December 10, 1999  | Emmet Ray is the greatest jazz guitarist of the 1930s – something he never tires of telling everyone he meets in Woody Allen’s Sweet and Lowdown – but that doesn’t mean he’s a nice person. Or even a bright cad.

When Emmet (fearlessly and effectively played by Sean Penn) attempts to supplement his income with illegal activity, his penchant for preening gets in the way. (An associate complains: “How many times I gotta tell ya? A pimp don’t need business cards!”) And when he tries to jerry-rig some over-sized scenery to enhance his grand entrances onto nightclub stages, he winds up crashing to earth from a papier-mâché half-moon.

In his dealings with friends, lovers and employers, Emmet is an unreliable louse who capriciously breaks hearts and promises. Hattie (Samantha Morton), a mute and waifish laundress, is the perfect mate for him – she adores him without reservation and, better still, can’t ever talk back – but Emmet dumps her to pursue Blanche (Uma Thurman), a slumming high-society beauty who’s bemused by his low-life charm. “Not only are you vain and egotistical,” Blanche marvels, “but you have a genuine crudeness.” All of which would be unforgivable, of course, if Emmet didn’t also possess an almost magical musical talent.

Cleverly constructed as a faux documentary – complete with commentary by such notables as jazz historian Nat Hentoff and Woody Allen himself – Sweet and Lowdown is so persuasive in its vivid details that some credulous moviegoers likely will want to shop around for Emmet Ray CDs. Cynics might jeer that Emmet’s misadventures represent yet another attempt at self-rationalization by Allen, whose own artistic achievements often are overshadowed by the sordid details of his private life. But just about everyone else can savor this bittersweet and low-key comedy as Allen’s most uncomplicatedly larky movie since Manhattan Murder Mystery.