The 1980s

In the 1980s Allen enjoyed the admiration of filmgoers, critics, and film industry professionals alike. Allen’s minimal direction of his actors—many of whom worked for “scale” (the Screen Actors Guild minimum required compensation)—was well known, and some performers fared better than others. However, by 2012, 15 different actors had received Academy Award nominations for their work with him. After a decade of working with United Artists, Allen switched the financing of his films to Orion Pictures, where he continued to have the creative freedom to make movies his way: with relatively modest budgets, scripts that still left room for improvisation by actors, and intricately coordinated movement and cinematography that allowed for long takes so that much of Allen’s editing was done with the camera rather than in postproduction. The expectation was that his films would earn significantly more in foreign release than in the United States.

Stardust Memories (1980), in which Allen plays a filmmaker who is becoming increasingly contemptuous of his fans and his work, was apparently his attempt to wed the storytelling style of Federico Fellini (another of his idols) to his own particular vision. However, some critics found the film’s visual surrealism an uneasy companion to Allen’s familiar obsessions. Better received but unremarkable was A Midsummer Night’s Sex Comedy (1982), a roundelay among six turn-of-the-20th-century vacationers (and an homage to Bergman’s Smiles of a Summer Night), which paired Allen on-screen with Mia Farrow for the first time.

Zelig (1983) created considerably more excitement, largely because of its groundbreaking use of period film footage as the backdrop for what is basically an amusing faux documentary (Robert Zemeckis would use an advanced form of this technique in Forrest Gump [1994]). Allen plays “human chameleon” Leonard Zelig, who has an uncanny ability to appear at the most critical junctures of history in the 1920s—listening to Adolf Hitler stir a crowd, watching Babe Ruth swat a home run—although he himself desires only anonymity.

Shot in black and white, the often zany Broadway Danny Rose (1984) was marred by an unevenness of tone. In it Allen played a marginal booker of oddball burlesque acts opposite Farrow, cast against type as a mobster’s girlfriend. Metaphysical musing is often central to Allen’s films, and in Broadway Danny Rose his character makes one of the filmmaker’s most epigrammatic postulates: “Acceptance, forgiveness, and love…that is a philosophy of life.” Charming but ultimately downbeat, The Purple Rose of Cairo (1985) was the poignant story of a cinema-going Depression-era shop girl (Farrow) whose lacklustre life is enlivened when a swashbuckling actor (Jeff Daniels) literally walks off the screen and into her world.

After earning Academy Award nominations for the screenplays of Broadway Danny Rose and The Purple Rose of Cairo, Allen won that award for his next film, Hannah and Her Sisters (1986), a complex modern romance that examined the travails of three couples. Its superb ensemble cast included Farrow as Hannah; Michael Caine as her husband, who is smitten by one of Hannah’s sisters (Barbara Hershey); Dianne Wiest as another sister; and Allen as Hannah’s ex-husband. Radio Days (1987) was a nostalgic but rambling valentine to the New York City of Allen’s youth in the early 1940s and to the glory days of radio. Allen received yet another Academy Award nomination for its screenplay.

While September (1987) was an unwieldy return to the psychodramatic territory of Interiors, Allen fared better when he took a Bergmanesque approach with Another Woman (1988), in which Gena Rowlands was superb as a philosophy professor who undergoes a life-changing epiphany. Much of the credit for the film’s impact was due to the contribution of Sven Nykvist, the cinematographer for many of Bergman’s greatest films. Allen’s humorous contribution to the triptych New York Stories (1989)—“Oedipus Wrecks,” about an attorney whose nagging mother (Mae Questel) transmogrifies into an omniscient spectre—was widely acknowledged to be the film’s strongest segment. Allen’s next project, Crimes and Misdemeanors (1989), ranks among his finest films. An ambitious Fyodor Dostoyevsky-like meditation on the nature of evil and culpability, it centred on Martin Landau’s portrayal of an ophthalmologist who wrestles with guilt after ordering the murder of his mistress (Anjelica Huston) to prevent her from revealing their affair to his wife (Claire Bloom). In counterpoint, Allen plays a married documentary filmmaker who lusts after a producer (Farrow).