Alice has a gnawing emptiness inside. A yearning for something she knows not what. A feeling that she has not lived the life that she had thought she would lead.
But we look at her life and wonder what does she have to complain about?
She is rich, with a large house, full of servants at her beck and call. Chauffeur driven cars. A fine marriage with a dutiful, faithful, loving husband. Growing children. A rich, social life, full of parties and banquets and gatherings.
What is eating Alice Tate? After all, starting off from a middle class background in a small, provincial, American town, she could have hardly hoped to do better than where she was? Why is then happiness so elusive for her? Why do her compromises and longings seem so familiar to us?
She finds and goes to meet a Tibetan 'medicine man' in his quaint little clinic, who helps Alice to unravel her whole life, bit by bit. How he helps her recover the self that was long buried inside her, and corrects the lies that made up her persona, forms the meat of the movie.
And we watch enthralled as to how our deepest emotions are laid bare with such deft lightness of touch. Woody Allen lends his magical words and lens to the tale of this everywoman with great empathy and humour, and renders a fantastic, comic, movie.
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