Archives For woody allen

What’s your favorite Woody Allen movie? Before you answer, you should know: when I was seven years old, Woody Allen took me by the hand and led me into a dim, closet-like attic on the second floor of our house. He told me to lay on my stomach and play with my brother’s electric train set. Then he sexually assaulted me. He talked to me while he did it, whispering that I was a good girl, that this was our secret, promising that we’d go to Paris and I’d be a star in his movies. I remember staring at that toy train, focusing on it as it traveled in its circle around the attic. To this day, I find it difficult to look at toy trains.

For as long as I could remember, my father had been doing things to me that I didn’t like. I didn’t like how often he would take me away from my mom, siblings and friends to be alone with him. I didn’t like it when he would stick his thumb in my mouth. I didn’t like it when I had to get in bed with him under the sheets when he was in his underwear. I didn’t like it when he would place his head in my naked lap and breathe in and breathe out. I would hide under beds or lock myself in the bathroom to avoid these encounters, but he always found me. These things happened so often, so routinely, so skillfully hidden from a mother that would have protected me had she known, that I thought it was normal. I thought this was how fathers doted on their daughters. But what he did to me in the attic felt different. I couldn’t keep the secret anymore. – Dylan Farrow


The Death of Woody Allen

Finally Uncle Woody gives us some media to distract us from his baby raping!

Thank G-d, ya know. I couldn’t deal with a pedo-Woody  every morning when I went to worship at my closet Uncle Woody shrine. It’s not weird. Every member of the HJ writing staff has a Woody shrine hidden away. Chicky has it tattooed on his arm. Who knew you could tattoo a shrine on your arm?

Mr. Allen, who has never frequented an actual Academy Awards Ceremony (you know because he’s neurotic and beautiful) has made an open statement to Hollywood that casting directors need an award in the Academy Awards. Just like a Jew. Not actually taking part in something but still giving advice. Christ, I love the man.

And you know what, I gotta agree with him. I interned at a casting director office in my quest to be a WORLDFAMOUSDIRECTOR and that crap isn’t easy. Actors are the worst people on earth. Finding talent that isn’t also too selfish to work with people is tough and of great consequence to the working vibe of a film. Oh and actors are all terrible people.

In conclusion, keep on keeping Uncle Woody. <3 you 4eva

Oh and this video is also funny. Woody Allen still thinks people make love. Oh Woody, you naive fool.



Woody Allen has recently given a spiel on Israel, and religion, and anti-semitism. I read the lines he was quoted in with his sweet lil neurotic voice, I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.


Viva Uncle Woody.

I mean like unless he’s a child a rapist and therefore a bad person like the internet believes. But even then…I just can’t quit you Woody Allen.

Oh dear. Oh my. Oh no.

HJ’s, I’m having a tough time with this one.  The quirky and psychoanalytic pedestal I kept my Uncle Woody on is slowly teetering. It may soon collapse upon itself though I really, really hope not.

Woody Allen and Mia Farrow do not have the best relationship. This, not surprisingly, is what happens when you leave the woman you have adopted several children with for her adopted daughter. Recently, Vanity Fair unleashed an article with tidbits from Mia Farrrow about Uncle Woody having a seemingly too-close relationship with their adopted daughter, Dylan. Oh, and her potential Frank Sinatra baby.

Oddly enough, child molestation is frowned upon in modern day society. Guys who like playing “doctor” with little girls are the ones who get pushed into a corner of the shower room in jail and  bent over and told to “squeal like the little rapey piggy you are”. Accusing someone of such an offense is no laughing matter. Even if that person is Woody Allen and probably won’t have anything happen to him because years in Hollywood has given him that golden Oscar gild that keeps those sorts of people safe from the law.

This isn’t the first time Mia’s called molestation on Woody. The first time was in 1992, also in Vanity fair, with allegations from various sources that, “Woody, wearing just underwear, would take Dylan to bed with him and entwine his body around hers; or that he would have her suck his thumb; or … when Dylan went over to his apartment he would head straight for the bedroom with her so that they could get into bed and play.”

Woody Allen with his post-family
Excuse me, but ew.

These claims were ignored because there isn’t really any substantial proof, just a lot of hearsay. Furthermore, Dylan kept changing her story, seemingly to Mia’s tune. In the recent Vanity Fair article and the past one, all the claims are just Allen and his Woody-love cult friends saying Mia Farrow is a vindictive CUNextTuesday or that she and her children are a weird little Woody-hate cult. Or they are from Farrow and her weird little Woody hate cult (co-starring Ronan Farrow the one we thought was Woody’s kid but might actually be Frank Sinatra’s) saying that Uncle Woody is a creepy little perv with no moral compass.

I desperately hope Uncle Woody isn’t guilty of these crimes because nothing quite takes the shine out of Annie Hall then the prospect of Alvy Singer inappropriately touching a child. I still admire his work as an artist (except for To Rome With Love) because you have to separate the man from the art, but damn, my great desire for a Woody Allen action figure is slowly but surely diminishing. Because even if he didn’t touch Dylan Farrow, this looksee into his private life is pretty freaking skeevey.

Bids are up for a new idol. Any takers?

(Said Schlitz, knowing deep down that Uncle Woody would always be her one true neurotic Jew love and she just wants Mia Farrow to be the vindictive little gutternsnipe she presents herself as.)

Ed Note: Light spoilers! It’s a Woody Allen Movie! Har har but seriously.

The Woody Allen movie formula for success equals a beautiful city with beautiful people plus incomprehensible romantic despair. An intoxicating love for a city’s thick addictive aroma, coupled with recursive and unrelenting anxiety has fueled Allen’s entire career (life?). “Blue Jasmine” maintains the same tonic: woman marries into the wealthiest tier of New York City and her tragic descent of losing it all.

The movie was showing at an Upper East Side theater nearby, so to get myself in the Woody Allen zone, I walked down Park Avenue toward 86th Street. Wide sidewalks lined with brownstone apartments framed by century old concrete crown molding, iconic women wearing classic French fragrances and sporting Dior, juxtaposed against artistically composed piles of perpetually wet garbage. Ahh, a perfect New York scene. I’m smitten. Plus, as a jewy New Yorker with my own romantic anxieties, which bore new pits of despair into my stomach lining daily, I’m aptly primed for a new Woody Allen movie. Sir, it’s a date.

Basic story line: Woman mets rich man. Woman drops out of college. Woman marries rich man. Rich man spoils woman. Woman is happy. Years pass while rich man lies about all the things. Woman finds out and kinda loses her privileged mind.

The narrative is structured to push and pop between past and present story lines. The disconnect from current reality and past expectations firmly establishes the cognitive dissonance and wild anxiety of our main character, Jasmine (Cate Blanchett). The tension created by the “pushes and pops” through time adds to the Allen’s overarching meta-theme. Anxiety is dizzyingly complex and scary. Lesson one: avoid insanity–check.

After a crippling falling out with her husband, Hal (Alec Baldwin), a proud Jasmine is left penniless with no option, but to move from New York to a less glamourous block of San Francisco with her sister. Allen infers that leaving NYC is a tragic failure and punishment enough for Jasmine. This theme is emphasized when she arrives at her sister’s “homey” blue collar apartment located above a cafe called “New Central Cafe”. This ain’t Central Park anymore hun. Our substance driven woman can’t seem to consume enough Xanex and Stoli’s to soften her new harsh reality. Girl, you poor,…and you dropped out college 20 years ago. Ruh-roh. Lesson two: stay in school–check.

While drinking cheap vodka on the rocks as I write this, I’m reminded of my finanical descent. Man, I miss my casual neat single-malt scotch. I can’t imagine drinking this shitty vodka forever either. She misses Chanel. I miss Glenlivet 15. I hear you Jasmine.

However, her deceit painted throughout the latter half of the story illuminates her deeper weaknesses. This is where I lose some of my sympathy. Even when we feel justified to lash out when treated badly, we are still are accountable for our responses. We learn, and Jasmine too, that lies are eventually unearthed and seen for what they are. Lesson three: avoid lying–check.

Maybe it’s just my atoning spirit while preparing for Rosh Hashanah, but my take home lesson from “Blue Jasmine”: going crazy town can be avoided by some honesty…and stay in school? Bonus side lesson: Cate Blanchett is still gorgeous while rocking a neurotic face covered in melted mascara. I can only hope to be so lucky.

Oh Woody Allen, finally doing something different! And seemingly clever and fun! Oh wait, John Turturro wrote it, which is why it’s different? Well we had Midnight in Paris. I’m glad Woody Allen was willing to act as a Jewish older pimp friend. If only he donned his mother’s fur and found a cane.

Sex and the City meets Deuce Bigalow. And Turturro doesn’t murder/molest anyone! Count me in.

Woody Allen, ultimate Jew Yorker, has made a lot of movies. His upcoming film Blue Jasmine marks his 45th as a director (and that’s not including shorts or made-for-TV movies) and Fading Gigolo, also due out this year, is his 57th in front of the camera. And I know you like to tell your friends you’ve seen all of them to up your cred, but in case you’re a secret Woody Allen beginner, or really love re-watching some of the greatest cinematic moments in history, Ben Craw and Oliver Noble at the Huffington Post have got you covered. Behold, every Woody Allen stammer from every Woody Allen movie.


Relax. The new Woody Allen movie Blue Jasmine has finally announced a release date. With a cast including Alec Baldwin, Cate Blanchett, Bobby Cannavale, Louie C.K., Sally Hawkins, Peter Sarsgaard and Michael Stuhlbard (and my personal hero Andrew Dice Clay, because who doesn’t love an asshole), the movie is set to come out in NY and LA this July 26th. According to Sony, this latest Allen flick “is the story of the final stages of an acute crisis and a life of a fashionable New York housewife.” Good to know Allen hasn’t bothered to mess with his tried and true method of endearing neurotic films. At Vulture they’re hoping Clay doesn’t play the housewife, but I think C.K. is the one to worry about. He’s too nice, it wouldn’t be authentic New York. Or something.



Please stop painting your nails. Anything you ever do will just be an embarrassment compared to what the wonderful people at Vol.1 Brooklyn found. Paint them red, Paint them green. You’re still just a amateur.


As we come up to Valentines Day, Fox’s Animation Domination has us covered for the awkward love moments we love. The Simpsons decided to spoof two things we all probably love a little too much: Woody Allen and British Rom-Coms.

I’m no expert in British Rom-Coms but I did love the small Woody Allen moments sprinkled around the plot I could not follow. In other words, you missed nothing but a bunch of one liners from this Simpsons episode. I’d tel lyou your favorite Woody Allen movie was spoofed in this episode, but honestly, all Woody Allen films look the same to me. Is that anti-semitic to say?

Here’s a clip featuring Zooey Deschanel as Bart’s on and off again Girlfriend, Mary Spunckler, and a Woody Allen Caricature.