Scarlett Johansson was a caricature and Javier Bardem was a mythical (or metaphorical) male, but they set the stage for Rebecca Hall’s Vicky, who portrayed a conflicted heart to perfection (ironically, a similar role to Johansson’s in Lost in Translation, with Barcelona replacing Tokyo). Perhaps never having seen her before helped convince me. The narrator’s voiceover didn’t bother me, as it did some reviewers;  it made clear the film’s status as fable, obviating our questions on its more outrageous, or questionable, points. Penelope Cruz dominated the screen, matching Bardem’s suavity. But even this returned the focus to Vicky, the one real person, and her dilemma. Woody Allen gave us people to talk about, as he used to.