I wouldnt normally expect to describe a Woody Allen film as gripping and frightening but this one is. It's gripping in an edge-of-your-seat (or, if you're like me, curl-up-and-bite-someone's-arm) kind of way because no matter what, things must go right for the hero. And that's what's frightening: he's not a hero at all; he's loathsome and repellent and morally bereft - and yet, there I was, biting someone's arm, hoping that, whatever happened, his luck would hold because it absolutely must.The antihero is Chris Wilton (Meyers), a tennis champion-turned-clubhouse pro who says he'd rather be lucky than good. Chris coaches Tom Hewett (Goode, a cut-price Rupert Everett if ever I saw one), and the two strike up a friendship that gives Chris an entr((eacute))e into the Hewett family and thereby into upper-class English society. Tom's sister Chloe (Mortimer) is instantly attracted to Chris and everything looks rosy - until Chris meets Nola (Johansson), and the suspense begins in earnest.You'll notice I haven't said much about the plot. You'll thank me for it once you see the film (I'll be the short one up the back of the theatre): it's best to go in knowing as little as possible. I will say it's a superbly, tightly directed film that's renewed my faith both in Woody Allen and in my capacity to leave permanent bite marks.