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Ah well, gave it another shot, upon a friend’s request, I spent some more hours with Woody Allen’s late works, and while it was not as insulting and infantile as “Vicky Braindead Barcelona”, it was still not much more than a slightly embarassing glance back into Allen’s career. Now he does not play himself anymore, but asks other like-minded mysogynists to do so (Larry David), and it looks a bit like a parody on what Woody Allen films used to look like. A perfectly annoying mother of a girl whose motivation is obscure top the bill of oddities, but also Larry David strolling around in his morning coat and reproducing wooden dialogue that clearly Woody Allen would have loved to perform himself thirty years ago do not make a good film. If anything, they make me want to go back to the three or four masterpieces that I find in his career.

Whatever Works (2009).

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