Review: Whatever Works

Larry David, Evan Rachel Wood, Patricia Clarkson, Henry Cavill, Ed Begley, Jr., Michael McKean. Written and directed by Woody Allen. Sony Pictures Classics. Rated PG-13 (sexual situations including dialogue, brief nude images and thematic material). 92 minutes.

* 1/2

The ad campaign for Woody Allen latest romantic roundelay promises “a new comedy.” But Whatever Works, starring Larry David as—what else—yet another griping misanthrope wrestling with the Big Questions while romancing yet another naïve ingénue, played by Evan Rachel Wood, couldn’t be staler.

Acidic New Yorker Boris Yelnikoff (David) berates his juvenile chess students while musing about how meaningless it all really is—until Melody St. Anne Celestine (Wood) appears on his doorstep. She’s been living in a cardboard box, in an alley, a runaway from a fire-and-brimstone Southern clan. Against his will (right), he takes her in, and before long their bickering turns to bliss—at least Allen’s brand, which means constant insults—and the pair get hitched. It’s a relationship based on…well, wish fulfillment, really.

Written three decades ago for the late Zero Mostel, the film’s May-December fling is decidedly out-of-touch. Where, today, exists a sexy, simple-minded young woman of pure intentions who would not only put up with, have sex with, but also stand by a relentlessly mean-spirited and negative man more than forty years her senior, and who constantly asserts his intellectual superiority by referring to himself as a “genius” and noting her lack of intelligence?

Enter her typically shocked fundamentalist mother (Patricia Clarkson), in flight from the husband (Ed Begley, Jr.) who has dumped her, initially objects to the very odd pair (who wouldn’t?) before discarding her own illusions and entering into a bohemian ménage, which apparently frees her gifts as an erotic photographer (uh-huh).

It isn’t long before dad shows up with his own issues, painfully obvious, the nadir of which is a broadly obvious scene at a bar where—wouldn’t you know it—he experiences a conversion of his own.

Since Melody is played by Evan Rachel Wood, no slouch in the beauty department, the film becomes even more incredulous after she rejects a handsome and age-appropriate suitor, well-played by Henry Cavill as a struggling actor smitten at first sight.

But he isn’t much smarter, pining for the intellectual “inchworm” as if she’s the only woman in New York City. Oh, and the movie star handsome actor is trying to make ends meet, but still finds the means to live on a houseboat (yes, in Manhattan).

Such implausibilities could be overlooked if Whatever Works was even remotely funny. Allen, back in New York after a sojourn across the pond that created two terrific films (Match Point, Vicky Cristina Barcelona), a pretty good one (Cassandra’s Dream) and a bomb (Scoop), leans heavily on his old familiar tropes, and the jokes fall flat.

As a stand-in for Woody, David simply isn’t very funny, missing the filmmaker’s endearing self-effacement and dry wit in a miscalculated performance based largely on shouting. It doesn’t help that Allen employs the hackneyed device of having his proxy speak directly to the camera at various junctures, while other characters react as if he is talking to himself.

Wood acquits herself nicely, employing a spot-on Southern accent that doesn’t waver, and an ease she hasn’t always captured, including her recent turn in The Wrestler. And there’s a scene between she and David late in the film, set in an outdoor restaurant, where she strikes just the right notes.

Clarkson, who can pretty much enliven any film, is given a construct to play, a broad illustration of a brittle stereotype. The actress has some fun when a lifetime of piety yields to artistic and sexual liberation in about a New York minute.

The film closes on one of those Allen holiday gatherings, where all contrivances are resolved and everyone makes merry, forcing Begley, Jr., to make a straight-faced proclamation of self-awareness that is beyond ridiculous. This was done so well in one of Allen’s best films, Hannah and Her Sisters, with the unlikely and perfect pairing of Allen and Dianne Weist, who went on to an Oscar.

But don’t expect any nominations here. When a film can make Curb Your Enthusiasm’s caustic star look this unfunny and turn Clarkson into a caricature, something is seriously amiss.

Near the end of the picture, David turns to address the audience, wondering if anyone is still watching—and Whatever Works finally, for a moment, rings true.

- Lee Shoquist