[This long-form review of Woody Allen’s HUSBANDS AND WIVES appears in Alex Sheremet’s “Woody Allen: Reel to Real.” You can also watch our conversation reviewing and analyzing the film here.]
Although Woody’s last couple of films were underrated, they were not great works, by any means. It would take two years for Woody to return with another true drama, and thus triumphantly close his decade-and-a-half Golden Age. In some ways, Husbands and Wives is the most pure look at ‘Woody’ relationships, and one of the more intimate and best films of his career. In short, if Annie Hall was a kind of grown-up ‘first’ for Woody as well as Alvy Singer, and Manhattan too odd — it dealt with a grown man and a seventeen year-old girl, after all — or Hannah and her Sisters too marred by the ‘big problems’ of infidelity, familial conflict, and the like, to really get at the core of romance itself, this film merely examines the inner workings of two marriages, and what the interactions in one say of the events in the other, and vice-versa. It is, then, the most vanilla of the aforementioned films, but while there are no truly arresting visuals, no haunting metaphors, nor moments of ‘perfect poetry’ or scoring, this in no way detracts from what the film actually does. It is hyper-realistic, down to the documentary style, complete with questions and answers that shed light (and not) on those involved, and the quick edits and ‘jagged’ handheld camera that gets into the actors’ faces, showing not only why their marriages disintegrate, but also how the characters themselves are part of a self-imposed pattern they do not understand.
There are only four main characters to deal with: Gabe (Woody Allen) and his wife Judy (Mia Farrow), Jack (Sydney Pollack) and his wife Sally (Judy Davis), two couples that Tom Ryan correctly labels “a distorted emotional mirror of the other.”[1] The caliber of the four performances is obvious from the very first scene, wherein Jack and Sally come over to their best friends’ apartment to deliver the big news: that after twenty-some years of marriage, the two are getting a separation. Although it may be a blow to them, it certainly doesn’t seem like it, for they handle it well — “too well,” as Larry might say in Another Woman — and upon re-watch, one sees the nervousness and tics (such as the pointless laughter) the other couple might not. Gabe is surprised, but understanding, while Judy is the most crushed of all, practically cursing at them and running into her bedroom. The film’s edits zip in and out, allowing time-lapses and dramatized expressions, which propel the rest of the film, giving it a ‘fractured’ quality that parallels the kinds of thoughts and feelings characters share, and, even more important, don’t.
This leads to the first interview, wherein Judy is asked to introduce herself and explain why she was so upset. She cannot, but one wonders whether she is merely fooling herself, or trying to delude the others. In the previous scene, she alternately tells Gabe that the dissolved marriage is “none of our business,” but then aggressively prods for answers, a ‘switch’ of personality that plagues her and, as we come to learn, a previous marriage, as well. Almost from the very beginning, then, Judy is one of Woody’s most insidious creations. No, she is not evil, like Judah Rosenthal, but is closer to a much more fleshed-out Mary (from Manhattan), for she is a manipulator, passive-aggressive, a neurotic, and slowly gnaws at her relationships with men until there is nothing left and she is free to pursue other desires that, too, will pass. Yet, unlike Mary, her behavior is quite subtle, as her previous husband tells the interviewer, and the depth of her manipulativeness is only apparent with multiple re-watchings, where one could see earlier comments in a new light, or look for signs of ‘bad behavior’ in more innocuous things. “Sally is cold,” Jack complains of his wife, yet it just as readily applies to Judy, with whom there are strange arguments, defensiveness (going so far as her refusal to show any of her writing to Gabe), and unnamed longings, while leading Gabe into trap-like questions, temperamentally switching moods (“I don’t know how I feel…”/“Do you want to make love?”), popping pills, and playing the victim, all the while setting her eyes on Michael (Liam Neeson), a man she first sets up with Sally, only to create distance between herself and Gabe simply so she could pursue him. Later on, Gabe finally agrees to have a child with Judy, who is suddenly against it, and turns his desire into a critique of their marriage, using every little word he utters against him, until he loses sexual interest, almost as if the thing was pre-planned to avoid intimacy. Meanwhile, the image of her absurdly ‘dean-like’ ex-husband continues to cut in, as a kind of voice of reason, reminding the viewers of what Judy is, all the more effective (and funny!) because of how much of a victim and fool he looks; a seemingly minor casting decision that has, at the very least, some interesting implications for the film as a whole.
Gabe, for his part, is not too great either, unwilling to share his recent novel with Judy, likely due to her unattractive behavior, while fishing for compliments from a young, pretty student of his named Rain (after Rilke), merely because of her inner ‘spark’ and what she looks like. In fact, Rain (Juliette Lewis) is neither particularly intelligent nor insightful, choosing instead to speak in psychobabble, even as she has some of the film’s best lines: “Life doesn’t imitate art; it imitates bad television,” or, speaking of art as a whole, “It’s just a trick.” She is, however, quite sexy, and their obvious attraction becomes fodder for one of the best ‘flirtation’ scenes ever filmed, first in the classroom, where tension builds, then outside. As they walk through Central Park, Rain and Gabe stutter, share half-glances, and prod, then recede, almost via tangent, and simply have genuine chemistry on top of their own great acting — all the more remarkable given that Woody Allen was nearly forty years older than her during filming. Yet there’s something ‘off’ about her, as he learns, but since he has a “penchant for kamikaze women,” he nonetheless continues to solicit her opinions on things, even after she gets his novel, loses it (for “subconscious” reasons, she argues) and ends up trying to kiss Gabe, in the same way she’d once started a relationship with her much older psychoanalyst. At film’s end, Gabe, to his credit, ends up rejecting her overtures, despite his rich history with such women, and his still-obvious lust. Has he grown up? Perhaps, yet he’s also spent over ten years with the passive-aggressive Judy, merely because he seemed to enjoy the challenge and the brutality. It is possible he has changed, but given his behavior throughout, it’s just as possible he is merely sweeping things under the rug, with a Rilke-like revelation being torpedoed by the very habits he has long settled into. He is, at least, doing better alone, and without Judy, for while he may be lonely and confused, himself, Judy would turn such an arrangement into something draining and volatile, as evidenced by all the times Gabe attempts to understand her, and exhibits patience despite her pettiness and selfishness and moods.
In some ways, the Jack/Sally arc is just as interesting, for they are an example of a couple that split up for reasons they themselves don’t fully understand, only to get back together without a definite resolution as to what ails them in the first place. After they decide to move out, Sally goes on a date, which ends badly when she keeps calling Jack to get to the bottom of his plans, for he’s recently moved in with Sam (Lysette Anthony), a young “cocktail waitress” (Gabe’s words) who is both an airhead as well as genuinely interested in Jack. At first, he is interested, too, and feels relief at no longer being kept on his toes, for they’d sit around, watch idiotic shows, read trash, exercise, and more or less tune out their deeper parts, given that a relationship must inevitably go at the pace of the slowest person. In a hilarious scene, Gabe is shocked at Jack leaving Sally “for this,” given how silly Sam is, and gives him some good advice — the very advice, in fact, that Gabe himself needs, but does not take. It doesn’t take long for Jack to grow impatient, however, and in one of the film’s best scenes, they go to a party hosted by Jack’s friends, as Sam is accosted by people who challenge her beliefs on astrology. Jack, angry at being embarrassed, literally throws her out of the house and tries to hustle her into his car while she screams and he curses her, causing a scene and knocking into two cars as he backs out. It seems incredibly uncharacteristic of Jack, who is otherwise sane and calm, but it’s also quite revealing, too, as it’s a realistic look at the ‘desperation’ such toxic arrangements will engender — as is Sally’s parallel experience with Michael, during sex, as she is suddenly lost in a philosophical quandary over Isaiah Berlin’s hedgehog and fox scenario. No, it is not a violent outburst, as with Jack, but it is equally an escape from her present situation as they are both dealing with new problems they’ve deluded themselves into as a kind of ‘fix,’ without truly knowing why.
At some point, Jack learns of Sally’s new boyfriend, while Sally confides in Michael that for all of her fronts, and the destructiveness they’ve put themselves through over the years, she is simply the type who ‘needs’ marriage. In the meantime, she regales the confused Michael with comments about art, relationships, and her own neuroses that really do show her to be a bit cold, not in the true sense, but in the ways she puts up transparent fronts. As Michael reaches in for a kiss, for example, she winces back, and notes: “Metabolically, it’s not my rhythm.” Paradoxically, it clues the viewer into why Jack might have left her, even as it also shows how empty his reason was, given how empty her posturing really is. It seems inevitable, then, that the two will get back together, even as Gabe and Judy grow further and further apart, partly due to what they do to each other (especially Judy) and partly due to their own flaws and wandering eyes. Gabe, via his novel, wonders of love and expectations, correctly skewering people’s endless demands and lack of realism, even as Rain slowly ‘turns’ on his work, wondering about his pessimism, or perhaps mistaking his realism for pessimism, for which he calls her a “twit.” It’s an interesting parallel with Jack, who insults Sam for her silliness merely because their relationship was all wrong, and this is a likely trajectory for Gabe, as well, had he ever started to date Rain. Yet Rain’s criticisms are interesting, too, for they are not exactly wrong in terms of what we know of Gabe’s sexual history. On some level, he must have a “shallow” view of women, to use Rain’s phrase — even admitting that there’s some kind of aesthetic component to the “kamikaze” types — although Rain’s view of men as mentor or daddy-types, by contrast, is really no better.
Fairly soon, Jack and Sally get back together, while Judy hears at dinner that Michael has feelings for her. Judy informs Gabe that she is back in psychotherapy, accuses Gabe of nigh-infidelity, and goes back and forth about the origins of their relationship, at turns calling herself “boring,” and at others that her own “quiet” craziness reminds Gabe of his past. As before, the camera cuts in and out, the edits are jagged, and the sum shows how close their marriage is to others’, and how many relationships die through the same arc. Judy wisely (and manipulatively) informs him that their marriage is over, and Gabe moves out. It is clear, however, that she’s pushed Gabe away so she could shack up with Michael, while her ex-husband’s insistent voice reminds the viewer of how Judy always gets what she wants, while still being able to play her role as the victim. Meanwhile, Gabe splits up with Rain as well, for he sees a pattern developing, and Michael temporarily runs out on Judy, for he sees the same, manipulation and the like, as Judy seems ‘wired’ to misbehave, a fact that men are always seemingly clued into. Jack and Sally end the film by telling the interviewer what they’ve learned from the split, that they need to not expect too much, but focus on their commonalities — which, admittedly, are many and deep, and far more than what most relationships are ever based on.
Interestingly, the film was finished after the Woody Allen/Soon-Yi scandal came to light, and before Woody and Mia were ready to split. Given that Judy is presented in such a harsh light, one wonders if, in fact, there was either an attack on the real-life Mia Farrow, or their own personal feelings somehow enhancing the very real, very difficult on-screen conflict. But while this is often discussed, it should not take away from the reality of the film itself, and what it accomplishes on its own terms, thus obviating any real claims to autobiography. A lot has been made of the film’s jump cuts as well, with Tom Ryan going so far as suggesting it obscures parts of the narrative. Yet even this is an overstatement, for the film has plenty of scenes filmed ‘conventionally,’ with long takes and allowing things to come to a conclusion. In fact, the best of these harsh edits drives the narrative, rather than supplants it, such as the last true conversation between Judy and Gabe, wherein they are at turns yelling, or quietly sitting, then yelling again, with the edits very much showing ‘slices’ of what real arguments between two incompatible people look like, down to their very arcs and denouement. It is narrative within narrative, and the relative accessibility of the film obscures some of these deeper points. Jonathan Rosenbaum, for his part, notes “Allen’s conception of character is as banal and shallow as ever,”[2] but, as always, refuses to provide any kind of evidence, argumentation, or example — likely because, had he taken literally any of the couple of dozen ‘moments’ I’ve described in detail, the objective viewer could only see great writing, fine narrative arcs, and characters that are utterly real in their behaviors and beliefs. By contrast, Shubhajit notes the strength of the script[3] (as mentioned, even Rain, a supporting character, has some great lines), for Husbands and Wives remains one of the best-received Woody Allen films, right alongside Manhattan and Annie Hall before it.
At film’s end, Gabe turns to the camera, gives a synopsis of his current activities, and asks “Is this over?” It’s a fitting end not only to the film and the specifics of Woody’s alleged personal life, but also a neat conclusion to the filmmaker’s Golden Age. Husbands and Wives is not only one of his deepest looks at relationships and their various arcs, but the last truly great and mature one, for while he would continue to make fairly original, quality material as late as Blue Jasmine (2013), many films were destined to become retreads, or even dead-ends. Still, one does have these sixteen years to look back on, and just as I’ve said of Another Woman, the best art exposes one’s biases, and forces if not change, then revelation. On that count, Woody Allen’s last great film ought to be watched and rewatched, if only to note how one’s reactions shift, how sympathies and alliances between viewer and character re-align, and what that says not only of the complexity of Woody’s art, but how it betters those who choose to engage it.
[1] Ryan, Tom. Review of Husbands and Wives. The Age.
[2] Rosenbaum, Jonathan. Review of Husbands and Wives. JonathanRosenbaum.net http://www.jonathanrosenbaum.net/1992/09/husbands-and-wives/ 9/1/1992. Accessed 4/10/2014.
[3] Shubhajit. Review of Husbands and Wives. Cinemascope. http://cliched-monologues.blogspot.co.il/2011/05/husbands-and-wives-1992.html 5/15/2011. Accessed 4/10/2014.
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