The Purple Rose of Cairo

Trapped in a loveless marriage and a dead-end job, a pensive young woman (Mia Farrow) finds escape in cinema. Though the Great Depression is raging, and her no-good husband isn’t working, she still squirrels away enough loose change to attend weekly shows at the theater across the street. There, ninety minutes at a time, she lives vicariously through all the eccentric types on-screen, marveling at the wonders that seem to never grace her own life. That is, until a supporting character in the latest release (Jeff Daniels) meets her gaze, recognizes their kinship, steps through the screen and sweeps her off her feet. That sudden, fantastical twist opens The Purple Rose of Cairo to all sorts of interesting possibilities. Farrow and Daniels connect right away, sharing a sweet demeanor and warm, whimsical spirit that’s easy to fall for. Theirs is a puppy sort of love, charming and pure, and it’s a delight to see them together. Their connection, however, leaves conundrums in its wake. As abandoned cast mates fret and complain on the big screen, puzzling audiences while they listlessly await their prodigal son's return, the associated Hollywood brass worries over negative publicity. Things get especially tangled when the actor behind the role jets into town, trying his very best to convince his wayward counterpart to get back to work for the sake of career prospects. There are everyday quandaries, too, like the prop dollars in the fictional man’s wallet or his surprise at the lack of an orchestral swell and transitional fade-out when the kissing and petting gets heavy. Little notes that quickly remind us how surreal and unfamiliar this moment is, for everyone involved. Writer/director Woody Allen works this idea for plenty of humor - well-timed, thoughtful goofs - but also a heaping helping of heart. Allen’s punchlines don’t stretch or push; they arise organically, deliver their sting and retreat before overstaying their welcome. His metaphors, likewise, aren’t difficult to spot, but that doesn’t make them any less meaningful. We’re constantly reminded that cinematic realities are naïve and insincere, emotional manipulations that are always too good to be true, but we keep believing this one might just endure. That’s the beauty **** film: a special kind of magic that can fill our heart and help us forget whatever was troubling us before the curtains split. Alas, all films have fixed running times, and in the end we’re always let back out into the world’s harsh light, squinting and stiff but maybe a little different inside. This is a beautiful film from any perspective. As a simple, far-out love story, it clicks and moves. As a silly, conceptual fit of fancy, it amuses and surprises. And, as an allegory for its own medium’s seductive lure, it hits the nail right on the head. I wasn't prepared to love this like I did. Allen anticipates, and surpasses, the themes that were a little more celebrated in 1988's Cinema Paradiso.

A tribute to cinema within cinema, to remind us what films are for: to evade reality for a moment, to admire and identify ourselves with the characters. A Woody Allen signature love letter.