When I was in college, way before he was linked with Mia Farrow or Soon-Yi, I thought Woody Allen was a genius. He wrote erudite essays, did stand-up, and had made his first few movies. It was common knowledge that every Monday night in Manhattan, he played the clarinet at Michael’s Pub. So one night I came down with a few friends from New Haven to see him in person.
He did just that: he played the clarinet. Nothing else. He didn’t introduce any songs. He didn’t say one word to the audience. He didn’t even make eye contact.
I didn’t need him to speak. I was happy just to watch him up close in such an intimate setting. I had my close encounter with Woody Allen—and I didn’t care if I ever saw him in person again.
If only I had quit while I was ahead.
Cut to 7 years later. I’m a TV reporter in Miami. I’m still wild about Woody. Because I’m a fan, my boss surprises me by sending me to New York on a movie junket, even though I’ve never reviewed a movie. I’m wined and dined with a group of movie critics—and I get to see a preview of the upcoming Woody Allen movie: Annie Hall.
The weekend is like a dream. I know it really happened— since there’s a picture to prove it.
Woody seems to be shrinking away from me—and he has good reason. I have a high fever that day, but Woody doesn’t know that. I’d like to blame drugs for my temporary insanity during our interview—only I’m not taking medication.
I’m an experienced reporter—-by this time, I’ve met movie stars and two presidents. Yet somehow, sitting down with Woody, I’m intimidated. I’ve never been so nervous. I’m unprepared, flustered, I ask dumb questions. And that’s not even the bad part.
No, that comes at the end of our 5-minute interview—still on-camera—-when I ask Woody for a kiss. He’s slightly stunned–but he gives me a peck on the cheek.
I have the interview in the can. And it really IS a can— which the movie people hand me to take back to Miami. I sit on the flight home, panicked by the can on my lap, wondering if I will still have a career once the film in that can airs on TV. I get off the plane and stand in Miami International Airport, holding the can over a trash container, about to drop it in and invent a story that the film was lost by the airline.
I can that idea; the interview is broadcast, and nothing terrible happens. I remain a fan of Woody Allen. Very soon, another Jewish filmmaker, Mel Brooks, introduces me to my future husband. After a whirlwind romance, I marry Mel’s personal manager and move to Hollywood. Cut to Act 3.
A few months after our marriage, my new husband and I are in New York. One night we go out to dinner to meet some of his friends. We’re led to our table at Elaine’s. As I sit down, I turn to my right. Sitting at the table, in the chair next to me is…..Woody Allen.
Of course my husband has no idea Woody and I have a past. I can’t get up and switch seats. I try draping my hair to hide my face but it’s too short. So I barely speak through the entire meal, trying to ignore Woody. Only Woody is too courteous to ignore me; he’s also too courteous to remind me of our previous encounter—- if he remembers it.
What irony. If someone asked me to name my fantasy dinner partner, Woody would have been at the top of my list. Now I have two hours to get to know him. Only I don’t . I spend the evening—as much as humanly possible and socially acceptable— in the ladies’ room.
Finally the night is over. This time, I don’t ask Woody for a kiss goodbye.
I still don’t know if he remembered the lunatic who kissed him. By now, 3 decades later, I’d be over the humiliation and able to laugh about it. Maybe.
I haven’t had a fourth encounter. So no epiphany. No happy ending. And a little disappointing—-which by the way is my review of Woody’s latest movie.
Darryle,
You look so chic in that photo. You previously asked if you should cut your hair yet and I can see you’ll look quite stylish after you get around to that Locks of Love commitment you wrote about.
I love this…. “after you get around to that Locks of Love commitment you wrote about…”—-people who read my blog are starting to sound like members of my family!
Seriously, thanks so much! My hair MIGHT look stylish when I cut it–if only my face and body still looked like they did in that photo!
Wow, kissed by Woody Allen. I’m very impressed.
I love his movies. Did you like the new one?
No, don’t be impressed. NOT exactly “kissed by Woody Allen”. Can you see the fear in his eyes? It was before Fatal Attraction–but he probably thought I was a stalker.
P.S. I love his movies, too—at least, some of them. Liked but didn’t LOVE the new one.
Sorry, and a bit surprised, that you did not “love” Woody and Larry’s new movie. We really thought it was one of his best. Anyhow, I agree with Cynthia that you look great with short hair.
Read this, loved it! Immediately re-watched Bananas. We used to have a copy in the San Salvador bureau and I asked all newcomers to Central America to watch it. It was essential a documentary of that place at that time and one of the funniest films, for me, of all times. A genius. I remember seeing your interview and with or without the backstory I though it was wonderful. Yesterday in the London Independent there was a long piece about Ingmar Bergman. Who, especially with ‘his actress’, as he called them, was a 100% nutter. Most of the women felt he was director/stalker. I think the difference between mere brilliance and drooling, possessive madness seems quite gray. As you know, Woody’s best lines are my favorite ones to steal. Your telling of this story was so honest and fun to read.
Ron— So after all this time, after we’ve agreed on everything from politics to pancakes, we finally come to a parting of the ways….I just didn’t LOVE that movie.
As for short hair, I’ll hold that thought till I finally cut it off.
Bob: All these creative geniuses seem to be a little nutty, don’t you think? Not including you, of course….
I love the idea that you had the CBS news team in Central America watching Bananas. That image is almost as funny as the movie was.
Since the old days, however, you’ve obviously lost some memory if you could describe my Woody Allen interview as “wonderful”. Luckily that film can —and the interview—finally did disappear without my tossing it into the garbage. Thank god back in the day there was no YouTube.
Oh well, ah, memory and pre-digital virtual memeory. When I saw the picture of you two I was sure I had seen you on television with Woody. At some stage what I think I saw and did, and in the telling things that might have been and so became what was, and what we hoped we remembered v. what never actually was , now that really is a gray area of gray matter.
I think this whole post seems to end up being more about your hair than Woody Allen. ‘Cause
I’m going to comment on your hair, too! Huh! It looks great short.
I had long hair for 35 years, until 18 months ago. I now have a pixie cut, and I get nothing but
compliments. It’s astonishing.
So, you know, cut your hair, honey!
And thanks for your gracious comments on my most recent blog post….it’s a section from my WIP, a spiritual memoir.
Jody: Re: the hair. I’m just procrastinating; have no worries about cutting my hair. Thanks to chemo I’ve had every possible length.