Emmanuel Mouret steps into the shoes of Woody Allen from the opening credits in this entertaining, smoothly acted, but superficial relationship comedy about middle-aged marital problems.

“Every couple in love should remember that love may not last,” someone says midway through “Three Friends,” dismissing a spurned kiss with impressively calm Gallic composure. If everyone were so sanguine about such things, most kinds of love stories wouldn’t exist. A film like Emmanuel Mouret’s Chablis-dry romantic comedy, in which consenting adults fuss and fuss over half-consenting adultery, would certainly be a lot fresher than it is. Mouret’s film, which madly unravels the sexual and emotional entanglements of three 40-something Lyonnais girlfriends — two married, one single, neither fulfilled — won’t strike anyone as fresh, either within his directorial oeuvre or within that entire cinematic subgenre devoted to French infidelity, but it’s an easy, breezy, pleasantly adult viewing experience.

Mouret has produced variations on this formula since his 2000 debut, “Laissons Lucie faire!”, once dabbling in heritage cinema with the 2018 period piece “Lady J,” but has otherwise stuck to a familiar template of chatty contemporary relationship studies that attract the crème de la crème of French acting talent. Though he’s a fixture in his home country (“2020’s Love Affair(s)” scored a whopping 13 César nominations), his work has only occasionally crossed over to international cinemas. With its competition berth at Venice, marking Mouret’s first time atop a Big Three festival, “Three Friends” could raise his auteur’s profile, though it’s neither a formal nor a thematic departure for him.

As for influences, the film shows its hand from the film’s opening credits: jazz piano, black screen, centered white titles in a serif font that’s awfully close to Woody Allen’s signature Windsor Light Condensed. While Allen has borrowed heavily from the likes of Rohmer and Truffaut throughout his career, the French have returned the favor in terms of homage, if not always transparently. With its round of affairs and betrayals centered around a close-knit female trio, occasionally narrated by a secondary male character, the superficial similarity to “Hannah and Her Sisters” is obvious, though “superficial” is the operative word: Mouret doesn’t explore his characters or their shifting desires very deeply, though he moves them along with some verve.