Fun
Frisky
Nostalgic
Intense
Adventurous
Choked Up
Curious
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Celebrating its thirtieth anniversary this weekend is Hannah and Her Sisters, Woody Allen‘s 1986 Oscar-winning ensemble starring Barbara Hershey, Dianne West, and Mia Farrow as sisters Lee, Holly, and Hannah.
The relationship dramedy follows thirtysomething-year-old Manhattanites whose professional and personal lives begin to come apart at the seams when Hannah’s husband, Elliot (Michael Caine) falls for her sister, Lee. Also starring Carrie Fischer, Sam Waterston, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, John Turturro, and Woody Allen as Hannah’s successful but cripplingly neurotic ex-husband, Mickey; the ensemble is a witty, winding love letter to New York and the city’s notorious “anything can happen” reputation. Scored by big band staples and narrated by each of the main players, Hannah and Her Sisters takes on a whimsical vibe that juxtaposes its rather melancholy plot, which is shaped by the abandonment of those who simply can’t cope with the idea of “Till death do us part.”
The film, which transcends its ’80s time capsule of bad hair and dirt cheap taxi rides, holds up to the nature of today’s commitment-phobic urbanite explorations. While some could argue Allen helped lay the foundation for mega ensemble rom-coms like He’s Just Not That Into You and Love Actually, the prolific writer and director also helped define the groundwork for modern metropolis muses like Bored to Death, Girls, and perhaps most recently, Master of None on Netflix. And while creators Jonathan Ames, Lena Dunham, and Aziz Ansari may not directly credit Allen as an influence (it’s a touchy subject, of course), the DNA of Hannah and Her Sisters remains one of Gens X and Y’s most indirectly referenced inspirations: being an relentlessly insatiable New Yorker.
Though we see the struggle for the pursuit of happiness in Jonathan Ames (portrayed by Jason Schwartzman), Hannah Horvath (Dunham), and Dev Shah (Ansari), there’s a palpable sense of dissatisfaction among these protagonists, as well as their inner circles, even when they’re all supposedly at their “best.” This is a resounding theme in Allen’s Hannah and Her Sisters, whose main characters are all wildly successful for their ages, but also innately miserable. Despite Allen’s pattern for depicting the plight of society’s white, nerdy upper-middle class; the generational spillover is undeniable.
If you recently binged through Master of None, you remember that Dev — a struggling but savvy and resilient actor — spends most of his days scrolling through food-finder and dating apps while mulling over his place in the world. A what-does-it-all-mean narrative shapes each of the ten critically-acclaimed episodes without ever really answering. At the end of Season One — spoiler alert — we see Dev throw caution to the wind and board a plane to Italy to pursue his foodie dream of making pasta from scratch. Yet there’s still that lingering feeling that he is and will continue to be unhappy in his decisions, no matter where they take him. And it’s really as simple as that: some people need all the answers and upon never having all the answers, remain in this unsatisfactory emotional purgatory that’s not quite depression, but certainly isn’t glee. New York City, for decades, has all but welcomed these types. These creative soul-searchers caught up in the grind, trying to find the meaning of it all.
Allen started this and Hannah and Her Sisters was among the first to really convey it: nuanced misery through comedy. How even though nothing is actually wrong per se, it all feels fickle and incomplete and, well, comically pathetic — as if we’re all just waiting for a crowd to tell us to get the hell over ourselves and be thankful we’re walking around. Allen, the unofficial original master of none, has been keeping in tune with his insufferable yet endearing neuroses for the last thirty years and, alas, it’s become a genre all its own. But if you want to see where it all began, revisit Hannah and Her Sisters. Hysterical, honest, and incredibly acted: it’s a fiercely witty, unforgivably vain romantic dramedy that truly stands the test of time.
