David Wilcox / The Citizen

I made the mistake of piling several Woody Allen films I hadn't seen onto my Netflix queue consecutively. I love Woody's work when he's in top form, but enduring his lesser films ("Melinda and Melinda," "Celebrity") between his better ones ("Deconstructing Harry," "Match Point") has not been a speedy process.

Last night I watched "Manhattan Murder Mystery," which falls somewhere in the middle of this scale of Allen movies. The mystery premise enlivens the typical Allen formula of neurotic fretting and romantic quibbling. Alan Alda and Anjelica Huston provide strong support as friends to Allen and Diane Keaton, who suspect their neighbor of killing his wife after she suffers an apparent fatal heart attack.

Keaton's character goes to dangerous lengths to investigate her neighbor's (Jerry Adler) activities following the death, and Keaton plays the role with the zeal of a rejuvenated middle-aged woman. The mystery and danger excite her and close friend Alda, though her husband (Allen) tries to discourage any meddling.

When Allen also sees enough evidence of foul play to warrant suspicion, he involves Huston and Alda. Keaton's chagrin at their plan deflates her excitement and even endangers her marriage. It's also at this point in the movie that its tone shifts from comic hijincks to life and death. The light vibe of the first hour of the film forecasts a big misunderstanding on Allen and Keaton's part, but the director hurries through a perilous, inorganic climax (and a forced homage to "The Lady from Shanghai") that vindicates their suspicions. To Allen's credit, he still satisfyingly pays off the characters' story arcs. But it'll still be a few days before I watch my next Allen movie.