Dilemma. Its 3 am. It’s the Monday of orientation week. And I’m writing a blog, hoping the clicks of my keyboard don’t wake up the passed out man-candy in my bed (finally have a queen for the first time in my life!). Unfortunately, that’s not the problem; the dilemma is the awkward morning to come when he sleeps through me vacuuming my room, in hopes he’ll wake up and leave immediately. I mean, I don’t usually kick out guests (I normally just sneak out).
This article was originally published online on Jul. 8
The signature opening credit style is there, with the same white font on the same black screen, the same ragtime music playing over the names Jack Rollins and Charles H. Joffe. One can make out the comfortable old tropes, and one sometimes thinks one recognizes signs of life. But one is wrong. Whatever Works, the new Woody Allen movie starring Larry David, is the bleating deathpang of a towering auteur style gone stale, and a powerful argument that, if your choice for a leading role says he can’t act, you should believe him.