One of the most prolific director/writers in the business, Woody Allen has been coming out with movies every year since 1965. Often similar in theme, filled with literary and cultural references, and almost always set in New York, Woody Allen has developed nearly a cult following—perhaps composed of a lot of "left-wing, communist, Jewish, homosexual pornographers." Actually, I'm kidding there (see Annie Hall for this reference), but Allen's faithful fans are likely to come from open-minded intellectuals who can relate to the relationship angst that his characters often explore.

Since Allen often acts in his own movies, his screen persona as an angst-ridden, neurotic New Yorker has become a trademark character. And the way the Woodman addresses the camera directly makes it seem that he's using his films as therapy. Perhaps he's continually working on expressing his artistic vision perfectly, since it's such a hard thing to accomplish. Nah—if that was true, Allen could have retired from making films in 1977 after making Annie Hall. Not only is it his best film, it comes as close to perfection as any comedy created in the twentieth century.

Amazingly, in the same year as Star Wars, the Academy—even recognized Allen's genius with four Oscar wins: Best Picture, Best Director (Allen), Best Actress (Diane Keaton), and Best Original Screenplay (Allen and Marshall Brickman). That doesn't mean the Academy actually understood all of Allen's references (very few of them have seen Bergman or Fellini or have read Beowulf), but they were able to relate to his character or became fascinated with his creative experiments with storytelling.

As dazzling as Lucas' special effects are, Allen pulls out the stops with some niftier transitions to link his vignettes that analyze his past relationships with women throughout Annie Hall. The variety of narrative devices that Allen incorporates alone make this a landmark comedy'flashbacks to childhood while inserting adults, split screen juxtapositions, animation tie-ins, and some hilarious subtitles to interpret what is going through the minds of Annie and Alvy during their initial encounter.

Told in stream of consciousness style, Alvy Singer (Allen in his autobiographical role as a Brooklyn comedian/writer) talks directly to us and tells how he and Annie (Keaton) have just broken up. For a man who has been in therapy for 15 years and thinks that life is "divided up into the horrible and the miserable," the idea of sorting through this relationship is quite natural and rewarding experience—as we've all been there.

That Allen explores relationships with such humorous insights is no surprise, but he's never been better. Allen continually jabs at the same familiar subjects of his other films—life, death, anti-Semitism, the superiority of life and culture in New York City. Likewise, he ridicules himself, pseudo-intellectuals, and relationships in general in nonstop fashion with a great deal of depth—all softened by constant humor. But while the subject matter feels familiar, Allen presents it with such creativity and sensitivity that it all feels fresh.

Like Pygmalion, the neurotic Alvy attempts to improve Annie with compliments, gifts of books (about death, mostly), exposure to foreign films (especially repeated viewing of The Sorrow and the Pity), enrollment in adult education classes, and therapy sessions. We see Annie blossom from a tentative singer to a more confident one, and from a relatively passive woman who relies on expressions like "La-di-da, la-di-da, la la" to an assertive soul who reads The New Republic for a different viewpoint and strikes out on her own to California.

Meanwhile we witness Alvy deteriorate from mentor to desperate and jealous lover, a man who begins to contradict himself when Annie finds other male friendships. In one of many great juxtapositions, a past scene shows Alvy encouraging Annie to take adult education courses to meet "wonderful interesting professors," and then in a more recent scene Alvy tells her, "Adult education is such junk. The professors are so phony. How can you do it?"

These vignettes all work flawlessly because the two lead actors play off each other so well. The timing is incredible, and there is a real give and take between Keaton and Allen. In one of many favorite scenes, I am convinced that the two actors are ad-libbing. Watch the famous "lobster" scene and the verbal exchange. Keaton goes into such total hysterics, that I'm sure she's not acting here—it's far too natural! There are so many other scenes that make Annie Hall one of the most quotable movies in the past 50 years, and scenes that are brilliantly funny. To describe them in too much detail would be a disservice.

Contrasts between Annie and Alvy develop as the film unfolds. While Annie tunes into emotions, Alvy intellectualizes—he can't even tell Annie that he "loves" her without fumbling over the pronunciation of the word. Later, the contrasts between New York City and California symbolize the differences between the two. Longtime promoter of the cultural superiority of New York City, Allen spoofs the lifestyle of California—with its sunny Christmas among the palms, references to cults with a visual of a theater playing House of Exorcism and Messiah of Evil, and parties where Hollywood types talk about "giving meeting" or make a phone call because they forgot their mantra. Of course Annie likes California and uses the city metaphor to level some valid criticism:

Alvy, you're incapable of enjoying life, you know that? I mean you're like New York City. You're just this person. You're like this island unto yourself.

Woman: Uh, I'm very shallow and empty and I have no ideas and nothing interesting to say.
Man: And I'm exactly the same way.

Seems like old times
Dinner dates and flowers
Old times, staying up all hours
Making dreams come true
Doing things we used to do
Seems like old times
Here with you.