Match Point

No Woody Allen release happens along without some deranged attention-seeking soul half-heartedly declaring it The Best Woody Allen Film In Ages, but in Match Point we have a genuine contender. Jonathan Rhys Meyers stars as Chris, a social climbing former tennis-pro who falls in with the Belgravia set, ot at least an amiable ficionalised version of same. Described as a "poor boy from Ireland", Chris finds himself with the usual big house dilemma – will he plump for the sweet and incredibly wealthy Emily Mortimer or penniless sexpot Scarlett Johansson?
Just as things are gearing up for awkward romantic comedy and class-based misunderstandings, Match Point takes a sudden Hitchcockian turn. Chris isn’t just a player, he’s potentially a very nasty piece of work. Riffing on Crime And Punishment (again), Allen manages a tone change similar to this year’s Melinda And Melinda without the need for bookending narration. Match Point is cool, calculating and easily the director’s most misogynistic film since Crimes And Misdemeanors. No matter. In the circumstances – the Machievellian rise, sneaky seductions, gnawing guilt – the added cruelty to women lends the film an entirely fascinating dimension.
Rhys Meyers is excellent in the task, investing his charcter with depth and charisma, while never letting us forget how superficial he is. Johansson also deftly changes gear from Monroe-like wank-fantasy to faintly terrifying shrew.
Perhaps even more inviting is Woody’s rendition of Merry Old England. Here, the dialogue rarely descend into racous mud-slinging the way his New York nationalist fare does, yet he masters the foreign idiom perfectly. Heavens, it really is The Best Woody Allen Film In Ages.