all, he notes, his family life and fortune have been restored to him, and that the idea of retributive justice being doled out by God is a fairy tale, a figment of imagination. The conclusion is that we are each responsible for our own actions and our own lives. Yet, Allen makes one huge error in logic: If there is no God, he seems to imply, and if there is no moral order to the universe, then there is no moral or ethical impediment to murdering one's fellows. Is this Allen's tacit acknowledgement of the supernatural, or is he backing up Nietzsche's notion that morality was only invented to keep lesser men from running amok, that the common mass needs laws because they are incapable of rational judgment? It seems here that Allen is making the case for utter nihilism. So, why is he a liberal on the political spectrum, liberalism being a philosophy that holds democratic action and altruism as its moral center? Is Allen making a sotto voce case for fascism? Truthfully, I don't think he's doing the latter. Nonetheless, it is refreshing to see an atheist give so much thought and obvious private anguish to the question of God. If only the faithful did, there'd be less wanton violence commited in His name.
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DVD ~ Woody Allen
DVD ~ Woody Allen
DVD ~ Woody Allen
DVD ~ Woody Allen
DVD ~ Woody Allen
