Scrawnier men. Women in trousers. Snark as sex appeal. Intelligence as an asexual quality.
This would be the legacy of iconic film director Woody Allen (in addition to his films themselves, of course). In addition to creating what may be some of the most sarcastic films ever created (they include phrases like 'the gallery of the overrated,' for Pete's sake), Allen was a pioneer of androgynous culture from the 1970s onward. The works he wrote and directed introduced the idea that androgyny can not only be acceptable in modern society, but sexually desirous. For a community just coming out of the gender-queering days of the '60s, Allen's works gave androgyny a fresh new appeal.
The main film I'm speaking of, of course, of the classic film Annie Hall. This film documents the romance between a singer (the frequent Andy-Jean-playing Diane Keaton) and a struggling neurotic writer (played by Allen himself). Diane's character wears both suits and dresses, becoming more and more strong and self-assured in her own personal identity as the film goes on. She is a breath of fresh air from the much more feminine past love interests of Allen's character. Her uniqueness is what makes her enigmatic, and is part of why men are drawn to her. Ask any woman what they remember most from Annie Hall, and they'll likely say Diane Keaton's wardrobe.
This same symbol of the androgynous woman continues in Manhattan, widely considered one of Allen's greatest works. It was actually selected for preservation in the United States Library of Congress because it was considered significant to the curltual significance in that country. When you watch this film, you're immediately drawn to the unique black-and-white shots and the unabashedly urban aesthetic. But you also can't take you eyes off Diane Keaton. The lady works trousers like none of her male coworkers. Even when she has her long hair poofing out, she displays a kind of masculine strength that comes only from being an Allen heroine.
Last summer, I was delighted to see Allen continue to feature androgynous women in Midnight in Paris. The main character's love interest is a flapper. Like a genuine flapper—not afraid to sound intelligent, not afraid to talk about sex. Compare her to the main character's fiancee, a pretty unpleasant but also pretty heterotypical woman. I'm not for bashing heterotypical people here, but it's a pretty bold move in Hollywood to make the stereotypically "perfect" woman lose the guy to the Andy Jean.
Allen has also done wonders for the male androgynous identity throughout his career. By creating characters that were emotional, fallible and even artistic, he opened the door for more open, caring male character to enter Hollywood movies. Without him, we probably wouldn't have characters like Peter Bretter in Forgetting Sarah Marshall. He himself often played nervous men, never hiding from his non-stereotypically-"manly" physique. Allen's character's were proof that men could be a little vulnerable, a little fallible, a little "femme," the world wouldn't implode. Just listen to his monologue from Hannah and Her Sisters:
"I was sitting there frozen with the gun to my head, debating whether to shoot... All of a sudden the gun went off. I had been so tense my finger squeezed the trigger inadvertently. But I was perspiring so much the gun had slid off my forehead and missed me...And I just knew one thing: I had to get out of that house. I had to just get out in the fresh air and clear my head. I remember very clearly I walked the streets, I walked and I walked I didn't know what was going through my mind, it all seemed so violent and unreal to me. I wandered for a long time on the upper west side, it must have been hours. My feet hurt, my head was pounding, and I had to sit down I went into a movie house. I didn't know what was playing or anything I just needed a moment to gather my thoughts and be logical and put the world back into rational perspective. And I went upstairs to the balcony, and I sat down, and the movie was a film that I'd seen many times in my life since I was a kid, and I always loved it. I'm watching these people up on the screen and I started getting hooked on the film. I started to feel, how can you even think of killing yourself, I mean isn't it so stupid. Look at all the people up there on the screen, they're real funny, and what if the worst is true. What if there is no God and you only go around once and that's it. Well, ya know, don't you wanna be part of the experience?"
I chose to conclude the Andy Heroes with Mr. Allen to illustrate a point: You don't have to identify as Andy Jean to encourage androgynous people to be themselves. It's just like being an ally to any LGBT identity. By putting androgyny into his movies (and into the cultural subconscious of America), Woody Allen's works made the idea of androgyny less of a scary idea and more of one of exotic beauty. But beyond sex appeal, Woody Allen's androgynous characters are multifaceted. They're not afraid to be vulnerable or strong, depending on the situation. They're just people. Mixed bags of masculine and feminine aspects, just trying to make sense of themselves in the world. Andy Jeans.
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