Hovering between introspection and narcissism, Allen channels Fellini’s ‘8½’ in this self-reflexive work that sees a filmmaker at his own retrospective wrestling with fans, fame and failed relationships, shot artfully by the great Gordon Willis.  

---

---

My last Woody Allen film was nine years ago, a remarkable early piece called Love and Death (1975), viewed on DVD from one of three boxsets of his 1970s-1990s phase that I had bought way before it became unfashionable (or at times, downright taboo) to write anything mildly positive about his work. 

I found those boxes of DVDs again and decided to pop one in. So, should we separate the art from the artist; or perhaps see art and artist together, dualistically?  Or if I may propose: why not be open to both ways? 

We have here, Stardust Memories, a follow-up to Manhattan (1979), the latter widely considered one of his greatest achievements, yet that film’s content tells us so much about why he is such a detestable figure today. 

Stardust Memories is similar, though fascinating in how Allen personally reflects on the very mantra that has divided cinephiles that I earlier asked: art/artist or art-ist? As such, some might find it to be one of his most revelatory works. 

Playing Sandy Bates, a filmmaker who reluctantly attends a retrospective of his movies, Allen channels that awkward, nerdy, lustful, existential-laden husk of a man who recalls the ups, downs, and downright bizarre in his life that inspired him to make his movies.

“A lot of people have accused you of being narcissistic.”

I suppose there’s a lot of Woody Allen in Sandy Bates if one were to psychoanalyse, as he often likes to do in many of his films. 

Enhanced by the artful black-and-white cinematography of Gordon Willis, best known for lensing Coppola’s ‘Godfather’ films, Stardust Memories sees Allen attempting his version of Fellini’s 8½ (1963). 

As Sandy is bombarded by all manner of boisterous fans, annoying producers, and way-too-eager folks trying to garner his support for their noble causes, he begins to question his sanity (his ex-lover, played by the formidable Charlotte Rampling, haunts him deeply), celebrity status, and legacy as a master of (frivolous) comedy. 

He wants to take life, relationships and filmmaking more seriously.  So, make what you will about Allen’s self-reflexive film—is it an introspective look at what makes him tick, or a narcissistic exercise in being a dick?  Or maybe it’s simply both?

Grade: A-

---

Trailer:

Music: