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Match Point has my endorsement, but not my recommendation.

If someone were to ask advice for a flick to watch this weekend, I could only reply, "Match Point is great, but go see King Kong again." Not that the film is worth avoiding; just that it's difficult to sit through, and even more difficult to enjoy until its entire scheme is revealed.

And it's a Woody Allen film, something impossible to discover by story and style alone -- this is unlike all other Allen pictures.

Match Point is a drama about the unreliable physics of tennis. We are told in an opening narration: Sometimes in tennis, the ball hits the net at just the right speed and angle to cause it to hang in the air between the two sides of the court. On one side is victory, the other defeat. Our centerpiece in the drama, Chris, states as the image of the ball fades into the film, "I'd rather be lucky than good."

Chris (Jonathan Rhys Meyers) is a tennis pro who never quite made it to the Pete Sampras level of playing. He teaches lessons at an exclusive English club, where he meets Tom. The two become friends and Tom invites Chris to an opera. This is the first of many operas, symphonies, ballets and theater trips in Match Point, a movie in which nearly every moment is filled with the arts.

Chris, who seems to be easily manipulated and controlled, is admired by Tom's sister Chloe (Emily Mortimer). Chloe and Tom's parents are quite wealthy, but the money is not what draws Chris to Chloe. That job goes to Tom's girlfriend Nola (Scarlett Johansson), who taunts her beauty to Chris.

What happens next opens the door for tragic consequences; whether Match Point steps through I will leave you to discover: Chris marries Chloe, not because he loves her but because it would bring him closer to Nola. Sure, enough they begin having an affair.

Much of this build-up is quite laborious, done in a way that makes us want to thumb our noses at British society. Allen's known for glorifying cities (Manhattan, for instance) but the spirit he gave New York City does not transfer well across the ocean. His London is presided over by pretentious snobs who sniff cognac, hunt pheasant, attend gallery openings and discuss the delicacy of Dostoevsky over Beef Wellington. They play tennis not because they enjoy the sport, but because it's the mark of their class.

What makes Match Point so wonderful is the tedious setup that gives way for a startling turn of events too juicy to give away. Many other reviews are revealing the developments, but to do that would be to rob the viewer the initial shock of what Allen has constructed. This is no Annie Hall; this is a mature drama void of punch lines and staffed with lonely lovers (Nola, Chris) and innocent bystanders (Tom, Chloe). The fact that the police are involved in the movie's third act is a testament to the film's stark view of infidelity and love.

I will say this, though: In the end it all comes back to that hanging tennis ball. Skill has no role when it comes to what side it will fall on, the side of victory or defeat. Only luck determines that, as it will determine the fate of Chris, a man who's only bearing in life is the one his driver uses to get him from the tennis court to the opera house.

This isn't Allen's best work; it is his most observational picture, one that implicates the viewers as voyeurs during Chris and Nola's saga. His actors are skilled and do marvelous jobs, but his women are the true heroes: Emily Mortimer conveys doubt and fear in a natural way, and Scarlett Johansson embodies all that is bitter and miserable in a mistress.

Match Point is slow and difficult to admire while it's happening. On completion, though, its subtle intricacies reveal a much better picture.