"The passions of our youth, in the end, are reduced to whatever works."

As profundities go, that doesn't rank up there with "Most men lead lives of quiet desperation." Nor does this 40th Woody Allen film rank up there with the likes of "Annie Hall" or "Vicky Cristina Barcelona." But even middlin'-quality Allen is more entertaining and mentally engaging than three-fourths of what passes for comedy on today's screen.

The script of "Whatever Works" was written more than 30 years ago for the late great Zero Mostel, who departed in 1977. You can almost smell the mothballs in the director's return to Manhattan after shooting his last four films in Europe.

You can also almost smell Boris Yellnikoff, the aptly named misanthrope and self-proclaimed genius in quantum physics, who endlessly rants and raves about the futility of life in his horrible shorts and bathrobe. As played by Larry David, he is not just passively aggressive. He's actively nasty. Upon divorcing his wife (because she was too perfect), he settles into grumpy-old-man solitude in a Chinatown walk-up.

Suddenly, into Boris' life and apartment, comes homeless waif Melody (Evan Rachel Wood) from Mississippi. Shades of Holly Golightly in "Breakfast at Tiffany's"-- but this Holly goes heavily Southern, her drawl as out of place in Manhattan as she is. Boris invokes string theory to elucidate how they got together against all odds, but her attention inevitably strays. A kid arrives to pick her up for a date. "She explained to me your theory about life being totally meaningless," he says. "Don't let it ruin your evening," Boris replies.

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'Whatever Works'

2 1/2 stars = Average
Ratings explained

• Starring: Larry David, Evan Rachel Wood, Patricia Clarkson, Ed Begley Jr.
• Rating: PG-13 for sexual situations, dialogue, brief nude images and thematic material
• Web site: www.sonypictures.com/classics/whateverworks/

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It doesn't. The boy takes her to hear the heavy-metal group Anal Sphincter. No more dating for Melody. She and Boris get married. Then Fate in the form of Beethoven's Fifth knocks on the door, not once but twice: Melody's divorced parents arrive. Her mother (Patricia Clarkson) turns out to be a "brilliant primitive" artist. Her born-again father (Ed Begley Jr.) elevates things to an even higher farcical level.

Along the way, we are treated to a variety of terrific New York locations, from Shimmel's Knish Bakery to Grant's Tomb -- a perfect venue for one of Boris' lugubrious ruminations on death. Funniest mise-en-scene is the wax museum where incongruous figures of Ronald Reagan and Gandhi loom over the protagonists.

Wood (Mickey Rourke's daughter in "The Wrestler") takes a while to grow fond of but manages it. Clarkson (of "Six Feet Under" fame) and Begley are hilarious.

But the unabashed theatricality of the piece -- David's long monologues and breaking the fourth wall in direct speech to the audience -- screams "stage play." There's a fine line between this sardonic vitriol and Broadway comedy of the Neil Simon kind. Speaking of fine lines, some gems are worth waiting for. In a hoot of a drunk scene, Begley evangelizes a homosexual on the next barstool with: "God can't be gay -- he made the blue sky, the green trees, the flowers of every color in the rainbow." The gay guy shrugs and says, "He's a decorator," resting his case.

Only about half of the jokes work, but that's a .500 average in baseball -- more line drives than most comic batters hit.

The film's biggest problem is its hero, designed as a big, blustery hypochondriac. I knew Zero Mostel. Larry David is no Zero Mostel. He's the phenomenally successful co-creator and head writer of "Seinfeld" and "Curb Your Enthusiasm" -- strictly a TV guy. David's stand-up comic style consists of deadpan delivery followed by waiting expressionlessly for his partner's reply, as if the two-shot were over his shoulder.

Better if Allen himself had played Boris. He would have taken brickbats for canoodling with the nubile Wood and reprising his neurotic-lech persona. But in terms of a young beauty falling for a creepy guy thrice her age? David is creepier than Allen.

In film, no less than passion, it's "Whatever Works," right? Wood and Woody woulda worked better. Nobody does a better Woody Allen imitation than Woody Allen.