Comedian profiler Richard Weide’s film, Woody Allen: A Documentary, does exactly what it says on the tin. From Allen’s determined beginnings as a joke-writing teenager, to his somewhat reluctant transformation into a “non-performing” stand-up, to his coveted position upon – and then many tumbles from – his critics’ darling pedestal; his journey to filmmaking maturation is a delight to watch. As muses, lovers, actors and friends such as Diane Keaton, John Cusack and Martin Scorsese wax lyrical about the easy-going eccentric, Allen himself provides plenty of laughs, both through interviews and footage of his stand-up acts, early film work and talk-show appearances. Clips of a young Allen boxing with kangaroos and performing with singing dogs seem entirely beneath the lauded filmmaker – but, as he admits, “I will always prostitute myself any way I can to survive the catastrophes.”
There’s also a great overview of Allen’s prolific body of work, briskly running through most of Allen’s films, their critical reception, and their personal resonance with the filmmaker. Allen’s relationship with death is a frequent conversation topic (“It remains the same – I’m against it!”), while his artistic and romantic relationship with Annie Hall star Diane Keaton is analysed through both the increasingly serious and sentimental tone of their work. However, a throwaway line from Keaton perhaps gives the greatest insight into Allen’s relationship with his many female muses; “He didn’t quite fall in love with me. But I was around a lot.”
Someone who is (understandably) not around, however, is Allen’s ex-wife and collaborator Mia Farrow, and it’s on this topic in particular that the director and contributor’s unwavering deference to Allen shows. Though Weide does euphemistically address Allen’s affair - and later, marriage - to Farrow’s adopted daughter Soon-Yi Previn, it’s through non-critical euphemism, while Allen retains his skilfully flippant veneer, speaking only of the public reaction.
A Documentary is consistently entertaining, allowing fans to bathe in nicely presented nostalgia while inspiring neophytes to go on an Allen-centric Netflix spree. But while Allen may “put a higher value on the tragic muse than the comic muse,” Weide fails to do the same, resulting in a documentary that’s greatly entertaining, but not truly great.