Manhattan. 1979. 96 minutes. Drama.
When watching Noah Baumbach's Frances Ha it is hard not to think of Woody Allen. Careful compositions shot in beautiful black and white, zippy montages seamed with music, and stiltedly natural dialogue all recall Allen's style - Manhattan in particular. Baumbach's setting isn't New York; it's Woody Allen's New York. But any invitation to compare shouldn't only draw our attention to likeness. Similarities are important as a jumping off point; but it's the differences that matter more.
Manhattan is about Isaac and his relationships with two women. While Greta Gerwig's Frances might be an updated 70's Allen character, she nonetheless remains the central character. And Frances Ha is not about her aborted male relationships. Instead, her mostly platonic friendship with her best friend Sophie plays centre-stage, and when that hits a serious snag Frances spirals into a start-of-life crisis. With Manhattan, Isaac finds his way by looking for the right woman. But Frances's challenge is to build a life she wants to live, a challenge all the harder since she's forced to go it alone.
And her journey is often tough to watch. But Baumbach tempers our pain with near-satiric touches of Brooklyn high-hipsterdom. We get smoking indoors, ukeleles, and knitting, all in perfect cameos. "It's just that this apartment is… very aware of itself," Sophie nervously observes of Frances's shared home.
Witnessing a New York of the 70's gives Manhattan a new magic. It's become a period piece, and any shock this realization entails soon resolves into a new, subtle duality. When Isaac and Mary discuss a then-contemporary Sol Lewitt, in a very different Museum of Modern Art, it becomes both humour and art history. Over thirty years have passed, and, seemingly before our eyes, Allen's every-day touches gain new impact.
I'd avoided re-watching Manhattan for years. Ever since the Woody-Mia-Soon Yi sideshow, I've found it hard to watch his films without being biased by that context. As a result, his later films can seem out-of-touch and anachronistic. Maybe because Manhattan pre-dates those events - and has taken on a historical aura - it remains oddly fresh. If you haven't yet seen Frances Ha and if the personal lives of filmmakers colour your opinion of their films, then read no further. Because, interestingly, a friend recently attacked Baumbach's film for similar reasons.
Had I been aware of those facts when I watched Frances, would I have enjoyed it less? Maybe not. But my response would have been different. Sophie's uncomfortable observation describes more than her friend's apartment: Frances Ha itself is self-aware. Though, depending on how you watch it, perhaps not enough. It might just be still too fresh.
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