Whenever the topic of Woody Allen’s output in the 1980s inevitably comes up, the devotees and general admirers of the director and his work doubtlessly will mention how this decade represented a seismic shift for the esteemed filmmaker. Following on from the more profound, dramatic material he produced at the tail-end of the 1970s, with films like Manhattan and Interiors proving that the notably eccentric comedian had a lot more nuance lurking behind those mischievous, neurotic eyes. The decade that would follow was not only his most experimental, but the period in which he did arguably his finest work – whether comedy or drama, Allen was constantly producing work of an exceptionally high quality, absolutely none of the several films he produced around this time being a failure, at least not in traditional terms (not even his notoriously middling September could be considered all that bad). However, some of them are better known than others, and my recent intention has been to unearth some of the less well-regarded works, placing them alongside the canonical classics – and the more I think about it, the more convinced I am that Radio Days is one of Allen’s greatest works, at least in terms of his more small-scale output. It certainly has its admirers, especially amongst fans of the director – but even viewing it in isolation of the small but devoted following it has amassed, it’s easy to see why this is one of his most interesting films, with the story being one that clearly meant a lot to the director, whose filmmaking is crisp, precise and as beautifully intricate as anything else he produced around this time. Radio Days has many merits, all of which go back to the fact that Allen was perpetually engaging with very simple stories on a much deeper level than we’d expect, leading to nuanced and multilayered films with as much heart as they have humour.

Undeniably, Radio Days is one of Allen’s most personal films, which is barely surprising considering how the story centres on a young Jewish-American boy growing up in the mean streets of Brooklyn in the 1940s, caught in the awkward space between the Great Depression and the United States’ entry into the Second World War (how could we expect someone whose early childhood was bookended by these two events to not grow up and become arguably one of the greatest comedic minds of his or any generation?). Allen has never been afraid to represent himself on screen – the first half of his career saw the director placing himself front and centre in a range of films across numerous genres, each of his characters being drawn from his own peculiar neuroses – and even when he decided to start bringing in younger actors to start portraying his main protagonists, they still remained surrogates, functioning as figures on which the director was intent on exploring his personal quandaries. Radio Days is slightly different – the protagonist of the film is still very much based on Allen, but instead of being a film centred on his life, it focuses more on the people that surrounded the director when he was growing up. This employs a sprawling cast of recognizable actors, many of them only appear for a scene or two, not even really being the focus of any scene, outside of a few core characters that persist throughout the film. Such a structure would be a challenge for a lesser director, but Allen rises to the many obstacles that stood in his way, capturing the spirit of life as working-class Jewish-Americans in the 1940s, and doing so with poise and sophistication, which is often a quality that frequently appears in Allen’s films, but yet isn’t often discussed as widely as some of the more overt elements that define his career.

It’s a fascinating experiment, and it helps that Allen is fully invested in telling this story in a way that is honest, rather than going for the low-hanging fruit. There is a version of Radio Days that is an irreverent farce filled to the brim with hilarity and slapstick humour – but it takes a lot more work to make something that touches on a few serious issues, while remaining very funny at the same time. The humour is a lot more subdued and earnest, and the director ensures that every moment feels authentic – after all, this is his childhood that is being portrayed here. It has certainly become vogue for directors to make films that are thinly-veiled visual memoirs of their upbringing, especially in recent years. However, considering Radio Days was made several decades before the likes of Roma and Belfast, it is something of an early pioneering work, at least in terms of being very much in direct reference to his own childhood (the fact that Allen narrates the film is the most obvious hint towards its roots in reality). Much like one of his idols, the director is drawing inspiration from Federico Fellini, who made a few films that looked into his early life, with Amarcord in particular being cited as a major influence on Radio Days, insofar as they’re both charming, reflective comedies with large ensemble casts and a tone drawn from the combination of artistic curiosity and deep longing for the past. Naturally, Allen takes this inspiration and merges it with his own style, forming a very unique and endearing comedy that never takes itself too seriously, while still being a love letter to a bygone era, one that he clearly feels a deep fondness towards – I think we can all relate to the feeling of missing the “good old days”, even if we mostly view them through rose-tinted glasses, which can be a comfort, even if its the product of intentionally endearing delusion.

If there is one weakness to Radio Days, it would probably be that Allen isn’t entirely sure of the story he wants to tell. He certainly does have an intention for the film as a whole, forming a family saga around the shared appreciation for the heyday of American radio as arguably the nation’s most notable form of entertainment at the time. However, the narrative itself lacks a distinct point of view – you’d initially think the character of Joe, as played by a young Seth Green, would be the logical protagonist, since he is standing in for the director – but outside of being the perspective through the which most of the events are filtered, he’s not developed enough to be a particularly complex character. In fact, none of these characters are – many of them have terrific moments, but the film leaps between them so fast, and with such regularity, that it’s sometimes difficult to put a saddle on a single character, since the nature of the story is one that refuses to settle on one concept for too long. However, this is all part of the charm of the film – not being able to find a distinct point of view is actually a very effective choice, since it forms a tapestry of life in a particular place during a specific era, where there were many intersecting voices. We’re not given a single narrative, but rather a myriad of small fragments into the lives of a wide range of characters, thrown together in a way that seems chaotic at first, but actually becomes quite endearing as the film progresses. It helps that Allen’s writing has rarely been better – the words flow through this film like poetry, and the musicality of the director’s writing being truly delightful, and serving as the source of some of his funniest jokes, and most heartbreaking observations.

The best way to look at Radio Days would be as a mosaic, a series of moments placed carefully together by a director committed to telling the story of his own childhood through the lens of a very tender and meaningful comedy. The film finds nuance in the most unexpected places – there aren’t any overly dramatic moments, and it doesn’t follow a coherent storyline, working as many small fragments into the lives of several characters over the course of about a year. The historical context works alongside the more personal aspects of the story, complementing it and grounding the film within a particular moment, which allows Allen to reminisce on his upbringing without needing to spend too much time setting the scene. Radio Days is a beautiful film, one that is driven less by comedy and more by a sense of melancholy, which is essentially just the culmination of the director’s nostalgic feelings for the early 1940s. It’s odd that Allen, a notoriously self-deprecating bundle of neuroses and social anxieties, would make a film that is mainly very positive about the social milieu in which he grew up – but he’s clearly really fond of the experiences he garnered during that period, and channels it into this absolutely endearing series of vignettes that alternate between hilarious and heartfelt, the comedy being infused with a much-needed dose of reality that lends the film the necessary gravitas to function. It’s a small, intimate film that proves that, even when working on a relatively more personal scale, Allen has mastered his craft, to the point where it’s simply impossible to resist the unconventional charms of this delightful but meaningful coming-of-age story.