With it’s incessant narration & Eric Satie background music, you keep hoping this Woody Allen chamber piece will bring out the Sascha Guitry in him. But Guitry, the ironic French boulevardier who celebrated our falls from grace, isn’t on display. No, it’s another Ingmar Bergman manque, with the master’s lenser, Sven Nykvist, onboard to drape ochre tones of seriousness o’er all. Gena Rowlands looks suitably ill as a 50ish professor/author with a stoppered emotional life, but it’s all too careful & dainty to make much effect. Woody deserves marks for smoothly handling the continuity jumps in time, space & generation, if only the insights weren’t so consistently banal. But at a brisk 80 minutes, it’s worth sticking around for a jolt of the real stuff when Sandy Dennis, of all people, snares a couple of scenes.
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