Writers of fiction strive to create compelling characters who feel real, and managing that almost always requires drawing on your own personality and experiences. Protagonists often end up as thinly-disguised stand ins for the author, and for someone like Woody Allen, who hasn’t gone a full calendar year without putting out a film since 1978 (between Annie Hall and Manhattan) 1981 (between Stardust Memories and A Midsummer’s Night Sex Comedy) it naturally happens quite often.  In celebration of Woody Allen’s latest critical darling and legitimate box office hit, Midnight in Paris, our video editor, Oliver Noble has gone through thousands upon thousands of hours (approximately) of footage from past Woody Allen movies and put together this compilation of quasi-fictional stand ins for Woody Allen, showing what Oliver believes to be the central tenets of the Woody Allen persona, the character traits and idiosyncrasies that most often shine through.  And Oliver has particularly keen insight into Woody Allen’s mind, being that he is also a Jewish man who has sexual thoughts about his daughter. In fact, we frequently engage in turgid discussions about categorical imperatives.

Jesus, does Woody Allen ever sleep?  Trivia: the last full calendar year that passed without the release of at least one Woody Allen-written movie was 1976, between Love and Death and Annie Hall. At least one movie a year for 35 years, and still had time to bang his own stepdaughter.  Now that is impressive.

Anyway, the trailer for his new one, Midnight in Paris just hit, and you’ll never believe this, but it’s about verbose intellectual white people.  From the title I assumed it was another Paris Hilton nightvision sex tape, but nope, just turgid discussions about categorical imperatives.  Opposite Rachel McAdams and Michael Sheen, it stars Owen Wilson as an American in Paris who starts ditching his American wife and friends after midnight to go experience the true Parisian nightlife, which is no doubt far more fulfilling than whatever close-minded American crap he was doing before.  Gosh, I hope this is just like Eat, Pray, Love, where some rich A-hole explains the meaning of life to other rich A-holes.

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And now, from the That’s-Not-What-I-Heard files comes a story from actress Lucy Punch, who reportedly learned the hard way what constitutes proper behavior on the set of a Woody Allen film.  Woody Allen films aren’t ‘Nam, Lucy, there are rules. (*cough*) FRIDAY IS NO-PANTIES DAY! (*cough, cough*)

“When I first met Woody [on the set of You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger], I was in full costume and I went up to him and was very excited to meet him and gave him this huge hug,” she told us. “And he went completely silent and totally stiff. And I was like, ‘What have I done? I’m going to get fired.’ And everyone’s like, ‘You don’t touch Woody.’ I was less demonstrative for the rest of the shoot.” [NY Mag]

Hmmm, ‘you don’t touch Woody…’  (*puts on Carnac the Magnificent turban, holds envelope up to forehead*)  What is… the one thing no one ever taught you on the casting couch?  (*pantomimes golf swing, rocks back on heels, looks over to see if Kevin Eubanks is laughing*)

Sub-joke: 32 years old and she’s only just now learning that the woody goes stiff when you touch it?   …Clearly you’re not his stepdaughter.

Thanks, folks, I’ll be here all week.  Try the veal, and don’t forget to tip Chodin’s sister.  (*cartwheels off stage*)

I don’t want to engage in another turgid discussion about categorical imperatives, but Woody Allen has a new movie coming out.  (Has it been three weeks already?).  It stars Josh Brolin, Naomi Watts, Anthony Hopkins, Freida Pinto, and Antonio Panteras, and it’s called You Will Meet a Tall, Dark Stranger.  Oh no, this must be what Mel Gibson was trying to warn me about!

After Alfie leaves his wife Helena to pursue his lost youth and a free-spirited call girl named Charmaine, Helena abandons rationality and surrenders her life to the loopy advice of a charlatan fortune teller. Happy in her marriage, Sally develops a crush on her handsome art gallery owner boss, Greg, while Roy, a novelist nervously awaiting the response to his latest manuscript, becomes moonstruck over Dia, a mystery woman who catches his gaze through a nearby window. Despite these characters’ attempts to dodge their problems with pipe dreams and impracticable plans, their efforts lead only to heartache, irrationality, and perilous hot water. [Yahoo]

If someone has begun dating a handsome art gallery owner or a washed-up novelist needs to find a new muse, you know you’re either in a Woody Allen film or a Paul Simon song.  But as long as there aren’t any Spanish poets trying to punish the world for their inability to love, we’ll call it a step in the right direction.

I’m one of those people who thinks Woody Allen has made enough influential films that he sort of gets  a pass for making just as many crappy ones.  Still, after enduring Vicky Cristina Barcelona, with it’s “‘let’s not have another turgid discussion about categorical imperatives,” and characters that wrote poetry but refused to publish it “to punish the world for its inability to love,” it took weeks to cleanse my nostrils of the smell of farts (thanks, cocaine).  Now, Woody’s back with a similar-sounding film, starring Owen Wilson, Rachel McAdams’ butt, French First Lady Carla Bruni, Kathy Bates, Adrien Brody, Rachel McAdams’ butt, and Rachel McAdams’ butt.

Today Allen announced the cast of his next film, Midnight in Paris.
The movie is a romantic comedy following a family traveling to the city for business. “The party includes a young engaged couple that has their lives transformed throughout the journey. The film celebrates a young man’s great love for Paris, and simultaneously explores the illusion people have that a life different from their own is better.”  [CinemaBlend]

Hmm, sounds a little like Vicky Cristina Barcelona, and a lot like The Darjeeling Limited in Paris.  Both films are similar in that (*dissmissive wanking motion*)  (*glances lovingly back at Rachel McAdams’ butt*)  (*actual wanking*).  Man, if I find out that’s a butt double, I’ll cry harder than when Old Yeller met the shotgun.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to have another turgid discussion with my wiener about Rachel McAdams’ butt.