Review of Annie Hall (1977)

Moving picture, 93 minutes

The nadir of Allen’s fall from the functional nervous comedy of Bananas (1971) to bloodless gentrified auteur bullshit, so self-consciously unfunny that he inserts a whole character just so she can fail to appreciate his whining. Extensive deconstruction of Hollywood romance is admirable, but rarely done this badly.

References here: Interiors (1978).

moving picture fiction