Leap-frogged onto the screen by the topical, better, Husbands And Wives, Woody Allen's studied tribute to a more golden age of cinema finally puts in a belated appearance.

This, his twenty-first film, unfolds in an unnamed middle European city between the wars. Kleinman (Allen) is awoken in the middle of the night to join a citizens committee patrolling the streets to capture the homicidal maniac that stalks the fog-swathed shadows. But this being effectively a Kafka-esque nightmare, the nervy Kleinman is never sure of his own part in 'the plan' of which everyone speaks, stumbling around, encountering more and more of the starry cast assembled to live out this rather slight vehicle to no obvious ends.

At the circus on the edge of town where Madonna is the acrobatic tart with a heart, Mia Farrow is the sword-swallower lover of clown John Malkovich. Jodie Foster, Kathy Bates and Lilly Tomlin are prostitutes at the local brothel, Allen-clone student John Cusack their customer. Donald Pleasance (very good) is the doctor.

Visually Allen's film, shot entirely on studio sets by Carlo di Palma, is stuffed with reverential nods to the German Expressionist cinema, quoting liberally from Murnau (the killer's first appearance is a direct reference to Shreck's Nosferatu) and Lang. Less obvious are the nods to the Universal horror epics of the thirties and early forties, and particularly to Browning's classic Freaks in the circus sequences. But so often is director-Allen being careful to get all his citations and paraphrases in place that writer-Allen looses sight somewhat of the overall flow of the piece. The result is a film that, although it moves with the assurance and economy we would expect from a veteran like Allen, tends to fragment under the slight premise into a series of vignettes rather than anything substantial. And this despite Allen carefully weaving into the fabric of the film references to the rise of fascism, especially where an suspected family are spirited away in the night by the authorities despite their innocence.

Ultimately then this is a clever, beautifully made film that leaves little sense behind it as to exactly why Allen bothered in the first place, and one seriously flat whenever the director himself isn't on screen. (Malkovich is tedious to the point of exhaustion). What remains in the mind after the event is little more than an entertaining romp that at least reaches an odd, if low-key and satisfying climax, and a few good jokes -- Kleinman claiming in the brothel that he's never paid for sex: "Oh, you just think you haven't," says Foster. Mildly diverting Allen only, but rather better than the dull Alice at least.