Continuing his increasingly long-standing tradition of making films just good enough to remind you how much better they could have been, Woody Allen’s 47th outing as a writer and 44th as a director is quirky and charming – it’s a shame that a slew of solid performances aren’t enough to disguise its essential emptiness.
How do you know what you’re going to see at the cinema next month? You’re busy people – Facebook won’t update itself, and you’ve probably got a relationship to neglect or something. Oh, you haven’t? Sorry. Well, there’s no point in trying to meet another human adult now, you may as well just read this blog.