Woody, It Might Be Time to Go Out to Pasture...

Rating: 1/10 (24 August 2006)

A problematic film for long-time Woody Allen fans.
Essentially, this is the Hallmark card version of Crimes and Misdemeanors (via An American Tragedy, A Place in the Sun, Room at the Top and many others) which provides as much sustenance as gorging on angel-food cake. There are so many miscalculations and misjudgements that the mind reels in the attempt to list them. For starters, how can a director as experienced and spoilt for choice as Woody Allen frame an entire film around a performer who can't act? Jonathan Rhys Meyers is so unsure of himself that even his accent isn't credible although he's only required to play an Irishman which, in reality, he is! It's logical that an aspirant attempting to ingratiate himself with the Upper Class (which he seems to manage in just a few seconds, at most) would purposely modify his accent to fit in but anyone with half an ear will be distracted by the strange melange that issues forth even in the earliest moments of the film. Put that together with the numerous pouts and bizarre facial ticks that Allen's camera devotedly captures (again, why so many long shots and close ups on a performer who can't deliver the goods?) which supposedly constitute for projection of deep inner conflict and you have something approximating an automaton being controlled via faulty wiring. This is a deeply embarrassing and misguided performance that some might see as mysterious or enigmatic but, to the perceptive viewer, remains woefully inadequate. Scarlett Johansson fares somewhat better by at least consistently sounding like the New Yorker that she is but the role does seem out of her current emotional depth. Allen's view of her character, at least, is the most three-dimensional in the film possibly because he is writing about things closer to home. The rest of the cast consist of reliable British actors who have severely underwritten and badly observed parts (Brian Cox's monotone father tends to grate, as does the ludicrously plummy brother and sister) or distracting cameos by well known TV performers who have seemingly wrangled themselves a bit of immortality by being in a Woody film.
London itself is reduced to a cardboard cutout Manhattan-like island where people always bump into each other (whether it be in Mayfair shopping for Casmere jumpers or casually hanging out at the Tate Modern), and every move made includes the incorporation of some major landmark in the background. If Woody had decided to pay homage to Rene Clair's wonderful surrealist film 'Paris Qi Dort' (about a man who lives at the top of the Eiffel Tower) by having his main character find a great flat inside Big Ben, I wouldn't have been any less convinced.
As for the dialogue, the less said the better. A major point (not much discussed in other reviews) is that, at over 2 hours, this is his longest film. He also, pretty much, has the least to say in it. It's a long way down from 'Another Woman' and his other idea rich 'serious' films which barely approached the 90 minute barrier. Possibly the only way to endure this particular turkey is to imagine it's a 'Love And Death' style comedy and that Woody is actually sending the whole thing up.
Enthusiasts of Woody Allen's work will be severely shell-shocked to see how badly their idol has fallen, even in light of his post 'Sweet & Lowdown' (the last major work) output. Woody, please, either wait till you have something to say (and know how to say it) or take up gardening or something. Please!