Regarding Match Point

When Jessica and I rented Woody Allen's Match Point, we only had two things on our mind: Scarlett Johansson's lips. While watching it, we went through nearly intolerable throes of nervousness; neither one of us is particularly well-suited to watching suspenseful films— particularly when we cannot guess the ending. Fortunately —eventually— we were able to relax and enjoy Ms. Johansson's mediocre abilities and exceptional presence when we realized that creativity is dead and that the plot was merely recycled, however vaguely, from Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment. I am very sorry to report to all of you who thought that Jessica and I were even remotely intelligent that we did not realize this until EONS after Woody Allen's long and lingering shots of the covers of Dostoevsky novels. Nor did we realize it after any of the other countless hints. It took until he was explaining his behavior to the ghosts of his victims to realize all of the connections. From that very late point on, we were able to look past the unremarkable acting and incredibly moving soundtrack that moved us into nervous paroxysmal anxiety into a comfortable place from which we could look on over the rest of the film and feel smart for getting the references.

And, might I add, that while creativity may be dead, Woody Allen's ending was far better than Dostoevsky's. I set aside a few moments each day dedicated solely to loathing Dostoevsky's epilogue to Crime and Punishment. It is a sinfully bad ending to a brilliant work. It is a complete and cowardly withdrawl from the existential brilliance of the rest of the novel. I've written pages on this very subject; the epilogue was shit. Woody Allen spruced it up just right and, in the end, I am approximately as pleased as Punchinello.