Sleeper

A love letter, written with the fist and letter of Woody Allen, directed to the fiction genre and with obvious nods to George Orwell, in which he envisions a not very encouraging future. An example of what Allen possessed in his early days as an actor-director.

A freezer-burned Woody Allen emerges from cryogenic slumber to apply his own specific brand of humor to the late 22nd century. At times overly topical and horribly dated, this is really best as a flippant physical comedy. Even then, the puns and gags are stretched awfully thin, with blatantly sped-up footage and a ragtime soundtrack giving it the look and feel of a futuristic Benny Hill. Allen's pokes and prods about the evolution of society are occasionally good for a snicker, particularly his prediction that the advent of technology will supplant our need for sex, drugs and organized religion, but the central storyline is so thin and inessential that the whole mess just feels like a set of vaguely-related skits. The glut of weak, DIY-esque backdrops and pitiful special effects make the arrival of Star Wars just four years later seem even more impressive by comparison. Mildly silly at best and utterly dull at worst, it's not something I'll be revisiting any time soon, if ever.