The 200-years-in-the-future format admits some fond reprises of science-fiction nonsense (battling a giant blob of chocolate pudding with a broom) and the usual round of gags about computers, robots, utopias. Typically, in this sterile and stark white-black-and-flesh-colored movie, Woody Allen is so negligent about establishing comic ambience or momentum that each joke stands singly, fighting for its individual laugh. There is some pleasant stuff, but most of it, despite the expensive sets and props, seems basically ad lib, and no more fastidious in the thinking-over than in the thinking-up. With Diane Keaton. (1973) — Duncan Shepherd
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