In his novel Seriously Funny: The Rebel Comedians of the 1950s and 1960s, Gerald Nachman provides a thorough review and assessment of some of the greatest comedians of the 1950s and 1960s. The book is divided into chapters dedicated solely to a specific comedian or team of comedians. These notable figures range from Mort Sahl and Tom Lehrer in the 1950s to Bob Newhart and Woody Allen in the 1960s. Nachman gives intimate accounts of how these comedians came to fame and the events and people that inspired them. Each chapter goes into painstaking detail about the comedians’ childhoods, families, and educations. The book is filled not only with evocative quotes from the comedians themselves, but also from those who had close relations with these individuals.

            In the chapter entitled “Double Jeopardy,” Nachman contemplates the careers and lives of Mike Nichols and Elaine May, arguably one of the greatest comedic teams of all time. Nichols and May were a product of the Compass Players in Chicago, which has produced many of the world’s most prominent writers and comedians. They dominated the American comedic stage for four years until their sudden breakup in 1961. Despite the brevity of their four year stint, the plays that they wrote, directed, and acted in transformed American comedy. Nachman states that they are “perhaps the most ardently missed of all the satirical comedians of their era” (319). According to Nichols’ ex-agent, the breakup with May drove him into a “state of depression… he really wasn’t functioning” (351). Despite the profound psychological effects of the breakup, the two recovered and went on to develop their individual careers. While May continued to write comedies, Nichols focused on directing. Nichols’ first two films, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966) and The Graduate (1967) were major hits and secured him a role as one of Hollywood’s leading directors. The Graduate won Nichols an Academy Award for Best Director and a nomination for Best Picture. Though May’s career has not been as celebrated as Nichols’, the two reunited in 1996 when Nichols directed The Birdcage, which May adapted from the play La Cage aux Folles. Nachman provides a deeply personal and thorough account of the stunning and influential comedic duo of Nichols and May.

            NPR’s Don Lee offers a fact-based analysis of the behind-the-scenes events and decisions that led to the creation of a movie that has become a cultural icon. Mike Nichols’ The Graduate was the top-grossing film of 1968, garnered seven Academy Award nominations, introduced “one of the most recognizable soundtracks in movie history,” and helped to launch the careers of Mike Nichols, Buck Henry, and Dustin Hoffman. Lee explores the differences between The Graduate, the film, and The Graduate, the book. Charles Webb published the novel in 1963, which producer Lawrence Turman read and decided to make into a movie. Turman, along with screenwriter Buck Henry and director Mike Nichols, remained extremely faithful to the novel, with the exception of two significant adaptations. First of all, Turman and Nichols decided to cast the Braddocks as dark-haired and more ethnic-looking, rather than as the WASP-y blonde characters from the novel. Secondly, in the film, Benjamin dramatically crashes Elaine’s wedding only to find that she has already exchanged vows and is officially married. This does not stop Elaine from running off with Benjamin after they lock her family and the rest of the guests in the church, showing their rejection of the restraints of traditional values. In the book, however, Benjamin arrives at the wedding before she has said her vows, and they run off together in a much less controversial and less shocking fashion. According to Lee, Nichols can be credited with this bold modification.

            The original novel obviously deals with the generation gap, but Henry’s screenplay combined with Nichols’ astute directing skills allow for a brutally honest depiction of the relationship between adults and their children, which resonated strongly in the social context of the late 1960s. The widening generation gap was reaching new levels as children were searching for additional ways to distance themselves from the control and influence of their parents. Lee includes a quote from Peter Biskind, author of Easy Riders, Raging Bulls: How the Sex’n’Drugs’n’Rock’n’Roll Generation Saved Hollywood, which articulates the main theme of the film: “the adult world is artificial, is superficial, on some level immoral and irrelevant to the concerns of young people.” It is this theme in conjunction with Henry and Nichols’ ability to capture the essence of the generation gap that propelled this film to number seven on The American Film Institute’s list of the greatest films of the century.

            Gavin Smith’s extensive interview with Mike Nichols on his career and his films is preceded by an honest and astute critique of the renowned filmmaker. According to Smith, Mike Nichols was a certified genius at the age of twelve and had become a “show-business legend” by the mid-1950s with his comedic collaborations with Elaine May. He entered the world of directing in 1963 when he directed Neil Simon’s play, Barefoot in the Park. In 1966, he crossed the threshold from stage to film. Nichols did not transition from stage to film slowly, but rather agreed to direct Edward Albee’s high-profile Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, starring Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. His first attempt at film direction culminated in an Academy Award nomination. His second film, The Graduate (1967) proved to be an even greater success than Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? The Graduate earned him an Oscar for Best Director and a nomination for Best Picture.

            Smith asserts that The Graduate, arguably Nichols’ best film, was one of the first films to transform the movie-going experience in the late 1960s, causing audience members to come back for multiple viewings, which led to the creation of “The Film Generation.” The Graduate has become a “time-capsule movie,” that not only provides a historical account of a past generation and environment, but also allows for the fond reminiscence of the lifestyle and sentiments of the 1950s and 1960s. More importantly, The Graduate, according to Smith, “plugs us back into a moment in the consciousness of the American movie audience.” With The Graduate, Nichols exploits the relationship between the viewer and the screen. Viewers were suddenly forced to notice camera placement, shot duration, and the focal length of lenses through Nichols’ use of awkwardly long takes, deep setups with shallow fields of focus, purposely unfocused shots, and jarring editing. In stark contrast to the continuous editing techniques and realistic filmic styles of typical Hollywood directors, Nichols makes the audience aware of the camera and manipulates the audience’s view of the world. Nichols exploits time, space, and reality to illustrate his themes of paranoia, entrapment, emptiness, and superficiality. While Nichols has not made any other films that address the transition from boyhood into adulthood and his filmic styles and cinematic techniques have evolved, his work in The Graduate set a strong foundation for his future successes.

            In an article published in 1968, which is an excerpt from the book Movies into Film, John Simon outlines the seven major flaws of The Graduate.  According to Simon, Mike Nichols’ The Graduate is overrated.  He asserts that the undeserved acclaim that the film garnered was simply given because the film refused to conform to a few certain accepted conventions.  Simon states that the film has seven chief weaknesses including oversimplification, overelaboration, inconsistency, eclecticism, obviousness, pretentiousness, and sketchiness.  Simon then goes on to address each of these weaknesses individually citing specific examples from the film.  Simon spends the most time examining inconsistency, which he feels is “at the very core of the film.” 
            The first major inconsistency deals with the overall nature of the movie.  Simon argues that the film starts out as an “outrageous comedy” and then in the middle suddenly changes gears and becomes a “sentimental near-drama.”  Simon considers this abrupt change of tone and genre to be a major flaw.  Simon presents the counterargument for this assertion, in which many argue that the two tones—the comedic and the dramatic—are intertwined in varying amounts throughout the entire film.  Furthermore, this counterargument contends that Benjamin’s true love for Elaine changes him and justifies the shift to a more romantic, serious tone.  Simon responds to that counter by arguing that it is not so much the change in tone that mandates the inconsistency, but the change in the overall nature of a character.  Benjamin’s apparent transformation from a “nonstop fumbler” to a “master sleuth” is unwarranted and unrealistic.  It is this inconsistency of character, along with the other six aforementioned weaknesses, by which Simon considers The Graduate an ultimate disappointment.  In addition to these grand thematic inconsistencies, Simon finds multiple relatively trivial inconsistencies throughout the film.  The most obvious of which is Benjamin’s tendency to continue using Mrs. when he speaks to Mrs. Robinson in spite of the fact that they have been engaging in a sexual relationship for a long period of time.  While Simon regards this to be an inconsistency, many viewers would argue that Benjamin calling her Mrs. Robinson reveals the fundamental nature of their relationship.

            In this article, Dave Tianen explores the difference between a good film and a good date film.  Dating and movie-going are inextricably linked, and this association is one of the arguments used to explain why movie theaters will not become obsolete in the face of DVDs, the Internet, and other technological innovations.  Tianen address the disparity in which Citizen Kane is the “perennial choice for greatest film of all time,” yet arguably one of the worst films to see on a date.  There are no specific criteria for the “perfect date film” though numerous studies have been conducted to try to figure out what elements of a film make it a good date film and what aspects do not or have no bearing.  According to this article, the American Film Institute conducted a study of critics in 2002 to determine the best movie romance and Casablanca was chosen as the best movie romance of all time.  Alternatively, Harlequin Books recently conducted a study and polled entertainment and lifestyle editors on the ten most erotic movies of all time, in which 9 ½ Weeks was chosen as the sexiest film ever.  In addition, Leslie Halpern compiles a list of the 100 best date movies based on her own first-hand research in her new book entitled Reel Romance: The Lover’s Guide to the 100 Best Date Movies.  Halpern’s list does not include or even refer to Harlequin’s sexiest movie of all time, 9 ½ Weeks, demonstrating the level of ambiguity on this subject and the lack of objectivity.  In fact, only two movies from Harlequin’s list are on Halpern’s Top 100 list.  Tianen resolves this inconsistency by acknowledging that all such studies will inevitably have their own specific criteria and nuances.

            Mike Nichols’ 1967 film The Graduate does not appear on the AFI 100 Most Romantic Movies List, but surprisingly, it does appear on the Harlequin study.  The Graduate ranked number nine for the sexiest movies of all time, according to Harlequin Books.  This is somewhat remarkable because the love affair that propels The Graduate to the top of the Harlequin list is not between two young lovers, but rather between a much older married woman and a young, sexually inexperienced recent college graduate.  Regardless of whether or not The Graduate is a good or bad date movie, or whether or not it truly is one of the sexiest movies of all time, the relationship between Benjamin Braddock and Mrs. Robinson has solidified itself as one of the greatest love affairs in film history.

            This article, aptly titled “Movie Moms” begins with the statement, “‘M’ is for the many… movies about Mother” and addresses the roles that mothers play in Hollywood cinema.  Diane Dudek recognizes that the role of the mother in film is often trivialized or stereotyped, which actually echoes real life, as many mothers feel that their role is taken for granted.  Dudek acknowledges that countless portrayals of particular roles in film are stereotyped or at least shown inaccurately, and finds the role of the mother to be no exception.  Dudek humorously states that mothers in film are typically the “epicenter of trauma, sacrifice, Prozac and Oedipal conflicts.”  That being said, Dudek sees the lack of variety in the role of mothers in film to be improving.  This can be attributed to the increasing variety in the roles of women, and therefore mothers, in real life; however, mothers in film are now taking on roles of the female equivalent of classic aggressive and violent male prototypes.  Examples of this role include Meryl Streep’s character in The River Wild and Jamie Lee Curtis in Mother’s Boys.  Dudek includes quotes from Phyllis Threinen, the founder of the Call Mom Line, a support group for women, and Susan Martin, “keeper” of the Moms-At-Home website, to provide further evidence for the disparity between the role of mothers in society and how they are portrayed in film.

            Dudek organizes the role of mothers in film into six categories: Saintly Moms, Vengeful Moms, Stage Moms, Oedipal Moms, Mothers & Daughters, and Miscellaneous Moms.  Dudek provides numerous examples of films that portray mothers in all six of these categories.  She uses the example of Mrs. Robinson, from Mike Nichols’ The Graduate, as the epitome for Oedipal Moms.  Though there are two mothers portrayed in The Graduate, and Mrs. Robinson is not actually Benjamin’s mother, Dudek argues that she serves as a “mother surrogate.”  One might argue that Benjamin’s relationship with Mrs. Robinson is one between lovers and not a mother/son relationship; however, even when they have been sleeping together for a long period of time, Benjamin still refers to her as Mrs. Robinson, solidifying her role as an elder.  The development of Benjamin’s relationship with Elaine, in which Mrs. Robinson truly is the biological mother figure, further contributes to Mrs. Robinson’s role as a mother surrogate.

            In this article, Karen Lurie acknowledges the wide array of interpretations of The Graduate (1967) ranging from a sex farce to a generation gap comedy to a “ballad of alienation and rebellion.”  These different interpretations affect the way in which viewers receive and react to the elements of the film itself.  Lurie offers a plot summary and touches briefly on a number of the themes and symbols that permeate the film.  After this hasty plot summary, Lurie delves into a more critical analysis and assessment of the film, mostly concentrating on its ending and the meanings that viewers impose upon this ending.  Lurie argues that the widely accepted view of The Graduate as having a happy ending is forced upon the film by those who are determined to make it a romantic comedy.  The way in which Benjamin and Elaine flee the suburban life that they have been restricted by further contributes to the cursory assumption that the ending implies happiness and triumph, but the final scene is actually much more profound and ambiguous.  As Benjamin and Elaine sit on the bus driving away from the church, their smiles become forced and then disappear altogether.  They do not say a word to one another as the lyrics of Paul Simon’s song “Sounds of Silences” fills the air, “Hello darkness, my old friend…”  If one were to critically assess their relationship, though they claim to be in love, Benjamin and Elaine barely know each other.  They do not have the support of their families and Benjamin does not have a job.  With Paul Simon’s “darkness” foreshadowing a dark future, the ending is not one of bliss and contentment as so many viewers mistakenly believe.

            Another misconception that Lurie addresses is the view of Benjamin as the figure that is rebelling against the status quo, when actually, Lurie argues, it is Mrs. Robinson.  Benjamin seems to enjoy and make use of the very culture that he is supposed to be rebelling against.  He is closely associated with his new flashy Alfa Romeo, a graduation present from his parents, and his parent’s swimming pool.  Both the car and the pool represent the materialism and superficiality that he supposedly fears and despises.  In addition, Benjamin ends up with Elaine, the girl that his parents chose for him.  Mrs. Robinson is the true rebel, refusing to accept her submissive role in the patriarchal suburban family and demonstrating her sexuality, confidence, and power.

            In this comprehensive article, Robert Beuka looks at Mike Nichols’ The Graduate in the context of the expanding suburban landscape of the 1950s and 1960s.  He addresses The Graduate as a coming of age film in which Benjamin Braddock (Dustin Hoffman) is faced with the challenges of growing up and becoming a man in an increasingly materialistic world.  Benjamin’s fear of entering this world is both explicitly and implicitly referred to from the opening scene until the conclusion of the film.  The title of this article, “Just One World… ‘PLASTICS’” alludes to the piece of advice that Benjamin’s father’s friend, Mr. McGuire, imposes upon Benjamin in the very beginning of the film and, according to Beuka, serves as an “apt metaphor for the very lifestyle Ben fears he may be on the verge of entering.”  Beuka asserts that Benjamin represents the entire generation of young males facing adulthood in this highly materialistic and contrived environment of upper middle class suburbia.  Plastic is highly representative of the empty and superficial nature of this suburban lifestyle, as is the recurring use of the swimming pool, which not only illustrates materialism, but also symbolizes the “self-destructive narcissism of the suburban dream.”  Beuka also focuses on the issue of masculinity and the theme of suburban emasculation.  The insecurity inherent in the image of the utopian patriarchal family led to a repressive role for adult males, who were trapped in an almost childlike state.  It is this predetermined role and “plastic” lifestyle, which Benjamin sees his father living, that he fears most. 

            Essentially, Beuka argues that Nichols uses the setting of upper middle class suburbia, complete with its big houses, nice cars, and abundant swimming pools, to highlight the view of postwar suburbia as vacuous and unfulfilling.  This view, which just was emerging as the children of the suburban experience were entering adulthood, and the recurring theme of entrapment, facilitated by the underwater scenes in the swimming pool, are illustrated by the relationship between Benjamin and Mrs. Robinson.  Their affair serves as an “oedipal reaction to his parents’ denial of his own manhood” and embodies his constant struggle to break away from the restrictions placed on him by his parents and his suburban lifestyle.  The final scene of the film in which he flees on a bus with Elaine, his girlfriend, demonstrates his triumph over these restraints.

            In Mike Nichols, H. Wayne Schuth traces the career of the world-renowned director through his sudden and spectacular rise to fame and his subsequent disappointments.  Schuth notes the unusual nature of Nichols’ career, in that he was given the opportunity to direct a high-profile film without first having to put in any long, tedious years gaining experience in the film industry.  With this initial film, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, Nichols was able to establish himself as a major film director.  His next film, The Graduate, produced just one year later, made him a celebrity.  While Schuth concentrates on the unique and extraordinary talent that Nichols possesses as a director, he also does not hesitate to focus on the films that Nichols has directed since his first two hits.  While most authors tend to ignore or downplay the disappointing performances of films such as Catch-22, Carnal Knowledge, and The Fortune, Schuth addresses these films head-on and explores why they were not well-received by audiences.  Schuth looks at the poor performances of these three films in the context of Nichols’ celebrated work on Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and The Graduate.  Schuth not only considers the films themselves, but also what Nichols has said about his intentions with each of the films, to comprehensively compare and contrast the work that Nichols did on the different films.

            The Graduate is arguably Nichols’ most successful film, so Schuth spends a great deal of time analyzing Nichols’ interpretation of the story and how he translated this interpretation cinematically.  Schuth focuses on three elements—color, music, and visual motif—to examine Nichols’ intentions.  These three elements are used both overtly and implicitly to symbolize different meanings and to convey or provoke various sentiments.  Schuth presents many innovative and perceptive interpretations regarding the themes and relationships present in the film.  For example, he perceives that the “idea that sex and love are separated, with sex destructive and love constructive” appears in the film.  Schuth offers an in-depth analysis of the minute details of the film as well as the larger thematic aspects that bind the film as a whole.

           This article by Marion Meade explores the history and inception of Woody Allen’s Annie Hall.  According to Meade, Annie Hall, which ranked number thirty-one on the American Film Institute’s 1998 list of the best 100 movies ever made, is a self-reflective film based on Woody Allen’s own life, “parading his insecurities, phobias and deep self-deprecation.”  Despite Woody Allen’s financial and cinematic success and his apparent optimism about growing older referenced in a New York Times article from 1975, Woody apparently experienced anhedonia.  Anhedonia is the psychoanalytic term for the inability to experience pleasure.  Coincidentally, Annie Hall was originally titled Anedonia until United Artists, the studio that was backing Allen’s film, forced him to change the title.  The film is a semi-autobiographical account of Allen’s life and, more specifically, his (mostly failed) relationships.
            The premise of the article is that despite the film’s wild and enduring success, the creation of the film was not as smooth as one might think.  In fact, as the title of the article suggests, the film was so problematic that it almost did not get made.  When Ralph Rosenblum, the film’s editor, initially started looking through Allen’s 100,000 feet of footage he stated that it was “‘an untitled and chaotic collection of bits and pieces that
seemed to defy continuity,’ and he held little hope for popular success.”  The biggest obstacle for Rosenblum and Allen was trying to find a linear plot that rescued the film from being a scattered stream of consciousness monologue.  Rosenblum was able to do this by focusing on Alvy Singer’s relationship with Annie Hall, or rather Woody Allen’s relationship with Diane Keaton.  Even though this new focus allowed the studio to change the title to Annie Hall, the film is truly about Alvy Singer and his struggle with himself and his relationships.  Another major obstacle in the promotion of this film was Allen’s aversion to Hollywood and the use of publicity and marketing to promote the film.  Even though Woody Allen was supported by a major studio, his style was much more in line with that of an independent filmmaker than a Hollywood filmmaker.  This article is extremely relevant to history of Annie Hall and has a high level of credibility due to Meade’s use of legitimate sources including editor Ralph Rosenblum, Woody Allen himself, UA executives Eric Pleskow and Gabe Sumner, and her use of direct quotes from the film as evidence to support her arguments.

            In Loser Take All: The Comic Art of Woody Allen, Maurice Yacowar traces Woody Allen’s transformation from a “cult favorite into America’s foremost humorist” (1).  The turning point of this transformation is generally attributed to the success of Annie Hall.  Not only did Annie Hall do phenomenally well at the box office, but it was also nominated for five Oscars and won four, including Best Picture, Best Screenplay, and Best Director, all which could be directly attributed to Woody Allen.  Yacowar asserts that just because comedy is lighthearted in nature, there is an underlying seriousness and significance inherent in humor, especially in the case of Woody Allen, which makes it essential to critically study his films.  While humor can initially seem dismissible due to its comedic and blithe nature, Woody Allen instills such meaning and honesty in his humor that it often holds more meaning than dramatic counterparts.  This humor is apparent in every single one of Allen’s films, although some to a greater degree than others.  Allen is able to consistently convey meaning about serious topics such as loneliness, anxiety, love, and existentialism through his humor.  Allen also explores the relationship between life and art through this humor, and it is through such humor that the viewer is able to define the meaning and implications his work.  Yacowar specifically addresses each of Allen’s individual films and demonstrates how they uniquely use humor to create and communicate deeper meaning.  Due to the chronological structure of the book, Yacowar shows how each film influences and leads to the next film in Woody Allen’s repertoire.  One major issue in Annie Hall is the blurring of reality and fantasy.  Allen makes it difficult to discern to what degree the film is autobiographical and therefore a realistic portrayal of his life and thoughts.  This ambiguity is further compounded by his direct addresses to the audience.  This blurring of the line between reality and fantasy manifests itself multiple times throughout the film, thereby repeatedly challenging the viewer. 

            The second chapter of Sam B. Girgus’s The Films of Woody Allen provides an interesting perspective on one of Allen’s most renowned films, Annie Hall.  Chapter 2, entitled “Desire and Narrativity in Annie Hall,” addresses the relationship between desire and narrative and the role of this relationship in Annie Hall.  Girgus relies on the philosophical and theoretical studies of Roland Barthes and Teresa de Lauretis to express the way in which desire serves as a function of narrativity and therefore asserts that desire and narrativity are inextricably intertwined.  According to this theory, narrativity stems from the Oedipal experience that occurs in the search for one’s identity and sexuality.  The first evidence of this relationship between desire and narrativity in Annie Hall occurs through Woody Allen’s manipulation of time and space, which he achieves by juxtaposing Alvy Singer’s opening speech with multiple scenes that display drastic shifts in temporal order.  This chronological distortion explicitly demonstrates the complex nature of narrativity within this film and its tendency to then process desire.  In addition, Girgus introduces language into the relationship between desire and narrativity.  He argues that this intricate relationship between desire, narrative, and language is exemplified through the humor of Annie Hall, both visually as well as verbally.  Inherent in this analysis of the narrative content of the film is the issue of Allen’s stereotypical and narcissistic narrative desires.  Allen dilutes the potential for negative backlash from such narrative desires by directly confronting his manipulation and use of narrative desire within the film with direct references to Freud and psychoanalysis.  The inclusion of such references creates a unique sense of metacommentary, which contributes to the humor of the film and allows Allen to get away with his use of narrative desire.  The chapter also addresses Allen’s portrayal of the impossible nature of human desire for complete harmony and satisfaction.  This chapter provides a very dense and theoretical analysis of Annie Hall in terms of both content and visual depiction in the context of narrative desire. 

            Annie Hall achieved international acclaim and cemented its place in film history when it won four Oscars in 1978, including Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actress, and Best Screenplay.  Woody Allen’s masterpiece is often considered one of the funniest movies in the history of American cinema.  The film can be examined on a number of levels, from artistic, theoretical, and historical perspectives.  Cowie looks at the film in terms of its role as both a reflection of and major influence during the 1970s, which served as a critical time for Hollywood and the film industry.  He also looks at the film as an expression of the filmmaker: Woody Allen.  Woody Allen never denies that his role as Alvy Singer is somewhat autobiographical and Cowie uses this to analyze the features of Allen’s life and personality that can be derived from the film.  Woody Allen harbors a sense of mystery and complexity, which makes many of his films, especially Annie Hall, the best insight to his true self.  Cowie researches and analyzes the origins of Annie Hall both in terms of Allen’s motivations that led him to the story as well as the logistical factors that affected the making of the film.  The significance of Allen’s relationship with Diane Keaton as well as his obsession with New York City are evident not only through the content of Annie Hall, but even more so when one looks at the development of the film.  In addition, Cowie observes the artistic and cinematic features of Annie Hall, many of which he argues are derived from Ingmar Bergman as well as from vaudeville traditions of stand-up comedians.  Finally, Cowie addresses the actual content of the film in terms of cultural meaning and its appeal to viewers.  He looks at Allen’s rampant and blatant use of stereotypes and the role of such stereotypes in this film, as well as in many of Allen’s other films.  Cowie argues that despite the use of these potentially offensive stereotypes, Annie Hall manages to maintain a universal and lasting appeal because of Allen’s willingness to reveal his vulnerability and insecurities to the viewer.

            In this critical piece, Philip Kerr argues that in American cinema there is an underlying sense of embarrassment or discomfort with the idea of love, which leads to the inclusion of humor in films that deal directly with love.  Kerr asserts that it is for this reason that the majority of romance films in American cinema in recent years have been romantic comedies.  Kerr cites Annie Hall (1977), When Harry Met Sally (1989), Sleepless in Seattle (1993), While You Were Sleeping (1995), As Good as it Gets (1997), and What Women Want (2000) among examples of these romantic comedies.  He argues that European cinema is not faced with such restrictions and inhibitions and therefore explores love in much more serious tones and treats it with greater respect.  Kerr takes this argument one step further to assert, rather radically, that “outside New York and Los Angeles, Americans don’t feel comfortable with the English language… which is the polite way of saying that outside the big cities, most Americans are plain inarticulate.”  Kerr does not make it clear how he arrives at such a conclusion based on his earlier allegation that Americans are uncomfortable addressing love and romance directly.  He does not provide the reader with definitions of what he means by inarticulate, so it is hard to determine exactly what Kerr is arguing.  There is a definite negative undertone to his critique of American cinema in contrast with European cinema, but he does not provide any reason as to why Americans and Europeans might address love differently, nor does he introduce any ways to remedy the situation.  The problem with Kerr’s argument is that, while he shows an association between the proliferation of romantic comedies and the sense of discomfort with love in American society, he does not provide enough evidence to prove a causal relationship between the two concepts.  This article has minimal relevance to Woody Allen’s Annie Hall, though it does put it in the context of the modern romantic comedy and set it in a group of potential comparable and notable films.  It is important to look at articles such as this one that examine Annie Hall in a much larger context so as not to get caught up only in articles that look specifically at the minute details and underpinnings of the specific film itself.  It is easy to find oneself looking only at character analyses and symbolism within the cinematography of a particular film, which can sometimes cause one to lose sight of the film in the larger context of its role in American cinema and the connotations that its place in film history bring to the film. 

            At first glance, this article appears to be a feminist piece about the representation of women when the narratives of women are told by men.  It is ironic and surprising that the author, Christopher J. Knight, is in fact a man and not a woman.  Knight asserts that representation in any form is inherently biased and subjective.  In addition, Knight explores what happens when, “the narrative that goes by the name of ‘women’ is told largely by men,” which he argues was a common happening until recently.  He quotes Laura Mulvey’s famous response to this question as fact.  Mulvey states, “the woman comes to stand as a ‘signifier for the male other, bound by a symbolic order in which man can live out his fantasies and obsessions through linguistic command, by imposing on the silent image of woman still tied to her place as a bearer of meaning, not maker of meaning.”  At this point in the article, Knight takes an unexpected turn.  One would have expected him to continue to argue that there exists a male-dominated society in which the tendency for men to create and communicate narratives about women constructs women in a male-oriented frame.  Instead, Knight chooses to abandon that argument and reassert the purpose of his article, which is to look at Woody Allen’s Annie Hall in the context of such a framework.  Knight states that he wishes to “address the film in terms of the subtle and not so subtle ways that men impose meaning upon women.”  Despite the obvious element that since Woody Allen wrote and directed the film, the life and image of Annie Hall will inevitably have a man imposing meaning upon a woman, Knight contends that Annie Hall manages to resist this imposition.  Alvy Singer is the one who introduces and tells the viewer Annie’s story, and therefore everything that we know about Annie is told from Alvy’s point of view.  Knight argues, however, that the nature of the narrative and Alvy’s character allows the viewer to “accept Alvy’s representation as less perspectival than normative.”  This article provides a unique critical assessment of the film and, while it is somewhat narrow in scope, it provides insight into Woody Allen’s motivations as a narrator and the relationship between Alvy and Annie.   

            John C. Spurlock writes a comprehensive and astute assessment of David Shumway’s book Modern Love: Romance, Intimacy, and the Marriage Crisis.  Spurlock synthesizes Shumway’s study of modern relationships and the development of romantic love over past few centuries.  Shumway, a professor of English and Literary and Cultural Studies at Carnegie Mellon University, analyzes the transformation of the discourse of romance and the narrative form of romantic love.  He relies on “historical work on the family, sexuality, courtship, and marriage… show[ing] that an important shift in the understanding and uses of romance appears in the late 18^th and early 19^th century.”  He asserts that novels were the main “carriers of romantic discourse” in the 19^th century and that as a shift to the increase of personal expectations from marriage occurred, so did the rate of divorce, which led to the so-called marriage crisis.  Shumway studies the marriage crisis through the frames of intimacy and romance.  Throughout the twentieth century, the discourse of romance, love, marriage, and intimacy continued to change and the idea of love repeatedly reinvented itself.  These shifts in discourse were reflected through the literature and culture of the time.  Advice writers became prevalent and the new connotations of love and romance were depicted in the development of the screwball comedy.  In the way that literature was a carrier of romantic discourse in the late 18^th and 19^th centuries, film also became such a carrier in the 20^th century.  As the marriage crisis became a more serious issue due to the transformation of the idea of modern love and the increasing divorce rate, these advice writers and films that addressed marriage and romance began to play larger roles in society.  Shumway explores the challenges associated with achieving the 20^th century ideal of intimacy by observing popular and timely films such as Annie Hall (1977) and When Harry Met Sally (1989).  These films provide insight into the culturally accepted definitions of such ideals as intimacy, romance, and love, while also revealing the subtexts associated with these ideals.  This article does a remarkable job of synthesizing a convoluted and complex body of literature, but it is still not as sufficient or comprehensive as Shumway’s actual text.  In terms of the article’s relevancy to Woody Allen’s Annie Hall, the article does not address Annie Hall in detail, but it does demonstrate how such a film can both reflect and generate cultural ideals including love, intimacy, and romance, which is arguably the most important role of the film. 

            William Cook’s article from the New Statesman addresses how Woody Allen has caused Europeans to embrace the United States, specifically New York City, through his epitomized portrayal of the city in his films.  The wide reception of Woody Allen’s films in Europe, especially by the French and the British, has turned Allen into a venerated figure in these respective countries.  Cook argues that Allen’s depiction of Manhattan through his films is only an “immaculate illusion” and is therefore deceptive in its portrayal of the landscape.  Cook includes a quote from Allen in which he states, “I constantly run into Europeans whose only sense of New York comes from Manhattan and Annie Hall…If that's what they're expecting to find, I guess they're disappointed.”  Cook does not explicitly reveal whether or not he feels that this is a good or bad concept, but rather just brings it to light to let the reader draw his or her own conclusions.  The essence of this article is Cook’s exploration of what makes Woody Allen’s films so appealing to European viewers, but Cook manages to put it in a larger context by tying in the relationship of the United States with France.

            Cook’s article deals more with the relationship of Woody Allen and his fans in Europe serving as a microcosm for the relationship of the United States and European countries such as France and England than it does with any specifics of the film Annie Hall.  That being said, Cook tackles an interesting perspective regarding the reception of Woody Allen’s films, including that of Annie Hall and focuses on Allen’s portrayal of New York City in the film.  New York City plays a major role in Annie Hall and exploring its significance as the film’s landscape is essential to a comprehensive analysis.  Therefore, while this article is not specifically or directly relevant to Annie Hall, the connotations and implications that this articles holds can be extraordinarily pertinent and vital to an analysis of Annie Hall. 

            This article addresses the popularity and subsequent significance of both the romantic and the screwball comedy.  The main difference between the screwball comedy and the romantic comedy is that the former tends to emphasize humor and absurdity, while the latter focuses on love and romance.  Both variations of the genre are comedic in nature, but distinct types of character behavior differentiate the two separate subgenres.  Screwball comedies originated in the 1930s with It Happened One Night (1934) with Claudette Colbert and Clark Gable and My Man Godfrey (1936) with Carole Lombard, but have still have almost exact parallels to modern films such as Runaway Bride (1999) with Julia Roberts and Richard Gere and Housesitter (1992) with Goldie Hawn and Steve Martin.  The main distinction between the behavior of characters in screwball comedies versus those in romantic comedies occurs in the tendency for characters to engage in eccentric and wacky feats throughout the film in screwball comedies as compared to the much more somber actions of characters in romantic comedies.  This is most evident in the role of the heroine.  Wes Gehring uses the example of Katherine Hepburn’s outrageous antics in the classic screwball comedy, Bringing Up Baby (1938), in comparison with the more serious actions of Irene Dunne in Love Affair (1939), a classic romantic comedy.  The behavior and personality of the heroine affects the behavior and personalities of the supporting characters.  As a result, the other main characters in screwball comedies tend to exhibit similar eccentricity, while the other main characters in romantic comedies are appropriately composed and conventional.  This, however, is not always true for the heroine’s male counterpart.  In order to make up for the relative solemnity of the heroine in romantic comedies, the male counterpart is often somewhat significantly less reserved.  This has given rise to the trend for the male lead in romantic comedies to be a stand-up comedian or at least possess similar qualities and demeanor.  Though this article never directly references Woody Allen’s Annie Hall (1977), the content of the article is directly applicable to the film.  Annie Hall is a classic example of a romantic comedy, which borders on the realm of a screwball comedy due to the characters’ eccentricity, but nonetheless retains a somber enough feeling to remain a romantic comedy.  Woody Allen’s role as Alvy Singer is a perfect example of the use of a more free-spirited male lead to counteract the relative seriousness of the heroine, in this case Diane Keaton as Annie Hall.  Woody Allen is a stand-up comic who adds humor and eccentricity to the narrative and uses this humor to play off of Diane Keaton, which balances the seriousness of the love story with the comedic nature of their relationship.

           Douglas Brode’s updated edition of Woody Allen: his films & career begins with a concise “interpretation of Woody Allen” and then chronicles his career one film at a time from What’s New, Pussycat (1965) to Hannah and Her Sisters (1986).  Brode does not present much analysis or opinion in his description of the different films, but manages to succinctly offer an inclusive recount of the development of each film as well as a summary, though somewhat superficial.  He provides an extended cast and credit list for each film and specifically addresses the roles that many of the key players perform in the motivation and creation of each film.  As per the description of Annie Hall, the text is significantly enhanced by the inclusion of incredibly evocative and telling still photographs from the film.  The description itself addresses the renaming of the film to Annie Hall after United Artists refused to let Woody Allen use his original title of Anhedonia.  Brode also confronts the issue of feminism and the message that Woody Allen is trying to convey about the role of women in relationships through his depiction of the relationship between Annie Hall and Alvy Singer.  Alvy’s narcissistic tendencies and the allegation that Annie Hall glorifies and promotes a narcissistic culture are noted in this section, but never analyzed.  The section on Annie Hall establishes the functionof this particular film within the framework of Allen’s other films.  Brode looks at how Allen’s earlier films such as What’s Up, Tiger Lily (1966), Take the Money and Run (1969), and Bananas (1971) influenced Annie Hall.  Many features of these earlier films can be seen in Annie Hall, but conversely, Allen makes significant strides between these earlier films and Annie Hall, and therefore the film marks major progress in both Allen’s narrative and cinematic form.  Brode also reveals the way in which Allen uses inspiration from Annie Hall in many of his later films.