Having mined Manhattan, its Jews and neuroses, in Vicky Cristina Barcelona Woody Allen relocates to a land that has no Jewish citizens, converted its synagogues into churches, and hesitated thirty-eight years to recognize Israel. Like Cristina, played by Scarlett Johansson, he wants as far from his roots as possible, buying here into the Pedro Almodóver-Ministry of Commerce and Tourism colorful-kooky-kinky-tolerant myth, and serving up stereotype characters to heady Spanish guitar and wine.

The obvious message is that one either advance confidently in the direction of his or her love dreams or else live doomed to might-have-beens. Clumsily conceived, manipulated and executed, it so lacks the relationship insights and poignant accuracy of Annie Hall and Manhattan, respectively, that one wonders if, as in the story of The Front, another writer and director should be held responsible.

On the face of it reversing the time-honored puritanical blonde-smoldering dark lady pairing -- but brunette Vicky (Rebecca Hall) does turn out to have unplumbed, however stifled, depths -- the “new romantic comedy” sends the two titular American women to the titular city for a summer at the home of middle-aged relatives Mark and Judy Nash (Kevin Dunn, Patricia Clarkson). The houseguests are inseparable friends soon to be separated by Vicky’s marriage to straight businessman Doug (Chris Messina). The sensible bride-to-be arrives with plans to haunt archives for her thesis on “Catalán Identity,” a reflection of her long love affair with Gaudí’s art nouveau architecture.

On the other hand, free-spirit Cristina -- Romance spelling, no h -- is running from the rubble of a film project and the latest shattered romance and is open to anything, seeking to learn what she desires but so far knowing only “what I don’t want.”

Much of this, and woefully much of the ninety-seven minutes, is blatantly told to us, narrated by a toneless ubiquitous male voice (Christopher Evan Welch) that obviates the need for actors to show thoughts and feelings. This omniscient God-voice is so overused for scene-, time-, and character-exposition that it cannot stop itself from “Juan Antonio [Javier Bardem] hurried out in the middle of the night” even as he springs from lamp-lit bed to his red Alfa Romeo convertible parked in darkness.

At an exhibition, the two girls notice writer-become-painter Juan Antonio González, who, their hosts fill in, has recently had a scandalous divorce prior to which “he tried to kill his wife, or she him, I don’t remember.” Over dinner, the visitors disagree about which of them has been ogling him at a nearby table. Fashionably stubbled, he approaches to comment on the blonde’s eyes and invite them for a weekend of culture and sex in Oviedo (in reality an unappealing industrial port): “Life,” he philosophizes, “is dull, short, full of pain,” so seize the moment.

SPOILER ALERT

Vicky is aghast and cool, Cristina champing at the bit, so the three are soon on a private plane. Between libidinous thoughts and phone calls from her fiancé about an even more upscale house in Bedford Hills, Vicky cannot sleep, while her friend heads to the non-“factory zombie” artist’s room, where “you’ll have to seduce me.” Which he does, but is interrupted by her reaction to alcohol and shellfish. While she recuperates with bed rest, he escorts Vicky around, takes her to the country house of his father, a poet who will not publish “because the world still hasn’t learned to love,” and then into his bed.

The engaged woman has conflicting emotions, especially when Doug suggests flying over to get married on the romantic Mediterranean. Cristina has no scruples when Juan Antonio contacts her and, in fact, moves in with him and savors the bohemian nightlife. He, however, talks often of his former wife -- so does his father -- comparing their tempestuous love to a vitamin-complete diet that nevertheless lacks salt, healthy but missing one essential ingredient.

Expectedly, that thunderstorm of a lusty ex- shows up. Her Madrid architect liaison petered out, María Elena (Penelope Cruz) overdosed at the bus station and, insisting on speaking only Spanish for a time, is moved into the lovers’ house till she is well. Her English improved and her physique California-enhanced, Cruz is far from the shy slim adolescent of Belle Epoch days and is rather heavy on her current smoking, jealous, sultry Latin sexpot. The exes argue about talent and who molded whom. They bicker about Cristina but fall into a sexual threesome, with her as the previously missing catalyst, and infinitely skilled María takes that novice photographer under her own expert wing.

Married to Doug, Vicky is dissatisfied and pushed to go after Juan Antonio by Judy, who admits that she loves but is “not in love with Mark” though it is by now too late to bolt for freedom and true passion. María Elena slinks, sulks and screams; Vicky broods, Cristina grabs the reins of her own life; Juan Antonio promotes peace for the moment, then pursues Vicky for a last stand; Judy is trapped, Doug oblivious. And the nagging narrator narrates on. 

(Released by The Weinstein Company and rated “PG-13” for mature thematic material involving sexuality and smoking.)