A freezer-burned Woody Allen emerges from cryogenic slumber to apply his own specific brand of humor to the late 22nd century. At times overly topical and horribly dated, this is really at its best as a flippant physical comedy. Even then, the puns and gags are stretched awfully thin, with blatantly sped-up footage and a ragtime soundtrack giving it the look and feel of a futuristic Benny Hill.

Allen's pokes and prods about the evolution of society are occasionally good for a snicker, particularly the advent of technology supplanting our need for sex, drugs and organized religion, but the central storyline is so thin and inessential that the whole mess feels like a series of vaguely-related skits. The glut of weak, DIY-esque backdrops and special effects make the arrival of Star Wars just four years later seem even more impressive by comparison. Mildly silly at best and utterly dull at worst, it's not something I'll be revisiting again soon, if ever.