The Woody Allen Cover That Wasn’t

Memories are wonderful things, except when they bring back those “almost” things. The things that almost happened, but didn’t and you wonder why, you try to explain it, to understand it and then you hit the wall of trying and just accept. It was an almost and now it’s a curious memory.

Watching a Woody Allen film, “Hollywood Ending,” it came back to me as though it had happened not that long ago, but is was another age in my life. I am constantly reading about writers and getting offers of seminars, quick writing tips and software or TED programs that will bring back or jog my creativity into overdrive. Not just get me going on creativity, but really steam rolling along.

It’s the same with everyone who has ever written anything. I am no exception. I’m just another email address on a mailing list that goes out as surely as the sun comes up in the morning and goes down at night. If they send out enough of these quick fixes for writer’s block or some other malady that is impeding the writing of the great American novel (no, I don’t have the stomach to write a novel), just a little bit of a return will repay them for their effort. Wonder what the expected return is on these mailings. In research it’s about 2–5% and that’s good.

So, the solicitations come in and they go immediately into the trash can or I mark them for my spam folder. Sorry, guys but you have no magic for $75 or $39.95 or whatever the price is this week. You can watch videos, do tutorials, make lists and keep yourself convinced that that novel is coming out, but it’s probably not. And, even if it does come out, now you have to accept yet another solicitation that will give you the golden recipe needed to get an agent, write a cover letter and get published. You are on your way to a Hampton’s retreat, my friend, and it’s only $49.95 and you’re there! Not so fast. Let me tell you a little story.

I was in a few particularly good spots in my career in media and at one the idea suddenly hit me that I wanted to do an interview piece with Woody Allen. I guess I’d seen one of his films, or I’d seen him on one of his appearances on late night TV. Who knows where the idea came from but I thought I just might be able to swing it because of where I was at the time. I’ll leave that little tidbit out. It’s really not necessary. If you’ve ever worked anywhere that has some juice with people in the entertainment industry, you know what I mean.

How to go about this task and get myself a really good interview with this somewhat erratic comedian turned filmmaker? The first step, of course, was to find out who I had to speak to in order to get through to him. A series of brief discussions and a few phone calls later produced a name. This guy was the go-to man for any interviews, appearances or whatever with Woody Allen and I, in all my chutzpah, called him.

Prior to trying to set up this appointment with Allen, I had managed to, can you believe this, get Penthouse magazine to agree that they would like an interview piece with him. So, now I had a magazine with pretty good circulation (at that time) and all I needed was the interview and my trusty tape recorder. It was going so smoothly that I thought it actually might happen.

I set out to find everything I could about him—where he lived, what he liked to do, where he had lunch (if there was a regular spot), how he saw himself as a filmmaker, etc. Some of the tidbits were quite interesting, but I decided they should be left out of any piece I might produce. Everyone needs a bit of privacy and I wasn’t about to be some type of investigative reporter here. It would be a straight forward piece on his vision and where he thought he’d go with it.

A few more phone calls, left messages and finally a brief discussion with the wunderkind who had access and the glitch came up. Sure he would consider doing the interview with me, but there was one thing that he absolutely must have. What was that? He wanted to be on the cover of Penthouse. This is no joke. Or maybe it was that Penthouse wanted him to be on the cover with two nude women. The details began to get fuzzy but that was it.

I waited for a week or more and then I got the call that I didn’t want. He wouldn’t do it. No, he was not interested in being interviewed by anyone writing an article for Penthouse, no matter what they offered. There was no way the man could convince him. That was it.

How could he refuse that golden opportunity? Wouldn’t it have been hilarious for him to be photographed for the cover with two or more gorgeous, scantily clad women? Nah, wasn’t what he wanted to do.

I’d go on to interview other writers and even a few actors backstage on Broadway. One visit was particularly interesting for the sudden appearance of a man in a sickly greenish suit carrying a physician’s bag. The star needed a vitamin shot and I was dispatched back to the street without an interview. But it was interesting just to climb down the rickety stairs after flashing my NYPD press pass, walk through the really shabby hallways beneath the theatre and finally come out into something like the production of a Boy Scout troupe. What these stars have to endure backstage most of their fans never know.

Woody, it was probably a good decision on your part. I would have loved it, but I totally understand why you nixed it. Now back to the film.