I am a huge Woody Allen fan, but I must say I was somewhat
disappointed in this loving, but sometimes awkward and very mild
tribute to Hollywood musicals of the 1930's. Actually, perhaps that
is something of a misconception, as the movie never really
attempts to pay tribute to the usual "boy meets chorus girl on her
way up" depression era musical story lines, nor does it attempt
any recreation of the Busby Berkely type production numbers that
prevailed during that period. Rather, it tells a modern (and typically
neurotic Allenesque) love story where the characters break out in
song to convey their inner (or outward) thoughts and emotions --
and the tunes all happen to be from the '30's.
There are actually several "love" stories here, each seeming to
depict various modes of romantic infatuation. Edward Norton and
Drew Barrymore mostly play out the conventional Hollywood love
story about two well to do youngsters engaged to wed. Woody
himself is a long divorced ex-patriat New Yorker now living in Paris
and rebounding from yet another in a series of failed relationships,
who finds himself infatuated with a woman (Julia Roberts) he
sees while vacationing in Venice. He pretends to be Roberts' soul
mate by masquerading himself with character traits that his
daughter (Natasha Lyons) supplies to him based on intimate
information she gathered while eavesdropping on Roberts
psychiatric sessions back in New York. Lyons herself seems to
fall in love with just about every new young stud she meets. And
even the betrothed Barrymore fancies a fling with a seductively
dangerous prison parolee portrayed by Tim Roth. Meanwhile, Allen
also harbors lingering love for his ex-wife (Goldie Hawn) who is
now happily married to Alan Alda (and their teenage daughters
both fall in puppy love with the same local boy they've been
admiring from afar).
I wasn't sure how the musical numbers would work, and there
was much promise displayed with the opening number sung by
Edward Norton, which the movie launches into directly out of the
brief opening credits. The mood seems just right as Norton
serenades Barrymore on the streets of Manhattan, and passersby
(including a disheveled panhandler) soon begin to join in with
song. Unfortunately, this kind of earnestness is reproduced only
sporadically throughout the rest of the movie. A definite highlight
would be the singing and dancing spirits that emerge from coffins
in a funeral home to implore the bereaved to get out and enjoy life
while they still have the time. The comedy is rather mild, but there
is one priceless gag where ultra-liberal Alda gets a medical
explanation for his son's inexplicable reactionary Rush Limbaugh
brand of conservatism.
Allen does save the best for last, however, in a sequence that
begins with a musical tribute to Groucho Marx at a Parisian gala,
and continues with two priceless scenes (one at the gala, the
other along the Seine River) between Allen and Hawn. These two
have such wonderful chemistry and the film comes so sparklingly
to life in their interplay, that it is a wonder Allen hasn't since written
a vehicle in which the pair could properly shine.
Everyone Says I Love You is never more than mildly amusing, and
never less than pleasantly diverting. Yet, one must applaud the
bold and noble experiment. Allen is an artist who has proven in the
last 10 years that he is still capable of producing strong and even
poignant material (Husbands and Wives, Sweet and Lowdown,
Deconstructing Harry) that it is somewhat surprising when his
films do NOT rise to his usual level of excellence. Fortunately for
us, such misteps (Shadows and Fog) are few and far between.
disappointed in this loving, but sometimes awkward and very mild
tribute to Hollywood musicals of the 1930's. Actually, perhaps that
is something of a misconception, as the movie never really
attempts to pay tribute to the usual "boy meets chorus girl on her
way up" depression era musical story lines, nor does it attempt
any recreation of the Busby Berkely type production numbers that
prevailed during that period. Rather, it tells a modern (and typically
neurotic Allenesque) love story where the characters break out in
song to convey their inner (or outward) thoughts and emotions --
and the tunes all happen to be from the '30's.
There are actually several "love" stories here, each seeming to
depict various modes of romantic infatuation. Edward Norton and
Drew Barrymore mostly play out the conventional Hollywood love
story about two well to do youngsters engaged to wed. Woody
himself is a long divorced ex-patriat New Yorker now living in Paris
and rebounding from yet another in a series of failed relationships,
who finds himself infatuated with a woman (Julia Roberts) he
sees while vacationing in Venice. He pretends to be Roberts' soul
mate by masquerading himself with character traits that his
daughter (Natasha Lyons) supplies to him based on intimate
information she gathered while eavesdropping on Roberts
psychiatric sessions back in New York. Lyons herself seems to
fall in love with just about every new young stud she meets. And
even the betrothed Barrymore fancies a fling with a seductively
dangerous prison parolee portrayed by Tim Roth. Meanwhile, Allen
also harbors lingering love for his ex-wife (Goldie Hawn) who is
now happily married to Alan Alda (and their teenage daughters
both fall in puppy love with the same local boy they've been
admiring from afar).
I wasn't sure how the musical numbers would work, and there
was much promise displayed with the opening number sung by
Edward Norton, which the movie launches into directly out of the
brief opening credits. The mood seems just right as Norton
serenades Barrymore on the streets of Manhattan, and passersby
(including a disheveled panhandler) soon begin to join in with
song. Unfortunately, this kind of earnestness is reproduced only
sporadically throughout the rest of the movie. A definite highlight
would be the singing and dancing spirits that emerge from coffins
in a funeral home to implore the bereaved to get out and enjoy life
while they still have the time. The comedy is rather mild, but there
is one priceless gag where ultra-liberal Alda gets a medical
explanation for his son's inexplicable reactionary Rush Limbaugh
brand of conservatism.
Allen does save the best for last, however, in a sequence that
begins with a musical tribute to Groucho Marx at a Parisian gala,
and continues with two priceless scenes (one at the gala, the
other along the Seine River) between Allen and Hawn. These two
have such wonderful chemistry and the film comes so sparklingly
to life in their interplay, that it is a wonder Allen hasn't since written
a vehicle in which the pair could properly shine.
Everyone Says I Love You is never more than mildly amusing, and
never less than pleasantly diverting. Yet, one must applaud the
bold and noble experiment. Allen is an artist who has proven in the
last 10 years that he is still capable of producing strong and even
poignant material (Husbands and Wives, Sweet and Lowdown,
Deconstructing Harry) that it is somewhat surprising when his
films do NOT rise to his usual level of excellence. Fortunately for
us, such misteps (Shadows and Fog) are few and far between.