I've been slowly working my way through the Woody Allen directorial canon by way of Netflix. If we're only counting movies he has directed I'm a little better than halfway through. Last Sunday, the missus and I watched "Stardust Memories" which starred Woody and Charlotte Rampling. Although not a great starting point for anyone unfamiliar with his work, it is definitely one of his best and the closest we'll ever get to a dvd commentary. (Plus it has a baby-faced Daniel Stern!)
In the last week I've been pondering, like anyone who invests more than ten dollars and twenty minutes in their passion, the looming threat of failure. Artistic failure. Commercial failure. Heart failure. In all it's moody absurdity "Stardust" addresses ideas about expectation and failure that make me feel a whole lot better. Or maybe just more resigned. Either way, he hit the nail on the head and twenty-eight years after it's release he's still adhering to the same artistic standards he outlined in the movie.
Lesson learned? Sure. I learned that it doesn't get any easier. It only gets worse. And that as the profile expands, so to does the target. Fire away.
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