Manhattan

When in doubt, about Woody Allen or American filmmaking or cinema in general or life or aging or any number of other things, there's always Manhattan. It's a remarkable achievement, as fresh now as it must have been when released in 1979 and yet still billowing with nostalgia in ways few films can absorb with a straight, unironic face. There's ample humor, of Allen's trademarked  one-liner variety, but the picture's richness extends far beyond comedy and even further still, past the relationship neuroses too. It's Woody in his element as imagined by cinematographer Gordon Willis. The New York City borough of the title is bathed in such sincere romanticism, between Willis' black and white photography and the Gershwin songs on the soundtrack, that we begin to think in prototypical terms. This is perhaps the Woody Allen movie. It's also perhaps the most perfect love letter to his city and the greatest case for never retiring black and white photography.

To applaud Manhattan is also, necessarily, to look back two years earlier, at Allen's Best Picture winner Annie Hall. The elements are similar yet pitched differently and it's likely that most admirers of one also appreciate the other. Annie Hall has a stronger commitment to comedy, among other things. Manhattan features a push-pull between the screenplay and the photography, obtaining a perfect cinematic balance along the way. Gordon Willis shot both movies, beginning a long and fruitful partnership with Allen on Annie Hall that would last all the way through The Purple Rose of Cairo in 1985. Their collaboration included many, or even most, of Allen's finest films and it's easy to marvel at the very noticeable change in quality that began with Annie Hall. The visual aesthetics of Allen's films from this period ushered in a new maturity in his work and allowed for him to be taken more seriously as an artist rather than simply a talented creator of comedies.

Whether it was a situation of Allen simply hitting his stride at this time or if having Willis as his director of photography gave Allen an added confidence along with a technical bravura on the screen, the run of eight films they did together became a landmark blending of their respective talents. And Manhattan is the apex. Not to discount Annie Hall, either visually or in any other manner, or Allen's Bergman-inspired follow-up Interiors, but Manhattan has a different scope. From the opening voiceover matched to Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue" and iconic black and white images of the city, it seems clear that Allen was aiming for something definitive and bigger than its plot. There's a sense here, as in other Allen films but never relayed so clearly, that the events and lives seen could never matter as much elsewhere. It feels as though Grand Illusion would never connect a 42-year-old man and his 17-year-old girlfriend in another city, regardless of the truth in the theory. And if it did, it certainly wouldn't come from a television showing nor would the man look like Woody Allen or the girlfriend resemble Mariel Hemingway.

This relationship, one of three or so featured in Manhattan, rings about as true as it possibly can under the circumstances. These circumstances are, of course, forever mired in some unfortunate outside truths but it's also a worthy opportunity to separate the artist from his art and not get bogged down in something which should arguably resist judgment. The crux of the characters' relationship is that he dismisses her almost solely because of the age difference and despite enjoying their time together. Hemingway's character is presented as almost impossibly precocious but, in the parameters offered by the movie, she's Allen's best option. The hang-ups and matching neuroses that infest Diane Keaton's overly cerebral bundle of contradictions (from Philadelphia) are as wrong for him as his ex-wife turned lesbian and tell-all novelist played by Meryl Streep. Hemingway, for now at least, is the uneasy perfection.

This realization becomes somewhat wistful, both for the characters and the audience. It's perceived as, at best, a temporary fix but a victory nonetheless for acting and reacting in the moment with real emotions instead of conforming to expectations. The reward for complying with perceived notions is offered in at least three similar forms. Two marriages by Allen's character haven't worked, with one including a child, and his best friend (played by Michael Murphy) can't get over Keaton enough to resume his seemingly problem-free relationship with wife Anne Byrne. At its core, the film seems pessimistic in the direction of love, as many Allen movies tend to be, but there's nonetheless a buoyancy and verve to be taken away for those so inclined. We're left with actual hope for Allen and Hemingway, and the moments of their relationship that have been shown tend to play back in the viewer's head with a nice warmth and happiness for both parties.

The approach to Manhattan, the location, makes for an additional sense of possibility. Living in or nearby, or even having visited, New York City surely adds a special layer to this aspect but it should be there also for those witnessing the magic from afar. The pros and cons of it all feel well-represented in the film. The intellectualism available and the access to wonderful artistic endeavors and such contribute a little subtext to that love letter component. The truth is that no respectable list of the greatest New York City films will ever exclude Manhattan unless it's solely to generate controversy. For a city so brilliantly colorful and alive, it's kind of amazing that it was perhaps best captured in black and white, at a time when color easily already ruled the day. There's an extra notion of romantic availability and depth that comes with monochrome on film. The way Gordon Willis shot the city, including the bridges and the river, the rooftops and the people always passing by, deserves all the praise available. I see his contribution as the true elevating factor in making Manhattan a masterpiece-level mixture of words and images.

The Disc

MGM and distributor Twentieth Century Fox have brought Manhattan (as well as Annie Hall) to Blu-ray with a no-frills release reminiscent of the earlier DVD iterations. The main, enticing difference here is that the 1080p high definition image looks outstanding enough to warrant an easy upgrade over the earlier version. It's also region-free and dual-layered.

I can hardly think of a negative thing to report about this Manhattan BD. The 2.35:1 image looks just terrific and awash with optimal levels of grain. It's gorgeous, like stepping into your own little cinema with a projectionist who's competent and a pleasing absence of glowing lights from the other, less considerate patrons. There's no damage to speak of and detail and depth all look more than satisfying. Maybe some might like things to look a bit sharper but that demands the question as to just how sharp we need things to look and whether such a request would even be reasonable. Overall, it's a spectacular image that conveys warmth and the best of what Blu-ray can offer.

The main English language DTS-HD master audio option is similarly on the nose. It emits dialogue and Gershwin with equal aplomb. Nothing is a struggle. Everything sounds well-defined and balanced. There's an impressive degree of immersion available here for a mono track. It's spread across the two front channels. There are also mono options in Spanish, French, German and Italian plus a second Spanish for Catalan. Subtitles, white in color, are similarly generous. They are offered in Spanish, French, Dutch, German, Italian, Japanese, Polish, Portuguese, Catalan, and English for the hearing impaired.

The only extra is a lengthy theatrical trailer (3:16) for the film.