IN REAL LIFE, WOODY ALLEN isn't much different from
the character he plays in his movies. He has the same reedy Brooklyn
accent he uses on-screen and wears the same dorky, black-framed glasses
he's worn since he was 17. He's shy, meek, insecure, a little phobic.
When he showers, he makes a point of standing away from the drain, and
he's not crazy about tunnels. Too much like the womb.
That such a person manages the existential crisis of getting out of
bed in the morning, or accomplishes anything at all, let alone becoming a
celebrated filmmaker, seems miraculous. But Allen's nebbishness
disguises immense willpower and Stakhanovite work habits. Not long ago,
Marshall Brickman, an old friend and collaborator (he cowrote Manhattan and Annie Hall,
among other classic Allen movies), was reminiscing about Allen's
career. They first met, he recalled, in the early '60s at The Bitter
End, a club in Greenwich Village, where Brickman performed with the
Tarriers, a folk group, and Allen, a stand-up comic, was the nervous
opening act. Though Allen was an..''
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