Woody Allen shot this script with one set of actors, then decided to scrap the results and do it all over again with a completely different cast. He should have quit while he was ahead. Boring is the word, and only Britain's Denholm Elliott, in an elegant, low-key performance, can handle Allen's overwrought romantic dialogue with the appropriate kid gloves. The lives of these artificial characters of fiction, and of Mia Farrow's mother and stepfather (Elaine Stritch, Jack Warden), whose past is clearly copied from Lana Turner's, are only of the vaguest interest and, if your attention is gripped at all by this sexual merry-go-round, it will be by how the actors handle their key emotional scenes: Farrow best, Wiest whinily worst and so on. The film is largely photographed in brown and yellow, except for some scenes involving a pool table for which such filters would clearly be inappropriate.

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