400 Screens, 400 Blows is a weekly column that takes an in-depth look at the films playing below the radar, beneath the top ten, and on 400 screens or less.

Woody Allen's Vicky Cristina Barcelona (221 screens) has earned some good reviews, but not particularly great ones. I'm not sure many critics have really understood its significance. I think they just stayed on their usual pro- or anti-Woody Allen bandwagon and reviewed it according to how funny or not funny it was, or how Woody Allen-ish the dialogue sounded. Or worse, they brought Allen's private life into it and attacked it for its supposedly twisted sexuality. But Vicky Cristina Barcelona is a major step in the career of this tricky artist, more so than the critical darling Match Point three years ago.

One drawback to Allen's career is that he started out as a blatant comic filmmaker with films like Bananas, Sleeper and Love and Death. Then, movies like Annie Hall, Manhattan and Crimes and Misdemeanors cleverly melded comedy into dramatic situations, but the damage had been done: he was once and always "just" a comedian, forever lower on the scale than his contemporaries (Altman, Scorsese, Coppola, etc.). His other drawback is that he keeps making "Woody Allen" movies, in which the credits always look the same, the musical choices are always the same, the cinematography always looks great, and everyone talks the same. Often, but not always, the same actors appear. Who does this remind you of?

Japanese-born director Yasujiro Ozu (1903-1963) is one of the most satisfying, yet complex filmmakers in history, and also the simplest. Early on he learned to eliminate anything extraneous, such as camera movements, flashy editing, or even camera angles (everything is shot head-on, eye-level with the actors), in favor of composition and pacing. (He only reluctantly made the jumps to sound, and later, color.) His films have a peaceful, tranquil quality, that leave me feeling relaxed afterward, and yet -- as I discovered last summer while devouring the Criterion Eclipse Late Ozu box set -- there's a dark side to Ozu. If his characters eventually find happiness, they find it by letting go, or giving up their values. It's a harsh message for Americans reared on fighting for our ideals, which is perhaps why Ozu's films were deemed "too Japanese" to be released here during his lifetime. Yet the films still work, and here we have a perfect example in Ozu's I Was Born, But... (1932), released as part of the Criterion Eclipse Box Set #10: Silent Ozu: Three Family Comedies. (The Eclipse series offers no-frills box sets of films that may otherwise never see the light of day.)