Review: Vicky Cristina Barcelona

**** / *****

"We are meant for each other and not meant for each other. It's a contradiction."

The fourth (and apparently final, since I hear he's back in the States) film in what will be know in the future as Woody Allen's European period, Vicky Cristina Barcelona is the closest to what fans of his classic relationship comedies keep hoping the 73-year-old filmmaker will produce again. It's a light, entertaining and romantic film without the strained zaniness of Scoop or the predictability of Cassandra's Dream, filled with mild humour, gorgeous actors, some wonderfully drawn characters and a lovely, lovely Spanish setting.

In keeping with Allen's late-career embrace of sensuality over awkwardness, Barcelona is a visual treat from start to finish, revelling in the beauty of both its locations (Barcelona, of course, but also Oviedo) and its stars. Rebecca Hall and recent Allen muse Scarlett Johansson are the title characters, two of those typical Americans spending a summer abroad. Vicky (Hall) is working on a master's thesis on Catalan identity (an interest that apparently began with architect Antoni Gaudí), while Cristina (Johansson) is just hoping the change of scenery will help her "find herself."

Their circumstances and states of mind are described by an omniscient male narrator in a technique that is jarring at first but soon gives the film the tone of a particularly sharp and observant short story. The narrator, for example, encapsulates Cristina's flightiness perfectly in his introduction of her, in which he explains that she has just spent a year writing, directing and acting in a 12-minute film that she absolutely hates. Snide remarks like these pop up occasionally, always with measured delivery but showing a level of skepticism (though never condescension) toward some of the characters' choices.

Staying with Vicky's distant relatives (played by Patricia Clarkson and Kevin Dunn), the two women soon meet up with charming, easy.going Spanish painter Juan Antonio (Javier Bardem), who bluntly proposes bedding both of them during their first conversation. Engaged Vicky finds him off-putting initially, but Cristina immediately swoons, and soon ends up his devoted lover. Things continue at a frothy but sometimes sluggish pace, and just when the film threatens to lose its spark, something great happens: Penélope Cruz arrives to liven things up as Juan Antonio's ex-wife Maria Elena.

Cruz is fantastic as the passionate, mentally unstable woman who always says (often in Spanish only, in a delightful, but subtle reference that few people will get, to the Spanish way of being) exactly what's on her mind, and her presence gives both Cristina and the film itself a reason to perk up. Maria Elena insinuates herself into Juan Antonio and Cristina's relationship, leading to the understandably over-hyped (and really rather tame) threesome that made horny bloggers go crazy. Allen may be more open to exploring the sexiness of romance these days, but he still isn't interested in anything lascivious, and his depiction of the trio's relationship is more about their individual intimacy issues than it is about hot girl-on-girl action.

Meanwhile, Vicky nurses a slow-burning flame for Juan Antonio while spending time with her dull, wet-blanket fiancé, Doug (Chris Messina), such a generic corporate tool that he works for a company called Global Enterprises and seemingly talks about nothing but golf. As a character, he's a cipher, but that's part of the point - Vicky is marrying an empty suit rather than pursuing the vibrant, unpredictable Juan Antonio. Hall, a rather surprising casting choice (a British actress who appeared in her first film only two years ago) plays the closest thing the film has to the traditional Allen surrogate, and she makes Vicky's dilemma real and more problematic than it would appear on the surface. Johansson, somewhat out of her depth in previous Allen outings, imbues Cristina with the right mix of infuriating and endearing. As for Bardem, he's appropriately sensual, but also likable, which is important in plausibly setting up why Vicky and Cristina are so drawn to him.

It's Cruz who runs away with the film, though, and holds it together when it starts to feel insubstantial. Allen envelops his audience in sensuality, makes it salivate, and then uses it to offer some bitter life lessons. Still, for a romance in which nobody seems to end up getting what they want, Vicky Cristina Barcelona is deceptively satisfying, and leaves you with a sense of hope, however false. Think of that feeling you get when Annie Halls ends. Only there's no rainy New York, only sunny Barcelona.