This film is widely regarded as Woody Allen’s return to form. After many years in the creative wilderness, he packed his bags to make his first feature outside New York. Reaching into the rarefied air of Britain’s well-healed, he muses on the notion of chance and the idea that “the man who said ‘I’d rather be lucky than good’ saw deeply into life”. That man is Chris (Rhys Meyers), an unclarified opportunist who reads Dostoevsky and coaches tennis. Fate throws him into the wealthy arms of his pupil (Mortimer) and soon after, into the luscious arms of his brother in-law’s beau (Johansson). It’s a painful deception that leads to tragedy. Yet the consequences are not as clear – ‘with a little luck [the ball] goes forward and you win’. Or it doesn’t, and you loose.

Matchpoint is a dark morality tale and some light years away from Allen’s regular output. If you’re expecting comedy, you’re in the wrong cinema. If you’re looking for a bitter look at a cold, calculating, self-important hustler, then this is where the fun’s at. For Matchpoint is quite unlike anything Allen has made before. It’s also a somewhat unbelievable character study burdened by Rhys Meyers’ underwritten role and laboured performance (though thankfully, the first lead in an Allen film not to imitate Allen). He brings little sense that Chris is capable of his actions and complains that events are “just so - mechanical”. Or is he talking about the film? Either way, Allen’s confessional resolves that men are governed by fate and women are either compulsive shrews or cockteasers. Cheery stuff.

// COLIN FRASER