Woody Allen is one of my favourites. I use ‘favourites’ loosely so that I can be deliberately vague, because after all he is one of my favourite actors, comedians, eccentrics, directors… man, that list could go on.
He had me with the poster for Manhattan. I was in school at the time and it adorned a wall in a classroom, and I found it delightfully enigmatic. I have a love affair with New York in film and literature as it is, so by the time I got round to watching the film, he had me at ‘He adored New York City. He idolized it all out of proportion’.
That’s me. Idolizing and romanticizing a city I barely know way out of proportion.
Since watching Manhattan for the first time, a certain person in my life has subjected me to all manner of Allen films. There are some great ones, some bad ones and some truly odd ones. Midnight in Paris was beautiful. Vicky Christina Barcelona was sexy and fun. Annie Hall was pretty much my life for a little while. Everything you have always wanted to know about sex* (*but were afraid to ask) was… interesting, with some bits far funnier than others. Deconstructing Harry was a little peculiar. I was surprised to like Match Point. Whatever Works has become my catchphrase.
I love Woody Allen films. Yes, he is clearly a little odd. But the man makes great movies and sure as hell pulls an awesome pose out of the bag every single time he is caught on film. So below are a selection of portraits of the man himself – an icon to me and a feeder of my love of New York.