First, just to get that obvious question out of the way: No, I am not related to Scarlett Johansson. I know we practically look like twins, and then with the same name and all, well, the confusion is understandable. But no, she’s not sister or cousin or anything.

Still, if I could, I’d talk to her and say, “Listen, sister, what on earth are you up to these days?” The Nanny Diaries? Seriously? Four years ago you were portraying, in Lost in Translation, a married woman, older even than your tender then-19 years … and you pulled it off not just convincingly but brilliantly. You’re a craftsperson and an artist, way more than almost anyone your age is in Hollywood. So, why are you backtracking to play an uncertain youngster in, it must be said, a not-particularly-fascinating exploration of what it means to be an uncertain youngster. The film is perfectly… acceptable, and would have been a major step up for someone like, say, Lindsay Lohan (if could she sober herself up enough to remember her lines). But for you? You’re so much better than this.

Hello: You helped redefine the concept of “the chick flick,” a term so often used to denigrate movies about women and about women’s sexuality, and usually with good reason. Most “chick flicks” are horrible, screeching nightmares that reduce women to desperate, grasping creatures on the prowl for a husband. But look: Ghost World? Girl With a Pearl Earring? Those are awesome and insightful flicks about girls on the cusp of womanhood and discovering all sorts of interesting stuff about themselves and men and life and everything, and you were the chick in the flick. You did that. That’s really cool. But now you’re regressing to pre-feminism by babysitting other people’s toddlers and — according to the IMDB — ready to jump into a movie version of the dating screed He’s Just Not That Into You? Why? Just give us a reason? Is it the money? It’s always about the money, isn’t it?

You’ve got another Woody Allen movie coming up. Perfect. More like that, please. You’ve actually saved Woody from his own creeping irrelevance with Match Point and Scoop. Be his new Diane Keaton. Be a superhero. Travel back in time. Royalty? Hell, yes … and yes again. (Just don’t embarrass us on the accent.)

But please, I beg you, stay away from anything that deserves to be slapped with the insult of “chick flick.” You ain’t no chick: you’re a woman.

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MaryAnn Johanson (email me)
reviews, reviews, reviews! at FlickFilosopher.com