There was a goodly audience at the Curzon Mayfair last night to see WoodY Allen's much trailed film: Midnight in Paris. I went with Daisy, my daughter and given the plethora of Lebanese restaurants in and around Shepherd Market, we settled for a snack beforehand.
Woody Allen prodigious film oeuvre (he is 75) began in 1965 with What's New Pussycat? (he wrote the initial screenplay) and he has subsequently produced almost a film a year. I remember him first as a stand up comedian.
Midnight in Paris is a film which has at its heart the work of Magritte and like his paintings it reverses a number of ordinary ideas to bring much laughter. But like Magritte's paintings once you've seen the joke it becomes a little "samey".
Basically, a soon-to-be married couple are in Paris with her parents. Gil, the fiance, played by Owen Wilson ( a shoe-in for Woody himself) is a distracted screenwriter and would-be novelist. At midnight whilst wondering the streets he is morphed into a Paris where Dali, Hemingway, Eliot, Cole Porter, Picasso et al are constantly meeting at revue bars and soirees. In the morning, he recounts these events to his girlfriend who quietly thinks he is going bonkers. And that's it.
Some of you may recall a scene from Annie Hall when Alvy (Woody) and Annie (Diane Keaton) were in a queue for a film and start talking and arguing about Marshall McLuhan (who just happens to be behind them also queuing). Well MiP reminded of that joke but writ large.