Or: Woody Allen strikes back. Setting out all the things of which his detractors have accused him, he creates an entire film (of fragments) around them. Allen is Sandy, a movie-maker accused of 'trying to document his private suffering and fob it off as art'. Woody obviously doesn't agree (at least, perhaps, at to whether it's art) so he offers us more of the same. The resulting film, has its good moments mostly in the too-few scenes from the comedy films Sandy has made in the past but is sometimes equally likely to send you to sleep. It also doesn't have Diane Keaton or Mia Farrow, and Charlotte Rampling (although quite effective), Jessica Harper and the charmless Marie-Christine Barrault are simply no substitute. Viewers may find that, as people keep telling Woody in the film, they 'prefer his earlier, funny comedies' to this. The background score, though, is a vintage-jazz enthusiast's delight, Louis Armstrong's rendition of 'Stardust' creating an especially memorable few moments.


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