Obsessed with romance, modestly hilarious and slyly clever. This is Woody Allen. But not the one we thought we knew.
Midnight in Paris keeps its brilliantly punctual and straight forward with its motives. It’s a product of adoration. For Paris! For Love! For the Yesteryear!
The wit comes primarily from the dialogue, but conceptually, more than anything; a trait Woody never gave heavy attention to. As a writer who secretly obsesses over the 1920’s in Paris with the ever-so existentially romantic rain finds himself in the past; hence, a hipster finally having his dreams come true. What’s funnier are the people he meets and the ones who desire past generations within the past generation just as much. This lends itself to us questioning the hipsters. Aren’t their personalities a standard package to society? Isn’t the human tendency to want what we can’t have and only have it linger in front of us the ultimate efficacy of picturesque love? Can’t our ideas of ideal romance ever be satisfied? Oh Woody, how you done us right.
There is a painting of beauty. There is a shared love between the director and the viewer. He holds the camera, you hold the eyes. Both fall in love with the painting. The romance. The humor. La Ville-Lumière.
This movie is my dad.