Broadway Danny Rose USA, PG, 84 m, 1984
It’s hard to say what Woody Allen was aiming for when he made Broadway Danny Rose. On one level, it’s a showbiz farce; on another, it’s a Capraesque lesson in “acceptance, forgiveness and love.” It’s also full of limp nods to the gangster genre: Italian hoods with greasy coifs wave their hands a lot and use big guns to settle issues even Richard “The Ice Man” Kuklinsky would find piddling. Shot with stunning meticulousness by Gordon Willis, Broadway Danny Rose is a pointlessly handsome hodgepodge of half-baked ideas. I wouldn’t say it’s boring, but it’s certainly one of the most frustrating pictures the Woodman has ever given us. (It’s far from his worst; that dishonor goes to Everyone Says I Love You, which was an inane, tin-eared, insufferably cloying embarrassment.) Things begin dully as a bunch of washed-up Catskills comics sit in the Carnegie Deli and reminisce about the good ol’ days. When the name of smalltime talent agent Danny Rose comes up, the old men respond with knowing guffaws. They take turns sharing their favorite Danny Rose stories, each hacking geezer trying to top the other. One comic, Sandy Baron (who’s playing himself), breaks in and announces to the group that he has the Danny Rose story to end all Danny Rose stories. Not unlike Baron’s audience of wrinkly has-beens (who are also playing themselves), our expectations are aroused, but what follows is trifling and anticlimactic—an utter gyp. Baron’s snappy set-up is at best a snow job; he keeps us waiting ninety minutes for a punchline that never comes. And yet his comedian cronies (all of whom have about as much of a chance of being lionized outside of the Big Apple as a carnival geek) reward this moderately diverting anecdote with words like “unbelievable” and “fantastic.” The film’s bookending segments (and the transitional commentary delivered by Baron) feel tacked on; it’s as if Allen realized he had a dud on his hands and figured Baron and company’s seal of approval would make us believe we had just watched something worthwhile. Thankfully, the film proper, though hardly worthwhile, is a lot more compelling than listening to those old farts in the deli prattle on. Danny Rose (played with a little too much used-car-salesman-style gusto by Allen) is the Larry, Darrell and Daryl of talent agents: He’ll take on any act for a buck. This little schlemiel in jumbo specs and loud sport coats represents mostly unbookable oddities: a one-legged tap dancer, a blind xylophonist, a penguin that roller skates around dressed as a rabbi—you name it. Danny Rose is the laughing stock in his biz (he turned to the profession when he couldn’t cut the muster as a standup comedian), but, God bless him, he’ll go the distance for his clients. Danny sees his ticket to the big time in the lumpy form of a lounge singer named Lou Canova (Nick Apollo Forte). Lou is nothing but a poor man’s Tony Bennett, and yet the folks that frequent the smoky nightclubs where he performs seem positively enchanted by his tired set lists. Lou’s also getting some mileage out of the whole nostalgia craze that’s supposedly going on, so now New Yorkers can flip on the boob tube and watch him chat it up with the likes of “the king of nostalgia” himself, Joe Franklin. Things are finally looking up for the talentless palooka and his small but indefatigable manager. But Lou is a drunk, and he hits the bottle whenever he feels that his life is zigging instead of zagging. One thing that’s causing him lots of ulcer-inducing stress is his gumar, Tina (Mia Farrow), a blonde, chain-smoking floozy who’s always wearing large sunglasses that hide most of her face. Despite the fact that even a sightless mongoloid wacky on the junk could sniff out this chick’s crookedness (she’s the widow of a notorious Mafioso, fer crissakes), Lou is madly in love with her. (He sends her a single white rose every day. Awww.) But Tina has a fiery temperament, and whenever she wounds Lou’s delicate ego with a good “go fuck yourself” or some such, he goes off on a bender and ignores his commitments. In order to get it up on stage, Lou needs to know that Tina is in the audience clapping dutifully after every boring chestnut. (I guess the presence of his devoted wife and adoring children isn’t enough to feed the ego of this vacuous, philandering, scum-sucking pig.) Danny is saddled with the thankless task of keeping Tina locked in Lou’s drunken embrace, as well as playing the “beard” when he escorts her to crocked crooner’s shows. Well, one day as Danny fetches Tina for one of Lou’s more important engagements (Milton Berle and Howard Cosell will be in attendance, as well as a high-powered agent that Lou is thinking of signing with behind Danny’s back), a succession of screwy events (which I have no interest in recalling) finds them on the run from some pissed-off gangsters. Not much hilarity ensues. The biggest problem with Broadway Danny Rose is that the character of Tina is too unapproachable to function as a leading lady we care about. But we don’t love to hate her either; Farrow doesn’t have the stuff to make Tina an exciting femme fatale. We’re expected to applaud her willingness to disappear into the character, but there’s not enough going on beneath all the showy business to keep us engaged. (Heaven help us, it’s like watching Meryl Streep.) I think the dark shades were a bad idea; they make her look aloof, bored. (You can’t help but wonder why no one ever demands to see her eyes.) I don’t know whose idea it was to keep Farrow’s face hidden through all this, but her beauty is so veiled it barely registers. Farrow seems to be playing to herself; she doesn’t connect with Forte or Allen (who never hides anything from the camera). I thought she was terrific in Rosemary’s Baby (of course, she was quite young then and endearingly unaffected), but in most of the films that she has since appeared (particularly her collaborations with Allen), she seems to inhabit a different dimension. If Broadway Danny Rose were a mystery, the big question would be why Nick is so gaga over this narcissistic bitch. But after all the hell Danny goes through to keep Lou and Tina together, nothing comes of it, and their relationship just kind of peters out. Many of the film’s gags peter out, too; Allen moves away
from a bit just as it seems to be going somewhere. For example, after getting
cornered by a pair of oily goons, Danny and Tina find themselves literally tied
together in a compromising position. As they try to wriggle their way out of
their binds, the sensation of their bodies rubbing together gets them both
half-crazed with excitement, but before either of them are brought to orgasm,
they’re free of the ropes and the matter is never given another mention. (The
scene doesn’t serve in forging a romantic relationship between the two
either.) Later, a shootout with the mobsters in an enormous warehouse (that
stores floats for Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade) results in a stray bullet
puncturing a helium tank. Well, you can see where this is going a mile off: Over
the deafening barrage of gunfire, the characters shout at each other in squeaky
voices. You wait for a joke worthy of a rim shot, but like Danny’s orgasm, it never comes. The film’s black and white milieu is heavy with
nostalgia, which becomes a little disconcerting once you realize that the show
is taking place in the present day. (A theatre advertises Halloween III:
Season of the Witch on its marquee.) The aged gagmen reflect upon Danny
Rose’s nutty exploits as if they took place a thousand centuries ago, but
unless these guys are having their gabfest far into the future, they’re waxing
nostalgic for events that took place only the day (or week) before. It doesn’t
make any sense. Even more aggravating is listening to Baron try to sell us on
how hilarious what’s happening on the screen is when we can observe for
ourselves that it’s anything but. The narration is horrible; it exists to
either account for footage left on the cutting room floor or to fill in blanks
Allen was too lazy to shoot. Oy vey, even Shadows and Fog was a more
satisfying pastiche. I love Woody Allen, always have, and he’s sorely missed when he doesn’t appear in one of his own pictures. But whenever he does assume the lead, his neurotic, self-deprecating shtick coaxes the biggest laughs out of his material. (As a director, he’s justly lauded; as an actor, he’s underrated.) His battered but perseverant little guy persona is an inspiration to insecure oddballs everywhere, but Danny Rose isn’t as bright or insightful as Allen’s other characters—he’s a knucklehead. Worse, he’s a huckster that’s always “on,” flailing his arms and saying things like “God bless ya, darlin’.” Even when he meets people in casual situations, he turns on his lounge act to the nth degree. Not unlike like those sleazy jokesters at the diner, Danny is always trying to buffalo us, and, quite frankly, it gets tiresome. Still, without Allen’s quirky presence, there’d be little reason to sit through this picture. Johnny-come-lately Nick Apollo Forte is serviceable as the inebriated songster, but despite some acclaim for his performance (and, incredibly, talk of an Oscar nomination), he was never heard from again. I can’t say I’ve missed him; Danny Aiello and Robert De Niro should always be the go-to guys for this kind of part. It said something of Woody Allen’s genius (or the
pathetic state of the movies during the Reagan years) that Broadway Danny Rose, despite its plethora of flaws, emerged as one
of 1984’s stronger efforts. Still, when contrasted with Allen’s previous
effort, the startlingly innovative Zelig, the film appeared stale,
inconsequential. (Critics like Roger Ebert raved on, but Allen devotees felt let
down.) But Woody would be back in fine form the following year with The
Purple Rose of Cairo, and that was topped the year after that with the
episodic masterpiece, Hannah and Her Sisters. For a guy who cranks out a
new picture every year, it’s probably unrealistic for us to expect him to
knock it out of the park every time. Woody Allen has said that he wants his
audience to permit him the occasional failure. For all the wonderful movies
he’s given us over the years, we owe the man that much. September 26, 2008 “Broadway Danny Rose” Review. © Copyright 2008 by Edward Larsen Terkelsen. All rights reserved.
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