Sweet
and Lowdown
Rated PG-13
Opens Friday, Jan. 21
A colleague of mine saw Woody Allen's Sweet and Lowdown
at the Toronto Film Festival last year. When I asked him
how it was, he said he always liked it when Allen made movies
about something he really loves--besides himself. But you
could make an argument that every protagonist Woody Allen's
ever created is Woody Allen. Most of the time--specifically,
when he wants to do some serious self-analysis--he plays himself;
other times, he hires another actor. Often, when he's doing
period pieces like Bullets Over Broadway or Radio
Days, Allen counterbalances his self-obsession with nostalgic
valentines to other subjects and decides against acting. Perhaps
it's the director's way of saying, "Hey, really, this one
isn't about me!"
But no matter what the focus, his films usually come back
to one fixation: Woody. Upon first glance, Sweet and
Lowdown is Allen's valentine to jazz, his first love
outside of movies. In the tradition of Zelig, the
film is a pseudo-documentary about legendary "lost" jazz
guitarist Emmet Ray (Sean Penn), who was the greatest guitarist
on the planet (well, except for his hero, Django Reinhardt,
but he was definitely the second best). On so many levels,
Sweet and Lowdown deviates from the normal Allen
film. Woody only shows up as himself as the creator of this
documentary. The typical parade of celebrities that Allen
calls a cast is missing: Penn and Uma Thurman are the only
stars here, as Allen populates the film with unrecognizable
character actors. Even the tone differs: Yes, it's definitely
comic, but Allen thins out his characteristic one-liners,
and most of the movie possesses a refined, almost somber
mood.
Still, this is another of Allen's numerous portraits of
fucked-up artists. Sure, Penn takes over acting duties,
but much like Deconstructing Harry, this is really
Woody taking another long, hard look in the mirror and being
disgusted with what he sees. Like Harry, Emmet is a completely
unlikable character whose life is meaningful only when he's
creating art. Like Harry, he is a failure as a human being.
Emmet is an alcoholic, a kleptomaniac, a rat-shooting aficionado,
a pimp and a womanizer who's unable to commit to his life
or his music (his motto regarding women: "I, uh, love women,
I just don't need them"). He behaves like a jerk most of
the time and, eventually, disappears from the music scene.
It's a testament to Penn's strength as an actor that he
can make Emmet tolerable for 90 minutes. For most of the
film, he plays opposite his mute lover (an incredible performance
by Samantha Morton, reminiscent of Giulietta Masina in Fellini's
La Strada). Her silence gives him double screen time
to rant and brag about his own brilliance--and reassure
himself that he matters.
It's undeniable that Allen sees a lot of himself in Emmet
Ray, and perhaps these repeated guilt-ridden self-examinations
are his way of acknowledging his own humanity. Still, rarely
has cinematic self-indulgence been this entertaining--or
honest.
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Willamette Week | originally
published January 26,
2000
|
