Recently, I spoke about Interiors, and how this movement towards more dramatic material wasn’t only a remarkable change of pace for Woody Allen, but started a second-act of a career that was previously defined by off-the-wall comedy. This was his first foray into solely serious storytelling, and while he has often revisited this kind of low-key, quiet method of filmmaking, Allen has always been a comedic mind – so it only makes sense that the 1980s was filled with films that combine both his penchant for humour, and more achingly beautiful stories of the human condition. Some of the films are forthright comedies, others veer more towards the dramatic – but the one film from this era that defines the best of both is Broadway Danny Rose, the director’s wonderful love letter to the entertainment industry. There is an argument to be made about this film being Allen’s finest work, since while it may not be his most profound narrative, nor his funniest production, it instead entails everything that made him such an important filmmaker. It is a sleek, entertaining comedy with a lot of heart, and a depth that many may not expect from something with this premise. Allen has always had a tendency to surprise us, showing himself as a filmmaker who doesn’t rest on his laurels – and while some may consider this one of his lesser efforts by virtue of the fact that it doesn’t seem like much of a departure from the broad comedies he made in the first half of his career, Broadway Danny Rose gradually unveils itself as a much more complex film than we’d expect based on a surface-level analysis. Entertaining, funny and filled with an earnest humour that shows the director using comedy with restraint (as opposed to his earlier work, which were defined by outrageous scenarios), Broadway Danny Rose is a total triumph, and a remarkable work from a director who was capable of a lot more than people give him credit for, especially when he touches on some very profound issues.

The role of Danny Rose is one tailor-made for someone with Allen’s sensibilities (which should be incredibly obvious, since he cast himself in the role). Some may consider this a vanity project – after all, the vast majority of Allen’s earlier films found the director taking on the lead roles, often acting across from any of the beautiful and talented young actresses that captured his heart. His muse in this film is Mia Farrow, who is turning in one of her finest performances. Some of Farrow’s greatest work came under Allen’s direction, since he saw something in her that not many others directors have been able to capture, a complexity that lurks underneath her delicate, unforgettable veneer. Playing the roles of a luckless theatrical agent, and the feisty mob moll who inadvertently puts him in danger, Allen and Farrow are incredible – their chemistry is absolutely impeccable, and they find themselves turning in some of their greatest work, which is unsurprising, considering how dedicated they both were to the premise. Nick Apollo Forte rounds out the core cast as the down-on-his-luck lounge singer who is managed by Allen’s character, who assures him that he is on the precipice of stardom, conveniently neglecting the fact that he actually isn’t all that talented. There’s an earnestness to these performances that will surprise many people, and Allen once again proves that he doesn’t only write remarkable roles for himself – he’s excellent, but it’s really Farrow and Forte who steal every scene they’re in, turning in complex performances that appear to be a lot more than just thinly-composed stereotypes. They were certainly formed from the fabric of commonplace characters, but its Allen’s impeccable writing, and the deep commitment from his actors, that elevate the material and single-handedly make it worthwhile.

This isn’t a typical comedy that is populated by archetypes – these characters may be eccentric, but they have a lot of depth to them, which is brought out in the fact that, lingering beneath the hilarious comedic situations in which the characters find themselves, Broadway Danny Rose is actually quite a melancholy film, with an undercurrent of achingly beautiful yearning underpinning much of the film. There is certainly a subset of the audience that truly adore this film, and it’s often one of the underdog contenders when discussing Allen’s best work – but what differentiates Broadway Danny Rose from his more traditional efforts is how subtle it is – the comedy is clear, but it’s all contrasted with a kind of quiet sadness. Danny Rose is a quirky character, but he’s not someone who comes across as being entirely unrealistic – Allen constructs him as a desperate man who finds himself in hilarious situations, rather than the other way around. Every one of these characters comes across as meaningful, particularly because of how they start off as thinly-veiled stereotypes, but evolve into much more complex individuals. It’s all part of Allen’s evolution as a filmmaker – this isn’t the first time his films have been more character-based, but it is one of the more clear examples of the collision between style and substance on both sides of the spectrum. The comedy in this film is very potent, and has this distinct sensation that we got when seeing an Allen film – the humour is rapid-fire, and it takes multiple viewings to capture all the jokes. Through taking what he knows he has perfected (almost to the point where his movement towards dramatic subject matter could be seen as Allen challenging himself to try something entirely new), and contrasting this with a more heartfelt story of individuality, we get a truly exceptional comedy with as much soul as it has entertaining humour.

Considering there isn’t much to the story, outside of it being a case of mistaken identity resulting in a series of increasingly strange misadventures, the film leaves a lot of space open for experimentation, and as we see in the final moments, it reaches such a stunning apex where the comedic foundation served as a means to fully express the underlying drama, which shows that this film was essentially about nothing more than a lonely man trying to find his way through the world, and realizing the importance of valuing himself as opposed to only focusing on his clients. It makes those final moments, where he leaves them behind and instead pursues the woman who has captured his heart, all the more bittersweet. It makes the framing device of the film (a group of entertainment figures sit in a deli and reminisce about this infamous man known as Danny Rose) all the more interesting, since it allows the film to take the form of a fable, where the titular character is constructed as some folkloric figure, someone whose valiant efforts to master his craft resulted in him becoming heroic in his field. Tonally, it’s difficult to describe exactly how Allen constructs the film – it is very funny, but there’s a lot of surprising depth to it, whereby he’s watering down the purely comedic and trying something very new. It has a similar approach to his pastiche to Federico Fellini from a few years earlier, the marvellous Stardust Memories, where the humour complements the drama, and vice versa, which is a common pattern that we can observe in much of the director’s output in the 1980s. It gives Broadway Danny Rose a mystical quality, where we are constantly enchanted by the unconventional approach to telling this story about a peculiar man who we shouldn’t love, but have no choice but to adore based on how meaningful the connection is between the character and the audience.

Allen is often defined by two major factors when it comes to making films – his comedic sensibilities and his prolific rate of producing films. However, he rarely gets widespread credit for actually being a remarkable filmmaker who didn’t only just make entertaining films, but also very meaningful ones. His forays into drama are not novelties, but rather carefully-constructed experimentations with form and content, and whether gravely serious, as in the case of films like Interiors and Another Woman, or charged with a very distinct brand of off-kilter humour, as in the present film, Allen continuously proved himself as a master of his craft. Broadway Danny Rose is such a delight – it’s an easygoing film that has a lot of peculiar humour, but an even bigger sense of heartfulness. It is compassionate about its characters (it would’ve been so easy for the notoriously self-deprecating director to play the titular role as the epitome of pitiful and pathetic), and immerses us in their world – the black-and-white photography is absolutely stunning, and the storytelling devices may not be entirely original, but are still remarkably well-used in the context of this film, almost to the point where it seems like Allen is reinventing this kind of framing device. It’s a charming oscillation between broad, vaudeville-inspired comedy, and a touching romance, and it’s in this beautiful tonal balance that the director showcases his ability to work within multiple genres at the same time. Broadway Danny Rose is undeniably in the upper-echelons of Allen’s long and varied career, if not for the fact that it is a fascinating experiment that shows Allen both doing what he does best, as well as taking a few risks, for its ability to just be a charming, hilarious comedy with a lot of meaningful humour, and an even bigger heart, which only makes it even more of an accomplishment.