Match Point (2005)

The first real movie Woody Allen's made in a long time. He sustains tension and character and refines his style down to sleek functionalism, his mannerisms employed for effective ends, like his gift for group stagings. He channels his more irritaing mannerisms - ogling real estate, wines, clothes and women - into appropriate material. Emily Mortimer steals it, as is her habit, as the clingy, needy wife. Scarlett Johansson's character barely progresses beyond a pair of tits with an inconveniently loud voice, but Meyers plays sociopathic exceptionally well, and it served particularly in the climax. Too long, often stilited, and owing rather too much to better tales like An American Tragedy, and as usual Allen's efforts at getting philosophical irritate, but at least, for once, he's tapped into something that justifies philosophising. In the end, Meyers' lonely face says a helluva a lot more than dialogue, and there, at last, Allen finally knows what a camera is for.

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