Navigating the complex and controversial life of Woody Allen is no simple task, especially given the polarized opinions surrounding him. Did he abuse his adopted daughter Dylan, as she insists, or is this merely a scheme orchestrated by his former partner, Mia Farrow, to tarnish his reputation? Then, there’s the debate over his relationship with Soon-Yi Previn, Farrow’s adopted daughter, which drifted beyond societal norms when Allen began courting and eventually married her. Is this acceptable behavior or does it veer into the territory of suspect grooming?
Patrick McGilligan delves deep into these very questions with his massive 848-page biography “Woody Allen: A Travesty of a Mockery of a Sham.” While the book is steeped in detail, it doesn’t conclusively take sides but does seem to offer a somewhat favorable portrayal of Allen, albeit subtly.
McGilligan portrays Allen’s romantic entanglement with Soon-Yi Previn as having stirred “puritanical eyebrows,” suggesting that anyone disturbed by such behavior may be clinging to outdated norms. He frames Allen’s escapades with young women in the ’70s as a mere reflection of that era. McGilligan’s occasional use of terms reminiscent of generational divides, like “the Woke Generation,” might give readers the sense that he’s defending some bygone era.
Interestingly, McGilligan spends considerable time exploring personal facets of Farrow’s life, such as her prolonged breastfeeding of her son Satchel Ronan O’Sullivan Farrow—details that seem bizarre in a biography, yet contribute to the intricate tapestry of the Allen/Farrow saga with a strange, albeit poignant, sense of melancholy.
For those who can set aside the scandalous elements—assuming they’re willing to pick up the book at all—McGilligan provides an absorbing portrait of Allen’s journey and achievements in the film industry. A seasoned biographer with a knack for uncovering the essence of his subjects, McGilligan previously tackled figures like Alfred Hitchcock and Nicholas Ray. He shines as he recounts Allen’s career pinnacles, from “Annie Hall” to “Hannah and Her Sisters,” painting a picture of brilliance, interspersed with lesser works that triggered as much disdain as admiration.
McGilligan excels in chronicling Allen’s early career, capturing his evolution from a budding TV writer to a quirky, neurotic stand-up comedian. Allen’s remarkable rise began with writing jokes for newspaper columnists as a teenager, which eventually led him to television writing. Encouraged by mentors like Danny Simon, Allen found his uniqueness, thanks in part to his managers, Jack Rollins and Charles H. Joffe, who envisioned his comedic potential before he did.
Allen’s initial forays into stand-up were rocky—awkwardly attempting to connect with his audience. However, he eventually carved out a niche resembling a more introspective Mort Sahl, cleverly weaving intellectual references into humor, despite admitting his own lack of deep academic interest.
Given McGilligan’s expertise in the film realm, it’s no surprise that he offers sharp commentary on Allen’s directorial evolution. Particularly noteworthy is Allen’s partnership with cinematographer Gordon Willis, labeled “The Prince of Darkness” for his mastery of shadowy cinematography. Alongside Willis, Allen emerged as a distinct voice in filmmaking, as their work on “Annie Hall” demonstrates, using long takes to convey depth without overused close-ups—a technique vividly praised by the film’s star, Diane Keaton.
Although Willis would go on to work on several more Allen films, “Annie Hall” stands out for its dynamic and inventive visual storytelling. Despite winning Oscars, Allen famously chose to play clarinet at Michael’s Pub in New York, skipping the awards ceremony, a testament to his idiosyncratic nature.
Unlike Eric Lax’s celebratory yet somewhat uncritical 1991 biography, McGilligan’s work is unauthorized, granting him the latitude to pursue the narrative as he sees fit. Yet, Woody Allen, with all his enigma and secrets, remains a challenge to pin down, earning him the nickname “Mr. Secretive” early on. Nonetheless, McGilligan endeavors to construct a coherent account from the murky depths of Allen’s life and controversies. This biography isn’t the damning critique some may have anticipated, nor is it a glorification. For now, it stands as the definitive account of a figure who defies easy categorization.
Chris Vognar, a freelance culture writer, reflects on the nuances and complexities of Allen’s life with insight and depth.
