Woody Allen takes the old “write what you know” saw to new levels.

No, I’m not talking about how often his characters run rough shod over moral issues. That’s a post for another day. In Allen’s latest film, “Midnight in Paris,” Owen Wilson plays a struggling writer who pines to leave his cushy gig as a Hollywood screenwriter behind him.

It’s hardly the first writer in the Allen film canon:

• “Anything Else” – Jason Biggs plays a comedy writer
• “Celebrity” Kenneth Branagh plays a novelist
• “Deconstructing Harry” – Allen plays a blocked novelist
• “Mighty Aphrodite” Allen plays a sports writer
• “Bullets over Broadway” John Cusack plays a struggling playwright
• “You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger” – Josh Brolin plays a blocked novelist

I may have missed a few, but I think the point is made.

Aren’t there any plumbers in Manhattan? Real estate agents? Insurance salesmen?

“Midnight in Paris” is now playing in select theaters, but it opens wider May 27.

(Photo: Owen Wilson plays a wannabe novelist in “Midnight in Paris.” Rachel McAdams, right, portrays his fiancée. Sony Pictures Classics)

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It keeps getting harder to separate Woody Allen the filmmaker from the tabloid generating artist.

Allen brings it on himself, dealing with issues that dovetail directly with his own personal life. Filmmakers should draw from their own experiences, but for Allen doing so means dragging us through his sordid romances of yore.

And a middling Allen effort like “Whatever Works” doesn’t need those kinds of distractions.

“Works” stars Larry David of “Curb Your Enthusiasm” fame as Boris, arguably the least likable main character in any Allen film. He’s an egomaniacal academic who recently split with his wife, and he’s content to live alone in a shabby apartment in between passing judgment on anyone who crosses his path.

He tries to do the same with a runaway Southern girl named Melodie (Evan Rachel Wood), but a romantic spark alights despite their vast age difference.

Where have we seen that before? Oh, yeah, in every other Allen picture.

The pair quickly marry, but it soon becomes clear the age – and life experience – gap could jeopardize their pairing.

It’s a wonder why young, desperate Melodie has any use for him, but the fact that she falls so quickly for Boris beggars belief. He’s put off by darn near everything about her, but she’s awful cute and occasionally gets his jokes.

The signature Allen touches are firmly in place in “Works” – the scratchy oldie track to open the movie, the ego free credits and the idealized Manhattan sensibilities.

Yet “Works” still feels like watered down Woody. The gags don’t have much bite – or surprise. Neither does the story.

Can’t a talent of his caliber find another story line besides the braying old man wooing the ingenue at this point?

David, a lovable misanthrope on “Curb,” goes the Full Monty here. He’s utterly deplorable as a Boris, and it’s the kind of challenging role ideal for someone like Gene Hackman who can find Boris’ long-buried humanity.

David hasn’t a clue how to do anything of the kind.

Wood is a lovely young actress, and while her character may be pure Allen fiction she renders it in more shades than the screenplay allows.

The great Patricia Clarkson temporarily steals the movie as Melodie’s mom, but her character’s growth is silly and superficial.

Conservatives won’t appreciate the nonstop attacks on Red States types and traditional values, but Allen forgives and forgets their tics so long as they have a change of heart by the final reel.

The film’s title refers to Boris’ approach to romance. Sure, couples can have big age difference or other major hurdles to overcome, but hey, “Whatever works.”

One guesses “The Heart Wants What it Wants” was the original working title.

The film’s ending feels like it’s slapped on from a generic rom-com, and for an Allen flick that just doesn’t “Work” at all.

(Photo: Evan Rachel Wood and Larry David star in Woody Allen’s latest romantic comedy “Whatever Works.”/Sony Pictures Classics)

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Woody Allen returned to artistic prominence with the 2005 thriller “Match Point.”

But the nebbishy auteur already mined similar material with 1989’s “Crimes and Misdemeanors,” Allen’s best black comedy.

The film lacked the warmth of “Hannah and Her Sisters,” but it remains Allen’s second-best film from the ’80s – with apologies to the pure delight that was “Broadway Danny Rose.”

The multiple character dramedy follows Judah (Martin Landau), a thriving eye doctor with a problem for which there is no cure. His erratic mistress (Anjelica Huston in a gloriously one-note performance) is about to share the details of their affair with his wife.

Meanwhile, documentary filmmaker Cliff (Allen) stands at a career crisis. Should he take an assignment filming his blowhard brother in law (Alan Alda), a famed TV producer, or keep cranking out pictures that no one sees for very little money?

Those stories don’t directly intertwine until the last few scenes, but the ethical questions at play couldn’t be more correlated in Allen’s eyes.

Judah must decide if he will hire some thugs to take care of his mistress – permanently. And Cliff isn’t sure whether he should stay with his wife (Joanna Gleason) or strike up a romance with a comely producer (Mia Farrow).

Allen uses humor, literary name drops and just about every other trick in his limited but still potent arsenal to set the moral table. He’s aided by great turns all around, especially from Landau who makes Judah an easy to understand monster.

Allen is Allen, but he’s written himself some juicy laugh lines that don’t overstep the character – or the bigger themes at play.

“Crimes and Misdemeanors” is first-rate Allen – a vibrant meditation on morality and how it often doesn’t fit so snugly with societal norms.

(Photo: Woody Allen plays a documentary filmmaker with an eye for a fellow TV talent, played by Mia Farrow, in “Crimes and Misdemeanors.”)

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Woody Allen’s newest loves, Scarlett Johansson and the city of Barcelona, are front and center in his latest dramedy.

Allen shook away decades of complacency by hauling his cast and crew from New York to London a few years back for “Match Point.”

Now, he’s on the move again with “Vicky Cristina Barcelona,” out this week on DVD. His latest city of choice serves him remarkably well.

The film follows two gorgeous women, Vicky (Rebecca Hall of “Frost/Nixon”) and Cristina (Johansson), as they spend a few carefree weeks vacationing in Barcelona.

Cristina instantly crushes on a flirtatious painter (Javier Bardem, wearing precisely the right amount of facial stubble) while Vicky bemoans her friend’s questionable taste in men.

But Vicky may be protesting too much, since she finds herself drawn to the swarthy painter as well.

Knotty relationships and dalliances ensue, and eventually the painter’s ex (Penelope Cruz) enters the picture like a whirlwind.

Despite some superfluous narration that smacks of Allen-speak, “Barcelona” doesn’t feel like a typical Woody Allen film.

That’s a very good thing at this point in the aging auteur’s career.

The story has a freshness and zing lacking in some of his recent work, and it helps to have the dynamite one-two punch of Bardem and Cruz elevating one of his more probing scripts.

Cruz is sensational, even if her character is nothing more than the umpteenth variant on the Latina spitfire stereotype. Working partially in her native tongue, she’s confident, alluring and ultimately the most complex character in the bunch. It’s her best American role … ever.

Allen’s affection for Barcelona mirrors his postcards to New York City. A gorgeous blond like Cristina walks freely through the city without ever getting hounded by flirtatious locals. it’s a city without flaws, but as the backdrop to this lover quadrangle it works like magic.

As much as “Barcelona” plays up the earthly charms of its attractive characters and their libidinous lifestyle, it’s ultimately a chaste experience. Vicky, her arms perpetually folded, remains a guarded presence, one who can’t resist Bardem’s tractor-beam charms. The film itself ends up favoring her approach over that of the other characters.

Yet “Barcelona” loses its footing during its final scenes. Cristina suffers a moral crisis that comes out of nowhere – even the clumsy narrator can’t make much sense of it. A critical scene involving Cruz’s character feels more like a telenovela resolution than anything out of Allen’s past masterworks.

“Vicky Cristina Barcelona” marks another impressive chapter in Allen’s film evolution, even if he shows his age via the story’s conventional conclusion.

(Photo: Woody Allen, right, directs Javier Bardem, Penelope Cruz (seated) and Scarlett Johansson in “Vicky Cristina Barcelona”)

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In Hollywood, Woody Allen is the guy at the beach who gets sand kicked in his face by the musclebound bully.

But in indie-land, he does the sand kicking.

Today’s independent films make a fraction of what most mainstream movies make, and we’re talking about a tiny fraction in the best-case scenarios.

“The Visitor” was one of 2008’s breakout indie hits. It’s total box office take? $9.4 million, according to Box Office Mojo. Other indies are lucky to crack the $2 million mark.

And then there’s the Woody Allen collection.

Take “Vicky Cristina Barcelona.” Allen’s latest film has earned $21 million – and counting. And while his previous film, “Cassandra’s Dream,” delivered a very ordinary $1 million, recent flicks like “Scoop” ($10 million) and “Match Point” ($23 million) greatly overachieved by indie standards.

The Allen brand, after all these years, still packs a wallop. Other indie films feature just as many good actors, and they often deal with themes far more pulp-worthy than Allen’s introspective fare. But people remain loyal to Allen and his neurotic storytelling.

(Photo: Javier Bardem, Penelope Cruz and Scarlett Johansson confer with Woody Allen, right, on the set of “Vicky Cristina Barcelona.” – photo credit: Victor Bello/TWC 2008)

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Woody Allen was on some kind of a roll in the 1980s. He had already won a Best Picture Oscar for “Annie Hall” (1977), but his string of uniquely comic ’80s stories would rival any director’s of any era.

“Zelig,” a faux documentary I rewatched recently for the first time in a decade, remains one of his best, most mercurial productions. Allen stars as Leonard Zelig, a lonely man living in the 1920s who had the ability to change his appearance to fit in with his surroundings.

If he’s stuck in an Irish bar, his hair turns red and he develops a brogue. He could become black, Asian, American Indian … even overweight if he finds himself surrounded by beefy pals.

“To the KKK he was a triple threat,” intones the perfectly unctuous narrator.

I figured the film’s technological trickery would age badly. Modern F/X wizards could easily insert Allen into archival footage. But the effects on display look utterly convincing. it’s a triumph of artistic immersion, a testament to Allen’s ability to conjure up a new version of the past combined with a crackerjack special effects squad.

“Zelig” offers some big laughs along with healthy jabs at our culture, past and present. It’s one of the unsung films in his still growing canon.

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To paraphrase David Spade, I liked Woody Allen’s “Cassandra’s Dream” the first time I saw it, when it was called “Crimes and Misdemeanors” … or “Match Point.”

There’s plenty different about “Dream,” “Crimes” and “Match,” but the similarities are striking. And I think Allen nailed the moral quagmire issue best with “Crimes.”

That said, watching Allen’s eighth neurotic comedy, now out on DVD, can be nearly as enjoyable as his first. The same mostly holds true with “Cassandra’s Dream.” Sure, the themes aren’t exactly novel, but two appealing leads and some seriously amoral behavior can be diverting.

“Dream” follows two brothers – (Ian) Ewan McGregor and (Terry) Colin Farrell – who both need some serious cash, and fast. Ian is posing as a big spender to woo an actress, while Terry’s gambling problem has him deep in debt.

Enter rich Uncle Howard (Tom Wilkinson), who always doles out money when asked. But this time he needs a favor from his nephews. A colleague is planning on testifying against him, and the case could send Uncle Howard to jail. Could the boys get rid of the man for him?

It takes f-o-r-e-v-e-r for this plot point to kick in, yet “Dream” doesn’t feel sluggish. But once the story’s fuse is lit, the fun starts draining away. We get endless bickering between the brothers about the morality of their plan, and the dialogue rarely rises beyond the obvious.

Other critics have attacked “Dream” for its inauthentic vision of working class England, and I’ll assuming their right on that count – it’s not a culture with which I’m familiar. What struck me was that, ultimately, Allen doesn’t seem invested in his own tragedy.

“Cassandra’s Dream” feels more alive than some of Allen’s recent pictures, in part due to his locale shift. But it’s still a far cry from either his funnier, or more profound features.

(Photo: Ewan McGregor and Colin Farrell hatch a devious plot in Woody Allen’s “Cassandra’s Dream”)

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