It’s not terrible. It’s fine. … Afforded this reader a few hollow chuckles ... Some missing commas and odd misspellings ... Reading What’s With Baum? is not unlike going for a pleasant stroll in Washington Square Park and then stepping in doggy doo ... Oy! But this is Woody Allen: Even kneecapped by the entertainment industry, he rises to knock out an impish piece of autumn prose as others might a game of pickleball.
There’s no real need for What’s With Baum? to exist as a book, though it is reasonably well-written, diverting enough for a few hours ... Sloppy and repetitive; the plot tips over into silliness quite often and none of its strands are resolved wholly satisfactorily ... The weakest part… is the anachronistic feeling throughout ... It’s hard to know what to make of What’s With Baum? ... Woody Allen is an inimitable genius who can do whatever he likes. On the other hand, again, it doesn’t feel particularly necessary or vital… or much of anything, really.
Allen is a comedian at heart – and it works if you want to live inside Woody Allen’s head. His minor characters are stereotypes, but his own is filled out, another fretful journey to the parts of himself he can reach ... Allen fans will enjoy it, and I did; Allen haters will not; the disinterested will be baffled.
