Film Review: In Scoop, Woody Allen Goes Back to Comedy. Kind of.

If you miss the old Woody Allen, the incredibly witty one with highly-developed (neurotic) characters experiencing genuine personal conflict supported by crisp dialogue, we suggest you hit up the mini Woody retrospective at the Paramount Theatre this weekend, featuring Annie Hall and Hannah and Her Sisters. If you want to see the aging, trite Woody Allen and his desperate attempts at comedy with his most recent muse, Scarlett Johannson, then you may want to check out his latest release, Scoop.

After more or less hitting his mark with a bit of a throwback serious dramatic piece in Match Point, Allen returns to the scene of the crime, London, to shoot this silly romp, a move he admits was basically a bit of opportunism at the chance to write something for the lovely Johannson. With a nod to the mystical whimsy of The Purple Rose of Cairo, Allen relies on fantastical elements in this comedic whodunit that is more about the interplay of the comedic characters than any serious Holmesian sleuthing.

American journalism student Sondra Pransky (Johannson) attends a magic act of the bumbling Spledini aka Sid Waterman (Allen) and ends up meeting the ghost of a recently-deceased journalist. The spirit gives her a tip on what could be the hottest crime story in recent British history. Pransky, with Splendini filling the role of sidekick, sets out to play girl detective, following her investigation into the heart of upper-crust London society. Her investigation of the aristocratic Peter Lyman, played to perfection by the dashing Hugh Jackman, leads the awkward American (and watching Johannson play awkward has become a bit trying) into a full-blown affair with her subject. Balancing her lust for Lyman and her exasperation with Splendini, she struggles to stay true to her journalistic intentions, in hopes of uncovering the truth without losing a chance at love.

Unlike many of his artistic contemporaries who have recently dealt with aging and the loss of sexual vigor in their works, see: Phillip Roth, Allen does not angrily fight his plank-walk towards death with bouts of misanthropy and resentment of emasculation. Indeed, what initially seems like a story that will have Allen fawning over a sexy young thing becomes a pleasant, if not meaningless romp with Waterman playing the father figure role. Thankfully. The last thing audiences want to see at this point is Allen trying to delude himself and us into believing that any character he inhabits could have a shot with an ingénue such as Johannson.