Only a matter of weeks ago, critics were calling for Woody Allen to step away from the camera and retire gracefully before his run of turkeys (recently culminating in the lamentable Cassandra’s Dream) threatened to destroy altogether the good will his past glories had accrued. Then Vicky Cristina Barcelona premiered out of competition in Cannes, effortlessly seducing the jaded, cranky, hungover press audience within the first ten minutes. What a difference one film can make. Woody is back (again).

The film, Allen’s first to be set and filmed in Spain, is frothy, sexy fun. It’s not up there with his career greats , but it has a lightness of touch and a sense of mischief which has been missing from his films of late. It feels like the making of it was a joy for the director rather than a chore, and consequently the same is true for the audience.

Vicky (an impressive Rebecca Hall) and Cristina (Scarlett Johansson, looking a little uncomfortable with her platinum dye-job) are a pair of young American women whose close friendship since childhood has done nothing to lessen the gap between them when it comes to their attitudes towards matters of love. Vicky is looking for comfort, security, respect and – ideally – access to an expense account. Cristina, meanwhile, has dedicated herself to the pursuit of an illusive grand passion, with all the agonies and uncertainties that entails. An overused and slightly irritating voiceover informs us that, although Cristina is not sure of what it is she wants, she knows what she doesn’t want.

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The two women are spending the summer in Barcelona, staying with Vicky’s aunt (Patricia Clarkson). Allen squeezes every last atmospheric drop of inspiration from the photogenic city. His ‘kid in a candy store’ approach to Gaudi’s architecture could have been corny, but for the fact that it mirrors the girls’ giddy excitement at their temporary home.

At an art gallery, the women meet Juan Antonio (Javier Bardem), a dangerously charming painter. Cristina is smitten; brittle Vicky has reservations. Nonetheless, it’s Vicky who first sleeps with him, despite her protestations of loyalty to her fiancé. Juan Antonio transfers his attentions to Cristina and she moves into his house, basking in his bohemian lifestyle. Here, the film effectively splits into two parallel stories. Vicky and her fiancé meet with golf playing ex-pats; Cristina has to deal with the arrival of Juan Antonio’s gorgeous, volatile ex-wife Maria Elena (a furiously funny turn by Penelope Cruz).

Cruz’s entrance into the film ramps up both the laughs and sex. She fixes a smoky-eyed glare on Cristina and rattles an attack in machine-gun Spanish, but gradually they find common ground. A three-way clinch between her, Bardem and Johansson is a screen-scorchingly sensual moment. Allen can’t be losing his touch entirely if he can still persuade three of the hottest people on the planet to make out for our viewing pleasure.

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