OK, so the WS is the first to admit that admiration for this pop culture icon has been a little bit of a tough sell since the whole "I'm-leaving-you-for-my-stepdaughter" routine of the early 1990s. (That episode, as much I'd like to forget it, certainly did cast a pall on one of my favorite of Allen's films, Manhattan. It used to be charmingly nutty that he was going out with a seventeen year old in the movie; suddenly, it was just, um, not-so-nice.) In any case, my fandom for the Woodman, which never completely dissipated, enjoyed a bit of a renaissance right around the time I defended my PhD and entered the academy professionally. Suddenly, the classic Allen films of the late 70s and early 80s were so soothing, turning as they often do on Allen's inability to suffer pretentious blowhards and egotistical intellectuals. That scene with Marshall McLuhan in the movie line in Annie Hall has such resonance for me. Trust me.
More superficially, I dig the tweed jacket, the nervous tics, the neurotic asides... And as if that weren't enough, this cat plays the clarinet. In public. Jazz, y'all.
And he gave us what is, in my mind, the best overlap between the absurd and the insightful in the commentary about relationships that closes Annie Hall. "We need the eggs." We do.
