Take the Money and Run was one of the first mockumentaries to be widely released. Again and again we go back to the parents' talking heads and their Groucho Marx masks, because they are so ashamed of their son's crimes that they dare not show their faces. This is, like Ebert notes, mildly funny the first time and less so with each revisit as they continually bicker and fight (one notable exception is when the narrator interrupts them himself and orders them to get to the point - a sure jab at the tendency for many of these talking heads to waffle on and on). Another aspect of the mockumentary is the brooding voice- over narration that is full of self-seriousness and self-importance. It presents Virgil as an infamous outlaw, not quite Bonnie and Clyde, but nevertheless iconic enough to have a documentary made about his life and crimes. Throughout the film, we keep expecting that the story will build to some monumental, historical point, some crazed crime of infamy, but it doesn't. The story is like his life; a deflated, missed punchline.
Most stories have the protagonists wavering from their morality and considering breaking bad and descending into a life of crime, if only to survive. Virgil is not like most protagonists. He does the opposite - so many times he is nearly tempted to go straight, to give up crime and find a nice, honest job. Suffice to say he fails at that too. A lot of the film's comedy is drawn from Allen's stand- up tendencies. So as the jokes come thick and fast we have less interesting visuals on the screen. That is not to say that they are not funny. One of his bank robberies fails because his handwriting is too messy and the characters debate endlessly on his real meaning - he is then told to go through the proper bank hold-up procedures. His spars with his wife are particularly inspired; one argument mixes the usual domestic pains (laundry mix-ups, hogging the bathroom) with the occasion of a big group score. Another has him innocently desiring a tie instead of a newborn child. In a classic bait and switch, Virgil falls head over heels in love with her at first sight, and then decides not to rob her, in that exact order.
And there are humorous visual gags too. A favourite of Virgil's is to fiddle endlessly with Louise's clothes, but never successfully remove them (one instance has him stage a blow by blow re-enactment of the usual wordless romantic surprise from behind). An early one throws him, a seated cello player, into a marching band, fighting the ever probing urge of whether to play another note or keep dragging his chair along. Poor Virgil. His music mentor recounts that he could not even become proficient at the instrument: "He blew into it". This is pretty damning if you are playing the trumpet or clarinet, and absolutely catastrophic if you are playing the cello. There is an extended gag where Virgil is chained up with several other prisoners; this makes for many funny situations, particularly as they shuffle forwards and waddle around trying to appease a policeman, who tells them to each check a different window in the house, and as Virgil tries to have a private conversation with his wife. Try as he like, Virgil cannot seem to get away from his destiny.
Most stories have the protagonists wavering from their morality and considering breaking bad and descending into a life of crime, if only to survive. Virgil is not like most protagonists. He does the opposite - so many times he is nearly tempted to go straight, to give up crime and find a nice, honest job. Suffice to say he fails at that too. A lot of the film's comedy is drawn from Allen's stand- up tendencies. So as the jokes come thick and fast we have less interesting visuals on the screen. That is not to say that they are not funny. One of his bank robberies fails because his handwriting is too messy and the characters debate endlessly on his real meaning - he is then told to go through the proper bank hold-up procedures. His spars with his wife are particularly inspired; one argument mixes the usual domestic pains (laundry mix-ups, hogging the bathroom) with the occasion of a big group score. Another has him innocently desiring a tie instead of a newborn child. In a classic bait and switch, Virgil falls head over heels in love with her at first sight, and then decides not to rob her, in that exact order.
And there are humorous visual gags too. A favourite of Virgil's is to fiddle endlessly with Louise's clothes, but never successfully remove them (one instance has him stage a blow by blow re-enactment of the usual wordless romantic surprise from behind). An early one throws him, a seated cello player, into a marching band, fighting the ever probing urge of whether to play another note or keep dragging his chair along. Poor Virgil. His music mentor recounts that he could not even become proficient at the instrument: "He blew into it". This is pretty damning if you are playing the trumpet or clarinet, and absolutely catastrophic if you are playing the cello. There is an extended gag where Virgil is chained up with several other prisoners; this makes for many funny situations, particularly as they shuffle forwards and waddle around trying to appease a policeman, who tells them to each check a different window in the house, and as Virgil tries to have a private conversation with his wife. Try as he like, Virgil cannot seem to get away from his destiny.