The big irony is that, coming from any other filmmaker, Aphrodite would have been something of a miracle, since it’s virtually impossible to find movies that rely on wit instead of flat-out jokes and on subtle character interaction instead of a gratuitous succession of puerile clichés. But from Allen, you wish—as with films like Sweet and Lowdown and Melinda and Melinda—that he’d tried a little harder. You can’t really fault the execution, but the base material would have been well served by a little more rumination and revision.

There’s something genuinely sad about Sorvino’s character, and even though Sorvino is terrific at playing her both hardened and naive would-be porn star for laughs, she manages to work in some wistful and defiant notes that cry out for more support from the script. I’m not saying that sensed absence really hurts the film—it holds up well and is enjoyable enough—but it feels like a bit of a missed opportunity.

The one false note is Helena Bonham Carter as Allen’s wife. She brings her trademark high-strung brooding mannerisms to the role, and little else. You easily believe that she’d aspire to open a gallery in Tribeca, but it’s just not believable that she’d be married to Allen. That’s partly his fault—his persona has rarely been convincing when his character is in something other than show business, and while you can imagine him having a brief relationship with someone like Carter, it’s impossible to buy into the idea they’d have a long, let alone happy, marriage.

The presentation of Mighty Aphrodite on Amazon Prime is surprisingly good—especially given how compromised Bullets Over Broadway, from the previous year, looks on the same service. Given that both films apparently came from the same distribution chain, you have to wonder what’s up. Carlo DiPalma’s cinematography is subtle, especially for a comedy, but always appropriate and effective, and sometimes striking. Skin tones look natural and interiors look realistic, if a tad muted, and the whole of it is a crisp and clean and accurate enough transfer.

If you feel a movie review isn’t an appropriate place to comment on the attempts to savage Allen and obliterate his works, stop reading here. But it’s impossible to watch Aphrodite now and not be reminded that Sorvino was one of the people who turned on Allen based on hearsay and a kind of herd instinct. This film was both the beginning and pinnacle of her career—she won an Oscar for her role, then disappeared into the usual show-biz netherworld of endless dead-ends. I realize this is considered passé at a time when people don and shed professions on a dime (something I’ll refrain from commenting on for now), but there is something—a lot, actually—to be said for dedication to your craft, a focus that ought to preclude indulging in public denunciations based on thin innuendo. But if it wasn’t for that kind of shameless blaming—and the public’s endless hunger for more—there wouldn’t be any social media.