woody allen's VICKY CRISTINA BARCELONA (2008)

there's no disputing (even, sadly, among those little familiar with his actual work) that Woody Allen is an amorous sort of guy. throughout four prolific decades his work has focused largely on the interactions of the human heart, and sexuality has always been a part of that, from the ribaldry of his early comedies to the lustful indiscretions of his heavier dramas.

it's a little strange, then, that he would make thirty-eight feature films before getting around to Vicky Cristina Barcelona, the latest shaky step in his encouraging late-career course correction. the film, sunny and sensuous by design, follows its titular Americans (Rebecca Hall and Scarlett Johansson, respectively) on a Spanish holiday during which a Catalan painter (Javier Bardem) forces them to reevaluate their opposing views on love and romance, particularly when his tempestuous ex-wife (Penelope Cruz) returns to his home and his life.

these loaded ideas (Vicky's monogamous stability vs. Cristina's pursuit of passion) are obviously central to Allen's thought process, but for much of its running time the film glides lightly, if sometimes sloppily, along; whether it's the location, the themes, or both, Vicky Cristina Barcelona exists miles away from the grave melodramas and trifling laff-pits that have lately dominated his output. Spain and its environs (particularly Antoni Gaudi's stunning architecture) are done full justice, and the four leads bring a palpable chemistry to their increasingly delicate situation. (Bardem alone is a veritable swoon-factory, likely to seduce the tablecloth right off the table were two of the screen's great beauties not hanging around.)

but as odd as it may be to fault a 72-year-old man for not making a sexier movie, the shortage of genuine steam is the film's undoing. superficially it's all there, and there are sequences for which that's quite enough, but in the end the tone falls prey to the very dilemma being posesd thematically: love does not exist to be figured out, or overthought. (we know these are the themes because the talky proceedings, including an unwelcome, oddly clinical narration, conspicuously telegraph them throughout.) Vicky Christina Barcelona is a film about the heart and certain points south, so it's a shame Woody so rarely lets us out of his head.

(from the KNOXVILLE VOICE)