“Midnight In Paris” Review: Woody Allen Gets His Mojo back

J'aime beacoup

I can’t remember the last time I used the word “delightful” to describe a movie, but I can say that it wouldn’t have been in reference to a Woody Allen flick. It’s been an up and down (mostly down) 10 or 15 years for the Wood-Man, but in “Midnight In Paris,” you can almost feel the mojo rising.

Owen Wilson plays a self-described “hack” Hollywood screenwriter; Well off? Yes. Artistically fulfilled? Nope. And so, while on a trip to the city of lights with his fiancée and her folks, Wilson becomes enamored of the idea of “finishing his novel” and becoming a real writer and maybe even a permanent resident of Paree. Meanwhile, his future in-laws clearly aren’t feeling him and his bride-to-be (played to bitchy perfection by Rachel McAdams)is less than supportive.

So while McAdams spends the nights dancing with friends, Wilson walks the street. One night at midnight, a car from the 1920’s pulls up to the curb where Wilson is hanging and the revelers inside tell him to hop in with them. And now comes the part that might lose you, but I say play along and enjoy. The car takes Wilson to a club where he meets all of his 1920’s Heroes in Paris, in person! From Hemingway to Fitzgerald, from Gertrude Stein to Cole Porter, Wilson rubs elbows and gains inspiration from this literary hall of fame.

I know it sounds far out, but as Wilson alternately returns to his daytime disappointing life at the hotel and the warm yellow lighting of the greatest flapper filled parties by night, we come to accept the conceit and are rewarded with a clever, fanciful film that embraces romance and big dreams. The voice of Woody Allen enters your head every time Wilson opens his mouth, but that’s okay. At least Wilson is plausibly good looking enough to bag a babe like McAdams. Woody pulling that off? Now, that would be hard to buy.

If you are willing to believe that giant robots can come to earth and transform themselves into killing machines, then surely you can imagine that an American In Paris might just fall in love with…well, you’ll have to see for yourself.