One Paragraph Movie Review: Manhattan

Three hundred and fifty-fifth film: Manhattan, the 1979 Woody Allen movie that is brought up most often when people are suspecting him of being a shit around underage girls due to his character Ike, 42, dating and having sex with Mariel Hemingway’s character Tracy, who is 17. In what is considered his masterpiece, Manhattan and Allen’s other films bring up a similar question to that asked when listening to Michael Jackson’s Thriller or R. Kelly’s Ignition (Remix) — can we separate the art from the artist? And the answer is irrelevant, because whether or not we do, Manhattan is still a deeply annoying, stupid movie by a man who categorises women like he’s organising a spice rack. The plot is the same as every Woody Allen movie — he’s a neurotic but brilliant man who miraculously gets to choose between multiple women — all with at least one character trait that helps him decide the relationship is doomed. The only difference between Manhattan and every other Allen movie is that in this one he openly admits he’s having sex with a child and jokes about the cops being called. I’m only giving it more than zero because Meryl Streep looks incredible in it and thinks Woody is an idiot. One man who barely remembers he has a son and thinks taking him to the Russian Tea Room and suggesting they pick up women there is quirky out of five.