First, it’s not just a retread: Simon rewrote his original
script to update it and accommodate the new casting of Woody Allen and Peter
Falk as Al Lewis and Willie Clark, respectively. In many ways, it’s an
improvement – some of the scenes that didn’t work in the original are
completely excised here, with equal if not greater attention paid to the more
successful bits (e.g. the “words that are funny” routine, “Enter” vs. “Come
In”, the sliding lock door, etc.). The duo is now a product of the Gold Age of
Television, not vaudeville (works just as well), and Allen has more quips
dealing with his efforts to modernize – one funny joke involves a five-year old
he has come in twice a week to teach him Nintendo. In a way, Simon is better at
being fresher when he can still write for “older” folk, commenting on modern
things like Seinfeld and music videos.
And the other reason is simple: to witness the meeting of
two great comedy minds. Woody Allen finally gets the chance to read Neil Simon
script, and if there were ever two greater literary lions of postmodern humor
in film, I don’t know them. Even better, they’re on the same wavelength – the
only real difference in their product, particularly during the 70s, is that
Allen’s is somewhat more literarily intellectual, and surely more neurotic. But
both have perfected the craft of wit-sparring to serve romantic comedies – both
are peerless in their intuitive kens of dialogue cadence, and the way
top-dollar jokes are woven seamlessly within. Allen has the Gorge Burns role
here, the saner one, and the fact that he’s younger allows him a more
exasperated performance. It fits his natural neuroticism like a glove, and
makes him a good entry point for the viewer.
Peter Falk has the greater stretch, and although he first
draws comparison to Walter Matthau, who perfected the role, one soon starts to
settle down to enjoy the work in its own right. With a gravely, rasping voice
that sounds like Columbo with laryngitis, he accomplishes the seemingly
impossible task of making senility funny – listening to the same, irrational
things over and over again gets to be so frustrating you have to laugh – just
like real life. This again is why Allen is such a great foil; his head-shaking
incredulity is just what we’re experiencing.
But of course, as was the case with the original, the real
theme here is that great comedy works in strange ways, and when these guys are
on, they’re on. That’s precisely why they’ve stayed together so long, despite
their complete incompatibility. Simon has kept their extended scene performing
together (in this case, a film scene) nearly intact – it’s their love of the
game that keeps them going, and willing to work together despite their knowing
of its absolutely negative repercussions. When the tone turns serious in the
film’s final act – Willie’s heart attack – its their recollections of career
highlights which profer the most joy, even though still it is laced with petty
banter about who so-and-so is and when did they die and so on and so on.
The other note of seriousness, that regarding Willie’s unspoken
attachment to his niece (Sarah Jessica Parker), is just a bit less successful
than the original’s. Matthau, primed from his brilliant performance in 1971’s Kotch, expertly managed an irrascable
exterior while still containing a vulnerability within, evidenced by his
sickbed worry upon hearing that his nephew may leave him (still a heartbreaking
scene). Falk tries, but that same scene in the remake just doesn’t have the
same emotional power. It doesn’t detract from the film, but it doesn’t elevate
it into something more either.
On balance, though, there’s much to appreciate here, as
Simon’s deft comic hand once again reminds us why he’s the American master that
he is.
Rating: ***
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