Woody Allen has never made a movie appreciably better than 'Hannah.' It may not be his single best (an honor I reserve for 'Manhattan'), but it's on the shortest of short lists.
My favorite moment in the movie, and maybe Allen's most insightful ever, is when neurotic Mickey (played by Allen) bursts out of the hospital, having just learned that he is cancer-free. He leaps and bounds down the street, joy overflowing, until, suddenly, he stops, paralyzed with a newly imagined anxiety. Yes, Mickey was delievered from cancer, but he wasn't delivered from himself. You could look long and hard and never discover another ten seconds of filmmaking that better capture what it means to be human. Life's vicissitudes alternately beat us down and lift us up, but in the end, we always revert to ourselves.
When Woody Allen is at his best, you can't help but feel he's writing about *your* life, or something very close to it. Who hasn't experienced Holly's rejection in romance, Frederick's anguish and regret over squandering a relationship, Elliot's clumsy giddiness as he falls in love, Mickey's obsessive anxiety about death? There's a recognizable moment from my experience in almost every scene.
'Hannah and Her Sisters' also boasts Allen's single-best-ever soundtrack. I dare you to watch this movie and not tap your foot. The soundtrack is not available on CD, so that's one more reason to crack open the DVD for the dozenth time.
If you haven't seen 'Hannah and Her Sisters,' now's the time. If you have, it can't hurt to revisit a bona-fide classic.