Match Point

My number grade on this film is an approximate average, since I’d give at least a *7* to the first half of Woody Allen’s Hitchcockian departure from Manhattan to London, but barely a *5* to the second half when the shotgun comes in and plausibility goes out the window. Initially Woody’s misogyny is obscured by a wittily dyspectic misanthropy, but when the film turns against Scarlett Johansson something goes seriously wrong, since there is no other character to care about in this chilly, passionless depiction of crimes of passion. Jonathan Rhys Meyers works as a sort of Brit Joaquin Phoenix, but it is impossible to put yourself in his place, trying to decide between sultry Scarlett and twittering twit Emily Mortimer, who has to work hard to subdue her innate charm into upper-class inanity. I wouldn’t join those who call this a return to form for Woody, but it is a worthwhile exercise for a craftsman who turns out a more or less competent film every year, and occasionally something decidedly more. He remains a model of independence and indefatigability, if not a wholly admirable artist. (2005, Images, n.) *6* (MC-72, RT-78.)