Ah, Woody in 1974.  Dare I label that time in his career “Prime Wood”?  No? Alright.  Whatever the case, fresh into his forties, and in the best days of being a middle-aged-Jewish-Manhattanite, Mr. Allen wrote a piece for his beloved city’s hometown bible, the New Yorker, about one of his favorite subjects: intellectuals. In this case he would rather focus on a ring of brainy call girls with whom he could discuss Melville instead of the windbags who stand in line at movie theaters talking about Marshall McLuhan :

Moby-Dick or the shorter novels?”

“What’s the difference?”

“The price.  That’s all.  Symbolism’s extra.”

Ah yes, Woody in his prime. His character, Private Dick Kaiser Lupowitz, going undercover, and the possibilities are endless:

“Suppose I wanted Noam Chomsky explained to me by two girls?”

It’s pretty priceless, and if you don’t have a subscription to read the story online, you should probably just seek out a copy of his collected stories, Without Feathers.

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