Author: Roger Ebert
Translator: Yi Ersan
Proofreading: Issac
Source: Rogerebert .com (10 March 1985)
Woody Allen's new film, The Purple Rose of Cairo, received the best rating of his film career so far, and on Sunday, after the film's release, Allen put his "chess challenger" aside and curled up in the corner of the couch. We were in the screening room at the Manhattan Film Center, which could be reached through the lobby of the Birkman Square Hotel, which may also be the only editing room in New York with room service.
The Purple Rose of Cairo
"Will you play with that thing?" I asked.
"'Chess Challenger'?" Of course, I've won a few more times."
"You're still good at chess?"
"Nope. I was obsessed with it for a while when I was a kid and would watch championship games, but I was average."
"Is there anything inside the Championship?"
Alan's voice became mysterious. "I heard gossip from the Chess Forum that Karpov was on the verge of collapse and kasparov was in sight, but FIDE terminated the tournament and allowed Karpov to retain his title."
"You actually listen to all this gossip?"
"That's what I've heard."
"All right," I said. "Your new film has been ravely acclaimed, the New York Times has hailed you as america's greatest director today, and some have called you the only author-director in the United States, what do you think about that?"
Woody Allen coughed twice.
"Is it because the light pierces your eyes?" I can turn it off."
"No, it's all right. It didn't bother me."
He kept leaning left, and then he turned a little and shifted his center of gravity to his right leg.
"Well, the reviews are always fun, but movies also have to break even at the box office," he replied.
"Even so, I'm aware of the fact that people are more likely to believe bad reviews in order to attack you, while the help of positive reviews is less obvious." People tend to believe in the negative. If critics say the movie is good, they think, 'I'll go check it out when I'm free.'" Anyway, my films fall into two categories: one is that I feel like I'm doing well and fulfilling my original intentions, so even if it doesn't work out, I don't feel too bad. The other category is that people like the movie, but I feel like I've screwed it up, so I'm lucky, they don't know what I wanted to make in the first place."
"Can you give an example of a film that belongs to the first category?"
"I don't know if I've ever made a movie that falls into the first category."
"What about the second category?"
"The Purple Rose of Cairo, Manhattan, Anne Hall, and almost all the works up to 'Bananas' are in the second category, and it's fair to say that the audience likes them more than I do. You seem to have fallen into some kind of trap. You sit there and think about the original idea of the movie, and it's perfect. In your mind, everything is perfect, regular and precise. And then once it's turned on, as Marshall Brickman said, trucks full of compromises will stop in front of you every morning. I can't think of a movie that really satisfies me."
But "The Purple Rose of Cairo" seems to be fairly close to Woody Allen's ideal. Mia Farrow plays Cecilia, a waitress from a small town who is also an avid fan. For her, the dream life of the local cinema is more important than the monotonous reality. She watched the same movie over and over again until one day, in a surprising scene, the male protagonist of the movie looked into the audience and began to speak to her.
"Oh my God, you must have loved this movie!" He said.
"Who, me?" She answered.
"I've seen you in the audience many times," he said, and walked out of the screen toward her. And that's where the movie's romance begins; Mia walks out of the movie theater with her screen idol (Jeff Daniels), and the other characters in the movie (including familiar faces like Van Johnson and Miro Osy) are trapped on the screen without a male lead.
The film explores the meaning of this event with a sober comedic logic. For example, because a movie star only knows what his character in the movie knows, he knows how to drive a car but doesn't know how to light a fire. He knows how to kiss a girl, but his knowledge of sex is limited to what the protagonists of the 1930s movies knew—after all, the picture always fades out before big moments come. At the same time, the characters who remain on the screen become increasingly restless. In Hollywood, the reaction of studios was panicked: If all their characters started to leave the screen, the movie would not have to be made.
In a way, what happens in The Purple Rose of Cairo is similar to the plight of the guests at the banquet in Louis Buñuel's 1962 masterpiece The Angels Of Annihilation. In that movie, everyone enters the living room after a dinner party and finds they can't leave. Nothing stopped them – but they just couldn't get out of the room. So they chiseled through the walls, found a water pipe to get water, and spent the night in bed. A few days later, they were still stuck there, chatting aimlessly, like the characters in Allen's play-within-a-play.
"Some reviews say The Purple Rose of Cairo is about the movie," Allen said. "I disagree. For me, the film is about reality and fantasy. Cecilia may also have fantasies about radios, books, or popular magazines. Movies are chosen only for visual convenience. The film is about a fantasy life that is very beautiful and seductive, but you ultimately have to choose between reality and fantasy. If you choose reality, accept the hurt. But that's your humanity. As Van Johnson says in the movie, choice is one of the most important attributes of human beings."
"It's interesting," I said. "You owe something to Van Johnson & Johnson, not to the character he plays. It's a bit like Cecilia, who is torn between fantasy and reality, confusing the actor with the character he plays."
"Did I say Van Johnson?" Allen said. "That's what I'm trying to say!" This allows you to see the difference between drama and film. In a play, an actor is playing a role, which is obviously a kind of performance.
In the movie, it's a completely different phenomenon. Movies are really creating myths. John Wayne, Humphrey Bogart, Van Johnson – we watch them live according to similar myths again and again. When you go to John Wayne's 48th film, he's there, doing basically the same thing he did in the other 47 films."
"I noticed a strange thing," I said. "When I interview movie stars who have been stars since I was growing up – like Robert Mitchum – I feel awe from the bottom of my heart, because for me, they will always be stars. But when I interview actors who have become stars when I was growing up, they're still ordinary people."
Woody nodded vigorously.
"I feel the same way. If I meet Robert De Niro or Meryl Streep, I'll be blown away by their talent, but I won't be in awe. But when I was a kid who loved to watch movies, Van Johnson was already a movie star. When he came on set to start working, he became part of my personal history and I was too shy to talk to him. I mean, I'm only three feet away from Van Johnson & Johnson! When I was a kid, he allowed me to get out of the monotony of life, he used to sit in the cockpit of an airplane or go to Argentina with Esther Williams — she was also very flattering. So getting the actor to fully identify with his role is one of the themes explored in "The Purple Rose of Cairo."
So that's how Woody Allen, who has just been called one of the most important directors of his time, is afraid to talk to Van Johnson. I asked him how he saw himself as a director and who he would compare himself to.
"I think of a director like Ingmar Bergman," Allen said.
"I'm certainly not comparing our work, God is on it, I mean, Bergman is a guy who makes two or three films in a year. Some are great, some are not. He kept working. That's what I want to do. I wanted to get rid of the feeling that every movie was a "big event." I just want to make a movie, do an experiment, and if it works, it's good, and if it doesn't work, then start the next one."
"There's a phenomenon in the film industry right now where a project becomes a way of life. Producers meet with screenwriters, fly from New York to Los Angeles, set up offices, build cash flow, give interviews, and it takes three years to make a movie. I don't work that way. I have a small, dimly lit office. All the money is on the screen. My salary is also relatively low. My aim is to keep concocting a series of works."
"This makes you one of the most prolific directors in The United States."
"Yes. You know, I think they opened Pandora's Box when they were making Star Wars. Suddenly, people know that they can emulate certain rules that smart directors have crafted, and they can make millions of dollars. Some film critics and national magazines have jumped on the bandwagon, creating a huge trend where everyone is talking about the same movie and selling it everywhere."
He seemed to be saying that it was all the opposite of the movies he wanted to concoct in his dimly lit little office.
"Do you know what really bothers me?" He said. "Today there is an article on the Sunday page of the New York Times about the video revolution. People would rent movies to take home to see instead of going to the cinema. This is a sad thing. I'll always miss the red plush carpet, dress up, and can't wait to see a new movie. Remember that feeling? Outdoor weather 90 degrees Fahrenheit, you walk under the dazzling sun, and then spend 20 cents to buy a ticket to sit in the cool movie theater, Louis Hayward is on the screen, and you look up at these gods, as if from one world to another."
"Well," I replied. "I remember." And I thought to myself, which would be the greater miracle? Can movie characters get off the screen, or can we walk into movies?