Midnight in Paris

Directed by Woody Allen. Starring Owen Wilson, Rachel McAdams, Marion Cotillard, Kathy Bates, Adrien Brody, Carla Bruni, Michael Sheen 12A cert, general release, 95 mins

Woody Allen's new romcom is obvious but charming, writes TARA BRADY

WOODY ALLEN’S latest romantic comedy opens, as ever, with Woody ersatz in crisis. Following in the footsteps of such unlikely folks as John Cusack, Kenneth Branagh and Scarlett Johanssen, Owen Wilson’s Gil is a conflicted Hollywood hack holidaying in the City of Light along with his ghastly fiancee, Inez (Rachel McAdams), and her equally horrendous parents.

Bewitched by his surroundings, our hero fantasises about throwing off the shackles and reinventing himself as a Parisian novelist. But his intended is having none of it. Inez prefers shopping, snarling and private gallery viewings with her pompous ex-boyfriend (Michael Sheen) over Gil’s walks in the rain and endless reveries.

Her loss. Taking cues from Allen's earlier dimension-hopping fictions The Kugelmass Experimentand The Purple Rose of Cairo, Gil's solitary midnight strolls allow him to access the French capital during the Roaring '20s, and he finds himself hanging out with Hemingway while Cole Porter plays in the corner.

Between hauling Zelda off a ledge, listening to Dalí marvel at the rhinoceros, and taking notes from Gertrude Stein, Gil falls for Adriana, (Marion Cotillard) one of Picasso's spare mistresses. Will he stay with her in the past, return to the present or find a way to copy the history-hopping adulterer of BBC's Goodnight Sweetheart?

It has become customary to muster some small praise for the annual Woody Allen release, such as: "Midnight in Parishas his best use of time travel since Sleeper" or " Midnight in Parisis Woody's most accomplished period film since Sweet and Lowdown". But this latest confection, the director's most financially successful film in a career spanning some 45 years, does indeed surpass recent precedent, up to and including such vaunted "returns to form" as Vicky Cristina Barcelonaand Whatever Works.

It's no Annie Hall, you understand. Wilson and Cotillard are charming, though not particularly convincing romantic leads. Allen's penchant for European tourist traps sets the stage, and the best ideas and jokes were better first time around.

But the obviousness of the material fails to detract from a project that trades on both nostalgia and "nostalgia". Woody's whimsical mood leaves little room for his snappier sentiments; he's too busy admiring the view to affect his best Bergman or his best Woody Allen. The good cheer suits him better than the miserabilism of his English stopovers, Match Pointand Cassandra's Dream. And Paris has rarely looked gayer.

In the fine tradition of levitating birds, Midnight in Parisis only a trifle when only a trifle will do.