He’s always have Manhattan, Radio Days, and Another Woman to brag about, but I have not really been paying attention to Woody Allen’s films these last, oh, 15 years. The last movie of his that I really loved was Manhattan Murder Mystery. Somewhere after that, around the Bullets Over Broadway era, I just stopped watching. (Really it was Mighty Aphrodite that made me tune out.) There have been some good movies since then, sure. Deconstructing Harry maybe, and Vicky Cristina Barcelona was good, but I can’t say I’ve been loving Allen lately, and I simply can’t keep up. A movie a year is just more than I can handle. So when I read this review I was equal parts amused and sad for old Woody. The last couple of decades have not been kind.