Original subtitles

There's this old joke

that Woody Allen tells at the end of Annie Hall

which is, by the way, my favorite movie of all time,

and it goes like this...

this guy goes to a psychiatrist and says,

"Doc, my brother, he's crazy, he thinks he's a chicken."

and the doctor says,

"Um, well, why don't you turn him in?"

and the guy says, "I would, but I need the eggs."

This joke, coincidentally enough,

explains how I recently found myself

in the most bizarre pseudo-relationship of my life.

I had just written this article called "My dinner with Woody,"

which was this fantasy piece about having a meal

and an incredible conversation with my intellectual hero.

I thought it was pretty good,

and everyone around here seemed to really like it.

"My dinner with Woody."

What's next, "My pedicure with Neil Simon?"

Well, I, for one, found it compelling.

You did, really? I'm shocked.

Next month, you could do

"My dinner with Claudia Schiffer."

Why would I want to have dinner

with Claudia Schiffer?

Because she sells magazines,

and after this silly Woody Allen piece,

we may have to.

There's nothing silly about it.

Haven't you ever wanted to have a deep conversation

with someone other than Claudia Schiffer?

David Copperfield.

I want to find out how that windblown freak

got Claudia Schiffer.

You know whose brain I've always wanted to pick?

Gore Vidal.

Wow, that's impressive. Gore Vidal?

Did I say Gore Vidal? I meant Vidal Sassoon.

Elliott, what about you?

Anyone in the world.

Who'd you most want to have dinner with?

Jack Gallo.

Well, thanks. I appreciate that.

You suckup.

Good morning, Blush.

Underpaid phone monkey speaking.

Ooh, for you.

Oh, well, whoever it is, just take a message.

It's Woody Allen.

Can we keep going?

I have an organizational meeting

with Doors Across Manhattan.

What's that again?

You know, it's that charity that I cofounded

with my friend Benny.

Each year for one month, we take inner-city kids

and allow them to be doormen for the rich.

And how does that help?

Well, you know, if you have packages and stuff.

Man, my allergies are driving me crazy.

I'd pay 100 bucks for some eye drops.

Eye drops, eye drops...

Eye drops.

Damn!

Back in a minute.

This is Maya Gallo.

It's Woody Allen.

Hi.

I'm-I'm sorry to bother you like this,

but I just wanted to tell you

how much I, uh, enjoyed your article.

You did?

Yeah. It was very flattering.

Listen, I would love to, you know,

meet you sometime and, uh, say hello.

Finch!

What?

Ha ha...

All right, Finch,

very funny Woody Allen impression.

What, I'm on the phone with my mother.

Yeah, right.

Oh, hi, Mrs. Finch, I won't keep you long

because according to Dennis,

you have a lot of drinking to do.

Oh, hi, Mrs. Finch.

Hey, maybe later,

you can throw firecrackers

at my grandpa.

Oh, I'm so sorry.

My God...

I have Woody Allen on hold.

You got any gum?

I have breath freshener.

A lady is always prepared.

Yeah, for a sobriety test.

What did you give me?

Aw, jeez!

They're eye drops!

Sorry.

Uh-oh.

If these are my eye drops, then what did I give Jack?

Minty-fresh corneas?

Hey, how's my dad?

Uh, still at the eye doctor.

He'll be fine.

He just has to wear an eyepatch for a couple of days.

Oh, gosh, that's terrible.

You're telling me.

He won't stop calling and doing his pirate imitation.

He does a pirate imitation?

Not really.

By the way,

there's a Woody Allen waiting in your office.

He's here?

I can't believe you kept him waiting

while you blathered on about my father's blindness!

Maya Gallo, the great Woody Allen.

Please, just call me The Great Woody.

Oh, by the way,

Mark Twain called.

He can't make it for racquetball.

Nice kid.

He's like the Von Trapp they left behind.

Okay, who are you really?

Woody Allen.

All right, let me see your driver's license.

I'm strictly a passenger...

Ever since I honked at a Teamster

and he responded by spanking me with a "how's my driving?" sign.

But here's my, uh...

here's my state ID.

You legally changed your name to Woody Allen?

My-my agent thought

Allen Konigsberg sounded too Jewish.

This from a man named Myron Fishnik.

Oh...

So...you read the article and...

called.

That was so sweet.

Well, you're a terrific writer, you know.

Intellectual without being didactic.

Thanks. That's a...really nice coat.

This? I, uh, got on sale.

So...

So...

Maya, I need the- oh, I'm sorry.

Oh, Elliott, um...

this is Woody...

Woody Allen.

Okay.

Is that all you have to say?

For the moment,

but we'll be talking about this for years.

So, uh, while you were outside before,

I, uh, I glanced at your list of story ideas, here.

You read my ideas?

They're terrific!

Really?

You think they're good?

Good?

Let me tell you something, sweetheart.

The knishes at the Carnegie deli are good.

These? These are brilliant-

Oh!

You're just saying that.

No!

Don't be ridiculous.

The-The piece on "Cinderella and the Glass Ceiling,"

I- I'm getting goosebumps.

Big ones.

My forearm looks like a relief map of the Poconos.

Tell that to everybody out there.

Trying to get this magazine

to publish something of substance

is like pulling teeth.

Please.

You know, I have a fear of dentists.

I was once having some bridge work done,

and when I came to,

my shirt was misbuttoned.

Besides, you just got to know the tricks of selling.

You know, when I was pitching Sleeper to the studio,

I first pitched them the worst idea I could think of.

Let me guess. Interiors.

You didn't like Interiors.

No, I did, but...

You thought it was indulgent.

No. I never used the word "indulgent."

Claustrophobic?

Okay, maybe a little.

How can you say that?

Jeez!

Just because it didn't have a car crash

or a talking dinosaur every three seconds?

I'm just trying to say

I just think it's not your best work-

what am I doing?

My point is,

after the studio heard that bad pitch,

they loved Sleeper.

Very funny,

but to quote the real Woody Allen,

if you'll excuse me,

I'm due back on planet Earth.

Ooh, I love it when women quote me.

Okay, here we are.

Back at the office.

Hey, how you feeling, boss?

Yarh! I'm in ship shape, matey!

Okay, that has to stop right now.

Can I get you anything?

Nina, relax. I'm fine.

Yeah, well, I'm not.

I am wracked with guilt,

and until those bandages come off,

I will be your eyes.

Well, that's just the thing.

I don't need eyes.

I've never experienced New York

like I just did.

The sounds, the smells...

My other senses have heightened tenfold.

Hey, Jack-

Ah! Who said that?

Hey, Dad, how are you?

I've never been better.

Okay.

Now, as soon as Elliott gets here,

we can start the meeting.

Sorry I'm late.

Okay. Let's begin with articles. Maya?

Okay, I have this idea for a piece

on the frustration of women in corporate America.

It's called "Cinderella and the Glass Ceiling."

I don't know, it sounds a little dry.

But you haven't even given it a chance.

I- I don't need to. It smells boring.

But this is a really important-

Okay, the only other idea I have is inside a meat-packing plant.

"Slaughterhouse Chic."

What they do to the animals.

What the butchers are wearing.

You know, that sort of thing.

Do the first one.

Ohh...

Maya, it's your dad.

I was being driven home tonight,

and I smelled the most incredible smell-

pretzels!

So I stopped and bought one,

and let me tell you,

it was like a party in my mouth.

Pretzels, Maya, pretzels.

I've never felt so alive.

Maya, it's Finch.

Your dad keeps calling me about...pretzels.

Just thought you should know.

What are you doing here?

At the moment, I'm having a major heart attack.

I haven't heard screaming like that

since I told Tony Roberts

he couldn't be in Purple Rose of Cairo.

How did you get on my balcony?

I climbed up the fire escape.

I would've been here sooner,

but the couple on four

likes to watch TV in the nude.

You seem nervous.

Well, you scared the hell out of me.

Relax. You know, I brought Chinese.

What am I gonna do,

strangle you with Lo Mein?

How'd it go with the stories today?

What?

Did you try my plan? Did it work?

Oh, yeah, it did.

Really?

That's terrific.

I always believed in you.

Well, not always, but since late this afternoon.

You look freezing.

I'm not too bad.

The Kung Pao chicken is keeping my hands warm.

Kung Pao chicken?

And Moo Shu pork.

Any pot stickers?

Hey, does Rabbi Gendelman run a little long on Saturdays?

You know, Dennis,

I never said this to you before,

but you're an extremely handsome man.

Let's just keep it above the neck, cowboy.

Jack, there you are.

Where can I take you?

Uh, nowhere. I-I'm going to the men's room.

Oh, here, let me help you.

Oop! Chair.

Nina, I told you, I'm fine.

Yeah, well, I still feel bad.

Table.

Now, the last thing I need

is for you to get hurt again.

Wall.

Nina, I know this magazine like the back of my hand.

I am perfectly capable of making it to the men's room

on my own.

Hey, Maya...

your friend Woody is on his way up here.

Should I push back your 2:00 with Foghorn Leghorn?

Woody...

What's he doing here again?

He keeps showing up in the strangest places.

Last night, he was on my balcony with Chinese food.

Wait, he showed up at your apartment?

He's harmless.

Just a little eccentric.

Maya, wake up.

You have no idea who this guy is.

I mean, who he really is.

Elliott, it's nice that you're worried,

but don't be.

He's sweet and smart and funny.

He's not Woody Allen!

I know that,

but I can still enjoy his company.

Last night we discussed Nietzsche

for two hours.

Oh! He has the heart of a philosopher.

Yeah, in a jar on his desk.

I can't wait to tell my wife

I was in the men's room with Woody Allen.

I can't wait to go home

and change my shoes.

Maya, just because he looks and talks

like Woody Allen

doesn't mean he's not some dangerous wacko.

Oh, sure, I get it.

I see why you don't like me.

You're an anti-Semite.

Maybe you should go into your darkroom

and develop the master race.

I am not anti-Semitic.

Why are you laughing?

He's funny.

Maya, have dinner with me tonight.

I know this place that's so trendy

the waiters insult themselves.

Listen, pal, she's not having dinner with you.

Not tonight, not ever.

Pick me up at 8:00.

Great.

You just watch out, pal.

You better watch out...

because that's a nice shirt

and I'm a bleeder.

I told you he was crazy.

Imitating Woody Allen landed him in an institution?

Imitating Little Richard landed him in an institution.

His real name is Preston Beckman.

He sells office supplies over the internet.

Oh, that's so sad.

Oh, save your tears.

He's worth 12 million bucks,

and according to his psychiatrist,

who, by the way,

wants to meet Cindy Crawford so badly

he's willing to violate doctor-patient confidentiality,

Beckman holds on to his delusion

only as long as someone's there to support it.

No more Woody?

Come on, what is it with you and this guy?

Oh, I know it seems strange,

but there were times when I forgot that he wasn't...

or maybe I let myself forget because...

suddenly, life was like my favorite movie.

How many times can you say that?

Maya, end it.

He won't stop living out this fantasy

until you do.

I'll just miss him.

That's all.

So I turned to the monsignor and said,

"I don't even care if there's an afterlife,

as long as there's no bugs."

Um...

Woody...

we need to talk.

Oh, jeez.

That's what the guys from Orion said

when they saw the grosses from Zelig.

Listen, I-I've been living my fantasy at your expense.

You're a wonderful person as Woody Allen.

You can be a wonderful person as Preston Beckman.

Do you believe this?

All of a sudden,

I feel like I'm being questioned

by the Gestapo.

Who are you talking to?

The camera.

I'm talking to the camera.

There is no camera.

You are not Woody Allen.

You're not even Jewish.

Ooh, jeez...I can't breathe.

I suddenly feel smothered.

Like when my Aunt Libby with the cabbage breath

used to hug me at Passover.

Although, she was tremendously large-breasted,

which may explain why I get aroused

whenever I eat coleslaw.

So you see my point.

No.

You see, Maya, I think you're terrific,

but, well, I have to break up with you.

You're breaking up with me?

Frankly, Maya, it wouldn't kill you to, uh...

see a therapist.

Oh, so now I'm crazy.

Didn't say crazy.

Obsessive, yes, but crazy?

Well, maybe that too.

Listen, I care about you,

and I want you to get the help you need,

so I'm not gonna let that get to me.

It's over, baby. Let it go.

Okay, that got to me.

So long, Preston.

I hope you get help.

So that's how it ended.

She was a great girl,

maybe could've even been the love of my life, but...

that's the way it goes.

What are you doing?

I did see her one more time.

Stop that!

She was coming out of the film Shoah,

which I considered a victory,

although a minor one,

because she left 10 minutes after it had started.

Urgh!

And I never saw... Woody or Preston again.

It's sort of like that other joke

Woody Allen tells in Annie Hall.

Two elderly women are at a Catskill Mountain resort,

and one of them says,

"Boy, the food at this place is really terrible."

The other one says, "Yeah, and such small portions."

To me, that's Preston Beckman.

Yeah, he was weird, and at times a bit scary, but...

such small portions.

Lady...

this thing's getting really heavy.

Yeah, yeah, go ahead.

Yeah.

Maya, it's Woody Allen again.

Urgh!

I told you not to call me

until you got help.

Uh, I'm holding for Maya Gallo.

Oh, Preston, I know this is you!

You don't even sound

like Woody Allen anymore!

Preston? Who-who's Preston?

Urgh!

This is Woody Allen. I swear.

Look, I-I just called to say that I think

you're a terrific writer...

Hi.

Ahem. Although, you know,

not the greatest conversationalist.

Dennis?

Yeah, over here updating your Rolodex.

Great.

By the way, I can see again.

Uh-oh.

Well said.

Heh, heh, heh...

Tell you what, uh...

you forget about this,

and I'll erase the surveillance tape

of you whizzing in the elevator.

Done.

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