Shadows and Fog

The title refers to the aesthetic. Woody Allen's "Shadows and Fog" -- it's lensed in luscious shades of black, white, and grey by cinematographer Carlo Di Palma -- is the director's throwback to the monochromatic era. And as with his pastiche pieces dedicated to art cinema (like "Interiors" and "Stardust Memories"), the net he's throwing back is cast quite wide. Allen appropriates his aesthetics from a melting pot of black and white influences: Noir, silent comedy, screwball comedy, Von Sternberg-esque melodramas, and even Italian neorealism. It's as though the film is wrestling its way through the visual hallmarks of an entire cinematic era. And the effect falls somewhere between "comprehensive" and "criss-crossed."

At least the narrative follows the lead of the imagery. "Shadows" drops its flags on all sorts of positions within the map of film history. Kleinman (a typically nebbish Allen) gets literally dragged into a murder-plot whodunnit, by a posse of neighboring vigilantes that are determined to out a local murderer. Then there's the sword-swallowing circus-performer couple of Paul and Irmy (John Malkovich and Mia Farrow), who do the "La Strada" thing in the 2nd of the film's segments. (He tries to break her golden spirit, not knowing that her unyielding charm has already broken him). Then the two cross over. After some unextended adventures, Kleinman and Irmy find themselves in the same alleyway -- and we end up with a wistful romance suitable for a Cukor comedy. Some films shift gears. This one shifts shapes.

Twilight Time's limited edition Blu-ray release of the film features very few extras, per a longstanding Allen tradition. However, the aesthetics get the works all the same. For starters, there's an alternate audio track that allows you to isolate the classically-minded score, sourced from recordings by Kurt Weill. And the transfer of the film displays an impressive density, especially considering the film's deliberately opaque palette. There's no noise or softness clouding the fog of the title -- the textures of that natural apparition are rendered clearly, as it leaks from windows and alleyways. In fact, there's a filmic fidelity to every composition, no matter its subject: The noir-esque establishing ahors, the New Wave-influenced experiments (look for a 360 degree panning shot that links a series of disconnected close-ups,) and even the climax, which is ripped out of the static frames of filmed vaudeville.

The disc is also accompanied by a booklet featuring an essay by Julie Kirgo. She also catalogues Allen's influences -- cinematic, literary, and otherwise. Then she catalogues the way that this movie treats its women. In the course of the narrative's one night (for instance), Irmy is thrown out by her husband as a shrewish prude; then sells herself to an overeager student (John Cusack) for some pleasure and a fortune; then meets up with Kleinman and serves as his screwball heroine. Allen makes her all women in one, and yet he only cares about her sexuality anyway (and this isn't to mention the way he wastes actresses like Jodie Foster and Lily Tomlin in roles like "Prostitute A" and "Prostitute B.") And yet he does frame Farrow as though she were an icon worth worshipping-she's a shape-shifter, too, but this film is in awe of the ability. Like his treatment of genre, Allen regards women with an eye muddled by concepts and complexes -- but better that than being simple.

"Shadows and Fog"
Blu-ray
$29.95
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