It is December 27th. Most households across the UK exchanged gifts just two days ago. Each household has spent an absurd amount of money, making sure every family member is satisfied on the obligatory gift-giving day. As usual, the nation has continued to queue and crowd high streets, except this year, the sales started early, very early. For retail assistants, there was also the exciting prospect that it was nearly all over for another year.
This afternoon I returned to work at a major bookselling chain, my first shift after Christmas. The Guardian/ICM poll published today showed that 86% of Britons are planning to make cutbacks in 2009. But clearly the people of Milton Keynes hadn’t been told there was a credit crunch. The shopping centre was heaving. I thought a second Christmas had been planned without my knowing. I cursed my way to work, dodging wayward prams, huge shopping bags and trolleys. I thought, Christmas was two days ago, and these people want to buy more things?
After many inane sale related questions and customers speaking to me as if I am an automated robot, I thought I’d had a bad day. That was until I spoke to my boyfriend, who was back to work at Zavvi for the first time since the announcement of their administration on Christmas Eve. From the moment they opened their doors the staff faced abuse all day. Zavvi are now (legally) unable to accept gift cards as payment, but anyone who purchased a gift card after 27th November are eligible for a refund if they send it to the head office; an address of which is provided both in store or online. It is very unfortunate for those who have money on a gift card, and this seems to be the biggest source of most people’s frustration. But many cases have surpassed frustration and led to anger and threatening behaviour. The city-centre security now appear to have a permanent fixture at Zavvi. Within five minutes of the shop opening, one lady wished the manager ‘a horrible life’ because of the gift-card fiasco, and another man complained that the clearance sale ‘was the same as last week’ and had queued up all morning for nothing. One family had to be escorted out after their complaint esculated, with the Mother claiming she had had to work ‘3 days for that £30.’
The abuse of these customers is utterly farcical. Staff have had to resort to using the ‘at least you still have a job’ line, or something to that effect. But it is true. A whole workforce (including Woolworths) are out of a job, and some people only care that the sale isn’t cheap enough. It is a wonder how Zavvi have managed to convince their staff to continue working at all. Of course, it is not as easy for some to just up and leave when there are still bills to be paid and children to feed. But after two days of hell, it would surprise me if the young part-timers bothered to come in at all. In response to today’s vile actions of the General Public, it would be a wonderful thing to see all Zavvi employees strike, or not open their doors. As someone who knows exactly the sort of mindless un-civil scenarios retail assistants must put up with on a day to day basis, it is about time staff stood up for themselves. Retail assistants working in Zavvi are in the best position to execute a strike. Not only because they are set to lose their jobs (a buyer is unlikely considering the toxicity of EUK) but because they have truly had to cope with the worst treatment.
The media have relished in lumping everyone in the same boat when it comes to this recession. ‘We’re all in this together’ is a favourite motto. But for those shopping today, so desperate to get their hands on the cheapest bargain, they are very far from experiencing anything like those behind the tills. Yes, these are tough times for some, but not all. Not for those with enough money to desire even more goods after Christmas is over. In times like this, you would think that customers would sympathise and rally behind the workers, blaming the fat cats or top rung management for the failure of the company. But instead it is the lowly working man who must bear the brunt of the backlash. Retail assistants deal with impossible customers with professionalism that even the calmest of people would have trouble mustering. It is too late for Zavvi staff, but in the rest of the retail sector, employees should be paid a salary that matches the professionalism they exhibit. In the most simple terms, it is unfair and offensive to be offered their rate of pay when the work they do is far more draining, both physically and mentally. Whoever thought that working in a shop would become a calling, one that few could withstand.
The crowds in the shopping centre today showed a side to our society that have truly transformed into materialist monsters, who are not out for blood but for the best bargain. For some, it wouldn’t be good enough if shops were giving stock away for free. They would still want more. The unfortunate thing about my article is that when I refer to customers, I could be talking about you, or anybody else reading this. People are so quick to point fingers at the wrong-doers, but some of the finger-pointers must hold themselves accountable. Retail workers are not robots, nor are they inferior human beings, they are just like you and me. If it is too far to suggest that the workers of Zavvi strike, sending a clear message to customers and retail workers alike, then I hope we can all become a little more tolerant. After-all, it could be your job next.
(First Draft)
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Woody Allen's Annie Hall
Redefining the Romantic Comedy
Geoff King in Film Comedy notes, ‘the dream of ideal romantic love is recognized explicitly for what it is: a myth, the product of fantasy; specifically that produced in the Hollywood of a past age and consumed, as an emotional indulgence, primarily by women.’ [1] Although specifying the Hollywood of a past age, this is still applicable to the romantic comedies of today, which in some instances have gone even further in exploring the myth of romance such as the cosmic plot of 2001’s Serendipity, or the fantastical story line of 2006’s The Lake House. The genre has accrued the nick-name ‘chick-flick’ which has damaged its reputation amongst a male audience, who tend to be more interested in the gross-out or satiric comedy, void of any romantic love. Annie Hall (1977) defies the woman’s romance in order to make what could be considered the man’s romantic comedy.
Woody Allen may be just as famous for the scandal of his personal life, (the marriages, the accusations,) as he is for his auteurist films. His general style is that of a comedic reimagining of the psychoanalytical musings which mob his personal life, along with a love of crime, sex and New York. Annie Hall turned towards the dramatic as well as comedic, which won him the best picture Oscar. Not only in Annie Hall, but other Allen films, there is a questioning, and demand to know, ‘what is love?’ Geoff King sums up the general consensus of romantic comedy as something static and categorical. ‘It is a device, primarily, rather than something explored or greatly developed in its own terms…’ [2] Woody Allen brings change to this with Annie Hall, challenging what we find romantic, and what we find comical.
The song ‘It Had to Be You,’ sung by Diane Keaton’s Annie, is used as a nostalgic reminder of the ballad-esque love seen in traditional romantic comedies. As Diane Jacobs realises, there are not many similarities between old and new. ‘The couples problem would have been confronted and elaborated upon in crisis after crisis in the films first hour and then have vanished or been made to seem trivial in light of the couples shared affection, experience, and a far more troubling prospect of separation.’ [3] We can imagine the fate of Alvy and Annie if Woody Allen had not been their creator. There would be a realisation that despite their differences, love will prevail and the happy couple will grow old together, or at least we will be led to imagine. This Hollywood ending is perhaps something Allen fantasizes about, placating the fictional ‘Annie and Alvy’ (in Alvy’s first play) in a happy ending. Annie Hall is wholly more pessimistic. Amongst other things which are yet to be considered, Allen brings an unrelenting cynicism to the romantic-comedy. It seeps into Alvy’s relationship with Annie, just one of the refreshingly disconcerting characteristics of a ‘romantic’ protagonist. This is also embodied in his distaste for the L.A life, and a nostalgic fondness for New York. In fact, New York plays the third wheel in the relationship, becoming a bone of contention at prickly times between the couple. Adopting the defensive love of the city Allen has, ‘L.A becomes the antithesis of New York.’ [4] Everything is opposite there, the plasticity of friendships and transparency of their interests. Alvy has a more romantic and needful attachment to the city, than he has with women in past and current relationships.
Romantic comedies which have gone before often rely on comedic cues, such as prat-falls and solution gags, which are obvious to the spectator. Woody Allen’s comedy is cerebral, using expectation, stereotype, and politics to induce laughter. His spectator is not necessarily different or more clever, but evolved. Frank Krutnik identifies ‘the nervous romance.’ [5] The nervous neurotic may have already been experienced in Cary Grant’s David, in Bringing Up Baby, but not on the narcissistic scale of what would appear to be Woody Allen’s alter-ego. Romantic comedy is usually conceived as a female genre, but Annie Hall is represents a predominantly male attitude towards romantic frustrations. His nervousness combines with the Jewish stereotype, to create ‘The paranoia of Alvy Singer…who insists on hearing the phrase ‘did you eat?’ as the slur ‘Jew eat?.’ [6] Alvy’s self-conscious image of himself as an Orthodox Jew haunts him, as do his obsessions with sex and death. Annie complains, ‘You never want to try anything new,’ but immediately he reminds her of when he suggested a threesome. If it isn’t the prospect of a sexual encounter or mediation on death, Alvy is stunted in his adventurism. He comes across as lecherous in his relationships, and often the sex (or lack of it) is the cause of the breakdown. Interestingly, Frank Krutnik concludes these obsessions as ‘his anhedonic inability to reconcile the claims of body and mind.’ [7] His preoccupation with death is littered throughout the film, from psychoanalysis to Death in Venice, as if unable, as Krutnik points out, to embrace life and valorise his current relationship. For Alvy, death is an excuse, a morbid fascination which comes in the way of romance.
Alvy Singer is commonly assumed to be the alter-ego of Woody Allen himself. There is an extremely personal and voyeuristic appeal in watching Annie Hall. Diane Jacob reflects this by saying ‘we are more interested in
Alvy and Annie because they may be Woody Allen and Diane Keaton. And we may like Mr Allen and Ms. Keaton better, because they may be the loveable Alvy and Annie.’ [8] This open access to their lives adds a depth and significance to the normally escapist romantic-comedy. The humanity and complexities of Alvy are those we may assign to the real-life person of Woody Allen. His comedy is mostly found in the dialogue, and in Annie Hall there is barely time to catch a breath. Even upon repeat viewing, the spectator may hear another sharp line. It sometimes seems like Alvy does not have time to listen to Annie, even at their most intimate moments, too concerned with what he himself has to say. The emancipation of the female character is also something which sets Annie Hall apart from the traditional conventions of romantic-comedy. There is a repressive quality in Alvy; one which sees him ignorant of Annie’s natural photography talent, and encouraging of adult education. However, upon succeeding in her classes, Alvy becomes jealous and deprecating of her ‘schooling’. His eye-rolling attitude towards her education, moving to L.A, and selfish opinions of her therapy, all point towards a loss of masculinity, and empowering of the new female romantic figure. Diane Keaton even takes it to the heights of the ‘Annie Hall Look.’ [9] Annie Hall sides with the notion of ‘the battle of the sexes,’ a struggle between traditional male dominated heterosexual relations and the liberation of the woman to choose her own path, and partner. The most telling scene which reconfigures the romantic-comedy is alongside the New York river, where Alvy cannot bring himself to say the word love. ‘…the inadequacy of connotations surrounding the overused word ‘love,’ consists of a kind of parodic estranging of the word, distorting it into a series of exotic aural shapes. “Love…Lov…Luhv.”’ [10] This moment stresses the disassociation of the romantic-comedy with the fixation of the word love. Romantic-comedies generally set out on a holy grail in search of genuine love. For Alvy, ‘love’ is not good enough for him, and as he twists his words under the guise of comedy, it is never plainer to see. Annie may be the crucial relationship for Alvy, but it starts and ends in the same way we have seen before with him. Annie Hall is just as much about Annie and Alvy, as it is about every other woman and Alvy.
When Alvy and Annie’s relationship breaks down, we slip into a familiar romantic-comedy emotion, which is the feeling of sadness at the thought of our couple separating. There are a few reasons for this. Firstly, Alvy and a new girlfriend are in his kitchen, re-enacting a second version of Alvy and Annie’s lobster debacle. The smoking woman is not amused, or as spontaneous as Annie. Annie’s good cheer is notably absent. As Alvy leaves L.A after unsuccessfully trying to bring Annie back to New York with him, there is not even a goodbye muttered between them. He proceeds to crash his car into other parked cars, recalling the happier times of his childhood, when he spent his days crashing bumper cars at the fairground, with his Father. Alvy has regressed, and we know things will never be as simple as the bumper car days. Finally, as we hear another rendition of ‘It Had to Be You,’ the montage of Alvy and Annie’s laughter and love helps the spectator forget the moments of frustration and anxiety gone before.
Just as the Screwball, and Comedian comedies redefined romantic-comedic terms, so too should Allen’s Nervous comedy. It is undoubtedly the most truthful of the romantic-comedy, illustrating that life is not perfect, so neither should the representation of it. Annie Hall is an anti-classical romance, unflinchingly humorous in its personal portrayal of love. Somehow, though, the coupling of Alvy and Annie leaves us with a warm glow, which even the most formulaic of romantic comedies has been known to leave. Alvy tells a final joke, comparing the need of the eggs (in the joke) to the need for relationships, despite their irrationality and absurdity. Although it is hardly a happy ending, it leaves optimism, that in retrospect, the Annie Hall experience is one which is always desired.
FOOTNOTES
[1] King, Geoff, p.59, 2002[2] King, Geoff, p.50, 2002[3] Cowie, Peter, p.44, 1996[4] Cowie, Peter, p.21, 1996[5] Krutnik, Frank, p.57, 2002[6] Krutnik, Frank, p.153, 2002[7] Krutnik, Frank, p.20, 1998[8] Jacobs, Diane, p.51, 1996[9] Lurie, Alison, p. 173, 1989[10] Babbington, Bruce and Evans, Peter Williams, p.163, 1989
BIBLIOGRAPHY
King, Geoff, Film Comedy, Wallflower Press, 2002
Cowie, Peter, Annie Hall, BFI, 1996
Jacobs, Diane, in Cowie, Peter, Annie Hall, BFI, 1996
Krutnik, Frank, ‘Love Lies’ in Evans, Peter William and Deleyo, Celestino, Terms of Endearment, Edinburgh University Press, 1998
Lurie, Alison, in Babbingon, Bruce and Evans, Peter Williams Affairs To Remember, Manchester University Press, 1989
Babbington, Bruce and Evans, Peter Williams, Affairs to Remember, Manchester University Press, 1989
Geoff King in Film Comedy notes, ‘the dream of ideal romantic love is recognized explicitly for what it is: a myth, the product of fantasy; specifically that produced in the Hollywood of a past age and consumed, as an emotional indulgence, primarily by women.’ [1] Although specifying the Hollywood of a past age, this is still applicable to the romantic comedies of today, which in some instances have gone even further in exploring the myth of romance such as the cosmic plot of 2001’s Serendipity, or the fantastical story line of 2006’s The Lake House. The genre has accrued the nick-name ‘chick-flick’ which has damaged its reputation amongst a male audience, who tend to be more interested in the gross-out or satiric comedy, void of any romantic love. Annie Hall (1977) defies the woman’s romance in order to make what could be considered the man’s romantic comedy.
Woody Allen may be just as famous for the scandal of his personal life, (the marriages, the accusations,) as he is for his auteurist films. His general style is that of a comedic reimagining of the psychoanalytical musings which mob his personal life, along with a love of crime, sex and New York. Annie Hall turned towards the dramatic as well as comedic, which won him the best picture Oscar. Not only in Annie Hall, but other Allen films, there is a questioning, and demand to know, ‘what is love?’ Geoff King sums up the general consensus of romantic comedy as something static and categorical. ‘It is a device, primarily, rather than something explored or greatly developed in its own terms…’ [2] Woody Allen brings change to this with Annie Hall, challenging what we find romantic, and what we find comical.
The song ‘It Had to Be You,’ sung by Diane Keaton’s Annie, is used as a nostalgic reminder of the ballad-esque love seen in traditional romantic comedies. As Diane Jacobs realises, there are not many similarities between old and new. ‘The couples problem would have been confronted and elaborated upon in crisis after crisis in the films first hour and then have vanished or been made to seem trivial in light of the couples shared affection, experience, and a far more troubling prospect of separation.’ [3] We can imagine the fate of Alvy and Annie if Woody Allen had not been their creator. There would be a realisation that despite their differences, love will prevail and the happy couple will grow old together, or at least we will be led to imagine. This Hollywood ending is perhaps something Allen fantasizes about, placating the fictional ‘Annie and Alvy’ (in Alvy’s first play) in a happy ending. Annie Hall is wholly more pessimistic. Amongst other things which are yet to be considered, Allen brings an unrelenting cynicism to the romantic-comedy. It seeps into Alvy’s relationship with Annie, just one of the refreshingly disconcerting characteristics of a ‘romantic’ protagonist. This is also embodied in his distaste for the L.A life, and a nostalgic fondness for New York. In fact, New York plays the third wheel in the relationship, becoming a bone of contention at prickly times between the couple. Adopting the defensive love of the city Allen has, ‘L.A becomes the antithesis of New York.’ [4] Everything is opposite there, the plasticity of friendships and transparency of their interests. Alvy has a more romantic and needful attachment to the city, than he has with women in past and current relationships.
Romantic comedies which have gone before often rely on comedic cues, such as prat-falls and solution gags, which are obvious to the spectator. Woody Allen’s comedy is cerebral, using expectation, stereotype, and politics to induce laughter. His spectator is not necessarily different or more clever, but evolved. Frank Krutnik identifies ‘the nervous romance.’ [5] The nervous neurotic may have already been experienced in Cary Grant’s David, in Bringing Up Baby, but not on the narcissistic scale of what would appear to be Woody Allen’s alter-ego. Romantic comedy is usually conceived as a female genre, but Annie Hall is represents a predominantly male attitude towards romantic frustrations. His nervousness combines with the Jewish stereotype, to create ‘The paranoia of Alvy Singer…who insists on hearing the phrase ‘did you eat?’ as the slur ‘Jew eat?.’ [6] Alvy’s self-conscious image of himself as an Orthodox Jew haunts him, as do his obsessions with sex and death. Annie complains, ‘You never want to try anything new,’ but immediately he reminds her of when he suggested a threesome. If it isn’t the prospect of a sexual encounter or mediation on death, Alvy is stunted in his adventurism. He comes across as lecherous in his relationships, and often the sex (or lack of it) is the cause of the breakdown. Interestingly, Frank Krutnik concludes these obsessions as ‘his anhedonic inability to reconcile the claims of body and mind.’ [7] His preoccupation with death is littered throughout the film, from psychoanalysis to Death in Venice, as if unable, as Krutnik points out, to embrace life and valorise his current relationship. For Alvy, death is an excuse, a morbid fascination which comes in the way of romance.
Alvy Singer is commonly assumed to be the alter-ego of Woody Allen himself. There is an extremely personal and voyeuristic appeal in watching Annie Hall. Diane Jacob reflects this by saying ‘we are more interested in
Alvy and Annie because they may be Woody Allen and Diane Keaton. And we may like Mr Allen and Ms. Keaton better, because they may be the loveable Alvy and Annie.’ [8] This open access to their lives adds a depth and significance to the normally escapist romantic-comedy. The humanity and complexities of Alvy are those we may assign to the real-life person of Woody Allen. His comedy is mostly found in the dialogue, and in Annie Hall there is barely time to catch a breath. Even upon repeat viewing, the spectator may hear another sharp line. It sometimes seems like Alvy does not have time to listen to Annie, even at their most intimate moments, too concerned with what he himself has to say. The emancipation of the female character is also something which sets Annie Hall apart from the traditional conventions of romantic-comedy. There is a repressive quality in Alvy; one which sees him ignorant of Annie’s natural photography talent, and encouraging of adult education. However, upon succeeding in her classes, Alvy becomes jealous and deprecating of her ‘schooling’. His eye-rolling attitude towards her education, moving to L.A, and selfish opinions of her therapy, all point towards a loss of masculinity, and empowering of the new female romantic figure. Diane Keaton even takes it to the heights of the ‘Annie Hall Look.’ [9] Annie Hall sides with the notion of ‘the battle of the sexes,’ a struggle between traditional male dominated heterosexual relations and the liberation of the woman to choose her own path, and partner. The most telling scene which reconfigures the romantic-comedy is alongside the New York river, where Alvy cannot bring himself to say the word love. ‘…the inadequacy of connotations surrounding the overused word ‘love,’ consists of a kind of parodic estranging of the word, distorting it into a series of exotic aural shapes. “Love…Lov…Luhv.”’ [10] This moment stresses the disassociation of the romantic-comedy with the fixation of the word love. Romantic-comedies generally set out on a holy grail in search of genuine love. For Alvy, ‘love’ is not good enough for him, and as he twists his words under the guise of comedy, it is never plainer to see. Annie may be the crucial relationship for Alvy, but it starts and ends in the same way we have seen before with him. Annie Hall is just as much about Annie and Alvy, as it is about every other woman and Alvy.
When Alvy and Annie’s relationship breaks down, we slip into a familiar romantic-comedy emotion, which is the feeling of sadness at the thought of our couple separating. There are a few reasons for this. Firstly, Alvy and a new girlfriend are in his kitchen, re-enacting a second version of Alvy and Annie’s lobster debacle. The smoking woman is not amused, or as spontaneous as Annie. Annie’s good cheer is notably absent. As Alvy leaves L.A after unsuccessfully trying to bring Annie back to New York with him, there is not even a goodbye muttered between them. He proceeds to crash his car into other parked cars, recalling the happier times of his childhood, when he spent his days crashing bumper cars at the fairground, with his Father. Alvy has regressed, and we know things will never be as simple as the bumper car days. Finally, as we hear another rendition of ‘It Had to Be You,’ the montage of Alvy and Annie’s laughter and love helps the spectator forget the moments of frustration and anxiety gone before.
Just as the Screwball, and Comedian comedies redefined romantic-comedic terms, so too should Allen’s Nervous comedy. It is undoubtedly the most truthful of the romantic-comedy, illustrating that life is not perfect, so neither should the representation of it. Annie Hall is an anti-classical romance, unflinchingly humorous in its personal portrayal of love. Somehow, though, the coupling of Alvy and Annie leaves us with a warm glow, which even the most formulaic of romantic comedies has been known to leave. Alvy tells a final joke, comparing the need of the eggs (in the joke) to the need for relationships, despite their irrationality and absurdity. Although it is hardly a happy ending, it leaves optimism, that in retrospect, the Annie Hall experience is one which is always desired.
FOOTNOTES
[1] King, Geoff, p.59, 2002[2] King, Geoff, p.50, 2002[3] Cowie, Peter, p.44, 1996[4] Cowie, Peter, p.21, 1996[5] Krutnik, Frank, p.57, 2002[6] Krutnik, Frank, p.153, 2002[7] Krutnik, Frank, p.20, 1998[8] Jacobs, Diane, p.51, 1996[9] Lurie, Alison, p. 173, 1989[10] Babbington, Bruce and Evans, Peter Williams, p.163, 1989
BIBLIOGRAPHY
King, Geoff, Film Comedy, Wallflower Press, 2002
Cowie, Peter, Annie Hall, BFI, 1996
Jacobs, Diane, in Cowie, Peter, Annie Hall, BFI, 1996
Krutnik, Frank, ‘Love Lies’ in Evans, Peter William and Deleyo, Celestino, Terms of Endearment, Edinburgh University Press, 1998
Lurie, Alison, in Babbingon, Bruce and Evans, Peter Williams Affairs To Remember, Manchester University Press, 1989
Babbington, Bruce and Evans, Peter Williams, Affairs to Remember, Manchester University Press, 1989
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)