Woody Allen needs to stop piddling around with relationship trifles like Rifkin’s Festival and make a movie that metaphorically grapples with the one great tragedy of his life — an alleged episode that happened nearly 30 years ago and is still hovering.
He needs to write a Crimes and Misdemeanors-level drama that might resemble David Mamet‘s Oleanna or Roman Polanski‘s J’Accuse, or might not resemble either of these. But he has to come to grips with the wokester mob in dramatic terms.
Make it a murder thing perhaps — a possibly innocent middle-aged guy appears to be guilty of murdering an ex-wife or ex-girlfriend. Or maybe an ex-business partner. Circumstantial evidence accumulates and he’s eventually charged and prosecuted. Maybe he goes to jail or maybe he gets off. Or maybe we learn at the last moment that he’s guilty. Something along those lines.
Allen has addressed the Farrow fiction in his autobiography, but it needs to be used for dramatic fodder.