Directed by: Woody Allen. I enjoyed this movie, like basically everything by Woody Allen. I’m growing particularly fond of his newer stuff (even though I’ve only seen a fraction of his older stuff). This film isn’t as light-hearted as Whatever Works or Midnight in Paris, and it’s not as dark and tragic as Cassandra’s Dream or Match Point: it sits somewhere in the middle. What I find really interesting about Allen is watching how, in his advanced years, exercising his tremendous dexterity as a seasoned storyteller, you can watch how he tinkers around with the different narrative tools that he has cultivated over the past decades. If I can slip into metaphor here, it’s like Woody’s different interests—the random tragedy of fate/chance/happenstance, the fleeting nature of relationships/ the limited nature of monogamous relationships, the volatile nature of love and passion, the selfish and unethical turns of his characters—are different hats he’s wearing. And in these later years, it seems like he’s just having fun wearing different hats, combining all different kinds of his wardrobe, in fact, and just exploring where and how they could possibly relate, intersect, or clash. When most artists do this, it’s a cavalier endeavor with half-assed results. When Woody Allen does it, you know that, however much fun he’s having, he still knows how to make a movie, he knows how plot works, character development, dialogue, suspense, conflict, etc, so that even this—what I would call not one of my favourites—is an eminently watchable and enjoyable film.