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First the comedy: despite himself, Woody Allen seems to have created an affecting movie with an interesting premise and a stellar dual performance by Radha Mitchell as the title character (do I smell an Oscar nomination?).
The film poses an interesting cinematic question: can any story be both a tragedy and comedy, depending on how you look at it? In both fashions, a woman (Melinda) barrels her way into her old circle of friends and begins a doomed love affair with a jazz musician, sending irreparable aftershocks through their lives. On paper this sounds interesting: the same basic story is given comic and tragic treatments. You’re getting two movies for the price of one, right? Wrong.
The tragedy: after 30-some-odd movies, Allen’s plot mechanisms and supporting characters seem shopworn. The comic and tragic treatments of this story don’t add up to even half a story. Moreover, some actors are blatantly miscast. For instance, in the tragedy, Chloë Sevigny assails us as a Park Avenue socialite. One almost expects her to snap, “As if!” or “Whatever!” The comedic treatment of the same story merits mention only for its strained, empty humor. Try as hard as the actors may, it’s a comedy that’s not funny. Will Ferrell, who is adept at channeling the Woody Allen character (looking back on Allen’s body of work, a passable Allen impersonation appears to be the main job requirement for an actor in his movies). Unfortunately, Ferrell has little to work with. The writing lacks the wit and sparkle of Allen’s Annie Hall or even the more recent Bullets Over Broadway.
Judging by the tepid romantic comedy half of the film, Melinda makes an infinitely better—and even intermittently affecting—tragedy. Mitchell, also playing the tragic Melinda, forces the viewer to care about her plight, despite the character’s manifold flaws. She taps into a fundamental human desire—to have some “magic” in one’s life—and finds the disappointment and rage that follows its absence.
Allen uses an intrusive framing device for the movie: a group of friends at a restaurant debate whether the fictional Melinda’s situation is material for a comedy or tragedy. The framing device feels superfluously intellectual, and it subtly undercuts any growing empathy for the characters (one may think, “If the whole thing is made up, why should we care about these people?”). Had the movie been told straight, via alternating comedic/tragic versions of the trouble-prone Melinda’s life (and with different supporting actors), the film might have been infinitely more challenging and, dare I say, a masterpiece. As is, Melinda and Melinda holds no mystery—nor the magic that the characters desperately yearn for.
