The casting of Sean Penn as antiheroic, Depression-era musician Emmet Ray is inspired: the actor is too vital to merely parrot his director, as so often happens when Allen defers the lead role to a star (John Cusack in Bullets Over Broadway; Kenneth Branagh in Celebrity). Ray is considered the second greatest jazz guitarist in the world, after his idol, Django Reinhardt, and is only ever humbled by Reinhardt's presence. It is never expected of artists to demur, but Emmet can't or won't otherwise shut up about his own formidable talent.

Emmet's need to hear a constant stream of praise does not actually hinder his relationship with Hattie (Samantha Morton), a mute laundrette, for at least she'll never criticize him, either. Verbally abusive towards her (always and unforgivably excusing this behaviour as part and parcel of the artist's temperament), he finally leaves her when he realizes he's falling in love with her--someone other than himself. Later, he impetuously marries Blanche (Uma Thurman), an aspiring biographer about whom he couldn't care less, except when his pride is challenged by her infidelity. The routine of many men, unfortunately.

Penn, who has boycotted the Golden Globes for life because they didn't nominate Hurlyburly, is the very embodiment of a celebrity capable of talking the talk and walking the walk. The role of Emmet skews to his greatest strengths: it calls for a ferocious energy and neutral comic dissonance. Yet the character, a funnier, more flamboyantly garbed Jake LaMotta, is not a creation we expect from Allen. For once, the hyphenate allows his protagonist to fully alienate himself, and that integrity strengthens the whole picture. We are not asked to understand Emmet, or even like him; when Allen suggests, towards the end of the picture, that misery makes great music, it is presented as a sad, ironic conundrum rather than an apology.

The vulnerable-looking Morton is also brilliant in a wordless performance. Of course, her Hattie does have the dubious distinction of characterizing the perfect woman as silent and subservient. (Her Oscar loss may have been in protest of such a humiliating notion.) I also have to question Sweet and Lowdown's pseudo-documentary approach: jazz aficionados, including Allen, relate urban legends pertaining to the fictional Emmet, in what plays like a flimsy excuse to sometimes show two or three versions of the same scene (when their stories prove contradictory).

Sweet and Lowdown, the most beautifully photographed (by the celebrated Fei Zhao) Allen film in many years, makes a smooth transition to DVD. The 16x9-enhanced, 1.85:1 letterboxed (an unmatted version is housed on the flipside) image is near flawless. (Penn and Thurman's wardrobes--they are described in the film as "two peacocks"--must have been a compression nightmare.) This is the best Columbia Tri-Star disc I've seen in quite some time. Audio is surprisingly detailed mono. Penn's guitar playing, often imperceptibly dubbed in by Howard Alden, never sounds crushed by the limited dynamic range. For 5.1, visit the trailer gallery, where you'll find previews in full Dolby Digital for Gattaca, Les Miserables, and U-Turn (in varying degrees of widescreen), as well as mono, full-frame previews of Husbands and Wives (not yet available on DVD), Manhattan Murder Mystery, and Sweet and Lowdown.-Bill Chambers