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Review: Café Society

This minor Woody Allen diversion had the potential to be so much better.

Throughout his uncannily prolific career, Woody Allen has worked like clockwork, cranking out a film a year, all roughly 95 minutes long—never overdue and never over budget. One might expect that this assembly-line approach to filmmaking might affect the quality of his work, but there’s no hard evidence to support that. He used that same model when he was creating his masterpieces—Annie Hall, Manhattan, Hannah and Her Sisters, Husbands and Wives, et al—and his bottom-of-the-barrel stuff, too. But his latest, Café Society, is a film that practically begs to be given more attention and care. One senses the great film it could have been, lurking just out of reach. For Allen, it’s the rare screenplay that isn’t tight—it bobs and weaves and circles back on itself in a herky-jerky way. And despite all its promise, it ultimately feels empty.

Our hero is Bobby Dorfman (Jesse Eisenberg, Allen’s latest surrogate for himself), a Jewish boy from Brooklyn who flies to California in the 1930s chasing the Hollywood dream. His uncle, Phil Stern (Steve Carell) is already there, a big-shot Hollywood agent, who attends lavish, poolside parties with the Hollywood glitterati. Allen’s sly joke is that many (indeed most) of the Hollywood players are Jews from New York, who have appropriated (and, in some ways, created) the American dream. Meanwhile, back in New York, Bobby’s brother Ben (Corey Stoll) is pursuing his own version of the American dream: He’s a gangster, who is about to open a fancy nightclub.

Phil (eventually) takes the eager Bobby under his wing and introduces him to his assistant, the luminous Vonnie (Kristen Stewart), who is impervious to the glamorous life and instead prefers small dive bars and serious discussion. Bobby, of course, is immediately smitten. The only snag? She has a mysterious boyfriend.

I don’t want to give away all the plot, because there are some clever twists and surprises here, but Bobby eventually ends up back in New York, working as a host at his brother’s club, which has become a hotspot. He marries a beautiful shiksa, Veronica (Blake Lively), and becomes a smooth-talking player himself, while still pining away for Vonnie. Bobby’s sister Evelyn (Sari Lennick) is married to an intellectual Marxist, Leonard (Stephen Kunken), and I guess, among the three siblings, they’re meant to represent Jewish life in the ’30s: Bobby is the striver, Ben is the tough guy, and Evelyn and Leonard are the mensches, the thinkers. But what, specifically, is Allen saying about American Judaism at this time? This is such a rich and interesting topic—especially considering the fact that virtually all of Hollywood was created by Jews—but it’s merely glanced over.

The romance between Vonnie and Bobby works better—we’re at least invested in it—but is sharp reminder that Allen has continued to live a stubbornly hermetic life. Bobby pursues Vonnie even after she rejects him—and his friends and family encourage him to stay persistent. (He repeats his dogged ways when pursuing Veronica, although she succumbs more quickly).

In recent years, we’ve agreed—as a society—that films that encourage men to pursue women who show no interest actually send a dangerous message, and could lead to stalking, or at least a kind simmering resentment of women. But Allen is oblivious to the latest cultural conversations. Even in a period piece like this, it makes him a less relevant filmmaker. (As for his penchant for showcasing May/December romances? Let’s just say, his squicky track record is intact.)

Still, this is an Allen film, so it’s beautifully shot (the Hollywood scenes are bathed in an aspirational golden light by cinematographer Vittorio Storaro) and has some laugh-out-loud funny bits. It goes down easy and ends on a surprisingly poignant note. But like the wine Bobby opens on his first real date with Vonnie, it just needed some time to breathe.