Why, dear kiddos, W. Allen gives banality and hollowness a creepy twist

Rating: 2/10 (1 April 2009)

In a less rotten world, this stilted flick should have gotten, for all its triteness, less exposure than a second—rank episode of COLUMBO—and it may not be my main pleasure to divulge to mislead movie buffs Woody Allen's ineptitude and nullity.
MATCH POINT is of course trash, vile trash, dear kiddos, essentially hollow and _emptyish, of the kind to be expected from its pretty clueless director; and if you shall choose to retort, dear kiddos, that you have seen worse—well, I have seen a lot worse than you have ever seen and can agree that MATCH POINT might be some _watchable fluff, _hollowish soap—opera for the masses. I decidedly hated the score, those hammered areas forced upon every frame—totally kitsch—though somehow fit for the dreadful exposure of a jerk's life—Chris Wilton. I disliked the cast, not one single performer to cheer me; and then there were those loads of Verdi, Gomes, Donizetti, Bizet, Rossini, Webber—all of Woody Allen's vileness released upon the audience. MATCH POINT might perhaps be of some interest to illiterate adolescents, the 12—15 yrs. segment—and to illiterates generally. Otherwise, it's simply some regular Woody Allen rubbish. Perhaps with a better cast and a better script and a better score and better sets it might of been less trashy. The crowds of Woody Allen fans are not to blame; there are plenty of sick people nowadays, this explains a lot.