Today is Woody Allen's seventieth birthday, and, being something of a fan, I thought I'd point it out to those who would have otherwise let it go by unnoticed.
It's not easy to be a Woody Allen fan. First there's that whole "married his daughter" thing. That is admittedly kind of sick. And then there's the fact that many of his movies, particularly those of the last 5-10 years, suck. Why am I still a fan? Will power.
Driven by fond memories of Annie Hall and Crimes and Misdemeanors I choose to ignore that which might upset me.
"Oh," I tell myself, "she was adopted. And he didn't even adopt her, Mia Farrow did. And he didn't even marry Mia, officially. It was a common-law sort of thing."
In this way I consciously narrow my mind tightly enough to keep out the offending thoughts, leaving me happy and able to enjoy an evening watching Manhattan, a film featuring Mariel Hemingway as Mr. Allen's 17-year-old love interest.
It's what I imagine it's like to be a Republican.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment