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Woody Allen
Point, Counterpoint (Q&A Excerpt)
Matching Woody Allen to his remarkable comedy should be easy. Guess what?



Growing up on New York's Upper East Side, Rob Feld had seen The Man in its streets many times before-on weekend strolls, during lunch breaks from school, in restaurants. In high school Feld had loitered on his way home to observe him filming in a townhouse off Madison Avenue. The olive Army jacket, the glasses; a persona in the extreme. Despite the chance encounters, Feld never said a word. Besides, what would he say to the man that the Writers Guild lists with a total of 42 credits, beginning in 1965 with a Writers Guild Award nomination for his first credited screenplay, What's New Pussycat? In fact, Allen has been nominated for more Guild screenwriting awards than any other member: 18, winning three times, including Crimes and Misdemeanors for best original screenplay in 1989. Of course, Allen's no stranger with the Academy either, earning two Oscars (as well as Guild awards), for Annie Hall in 1977 and Hannah and Her Sisters in 1985- and where his 11 nominations are the most of any writer for original screenplay in Academy history.

But now he'd better think of something. Here, an excerpt from his conversation with the mastercraftsman, Woody Allen.

Rob Feld: You claim that you're not a perfectionist, but you clearly care deeply about what you're putting out there. Sometimes you say it's more important to be able to meet friends for dinner at the end of the day than get the shot perfectly right.

Woody Allen: Well, yes, you know, I'm not being factitious, exactly. I do care to a point. I don't care beyond that point. If you see me in the preproduction and the production of the film, you would see someone who is very dedicated, working hard, and cares about everything. But then there's a limit. It reaches a point where my priorities switch. When I first started making films, I made Take the Money and Run and Bananas. You get a chance to make a film and your whole life becomes about the film; and the film becomes, in the minds of the people you're working for, a necessary evil for the budget to come out good. It's, “Uch, we've got to have a film, what a pain in the neck! We only just have a budget that comes out right, but there's gotta be a film too!” So, at first you're struggling, and then one day you look up and say, “Hey, my life is passing, this is crazy. I want to watch the ball game, I want to see my kids, I want to go out for dinner with my friends.” You know, film is not the end-all be-all in life. I must always remember that I went into the film business to meet women, and it was a means to an end. Film was not an end in itself; it was a means to an end. And that end was a pleasurable life: a life of some comfort, of some notoriety, a life of interesting women and charming friends. But I don't have that. What I have is, “I'm a drone and a drudge who's working night and day to put out an hour-and-a-half of celluloid, and I'm enjoying none of the things that I set out to get.” So I stop and figure This is ridiculous. So for the past 25 years, it comes to a certain point and my priorities switch. I figure, No, sorry, I have theater tickets tonight. Maybe I could really use three or four more takes of this because I don't really have it, but it'll be good enough. So it's not going to be on a level with Fellini, it'll be good enough, but I am definitely going to the theater tonight, and I'm definitely going to see the Knicks. So, I don't consider myself a rabid artist or perfectionist because I do have things that I put before the psychotic dedication to my artform.

Do you have a favorite joke?
I have a favorite joke, but it's slightly long.

Do we not have time for it?
You won't like it.

Try me.
It's about a guy who buys a horse. The horse seems to check out when he's buying it, and the owner says to him before he buys, “I have to tell you one thing though. He's got a bad habit. He likes to sit on grapefruits.” And the guy buying the horse says, “Okay, that's the only thing wrong with him?” The owner says yes. The guy thinks, “He said grapefruits-all right,” and he pays for the horse. He's taking it home with him. And they're going across a stream and suddenly the horse sits down and won't get up. The guy doesn't know what to do. He runs back to the guy he bought it from. “I bought a horse from you, you tell me there's one thing wrong, that he likes to sit on grapefruits. He's sitting in the middle of a stream, I can't get him to move.” And the guy says, “Oh! I forgot to tell you. He also sits on fish.” I told you you wouldn't like it.

I don't dislike it, but why that one? What does that joke say? What's the thing that resonates?
The Dada-ness of it. The absurdity of it is funny because it's sort of like a perfect little joke. It encapsulates the utter meaninglessness of human existence and of the world.