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Allen has his own misery, which is sincere and lifelong. It cannot be dissipated by the success of his movies. A shy workaholic who avoids the show-biz whirl and is never "on" in private, he not only talks about death in his films but spends a great deal of time thinking about it. "My real obsessions are religious," he says. "They have to do with the meaning of life and with the futility of obtaining immortality through art. In Manhattan, the characters create problems for themselves to escape. In real life, everyone gives himself a distraction-whether it's by turning on the TV set or by playing sophisticated games like the characters of Manhattan. You have to deny the reality of death to go on every day. But for me, even with all the distractions of my work and my life, I spend a lot of time face to face with my own mortality." In order to distract himself, Allen has spent his entire life compulsively mastering talents with fierce concentration: just as he spent hours practicing magic tricks as a child, he later set out to learn gag writing, performing, poker, sports, clarinet playing and finally film making. He also deals with his anxiety by seeing an analyst, but says, "That's only good for limited thingsI was always careful not to get seduced into TV writing. I was making a lot of money and knew it was a dead end; you get seduced into a lifestyle, move to California, and in six months you become a producer!
"At the personal level, I try to pay attention to the moral side of issues as they arise and try not to make a wrong choice. For instance, I've always had a strong feeling about drugs. I don't think it's right to try to buy your way out of life's painful side by using drugs. I'm also against the concept of short marriages, and regard my own marriages [five years to Harlene Rosen, two years to Actress Louise Lasser] as a sign of failure of some sort. Of course I sell out as much as anyone my possessions to charity and living in much more modest circumstances. I've rationalized my way out of it so far, but I could conceive of doing it." He adds, laughing: "I could not conceive of leaving New York and becoming monastic, like in Walden. I'd rather die than live in the country-in a small house or even in a nice house." (His friend Dick Cavett says, "Woody is at two with nature.") Even now, Allen does not live up to his means. His home is attractive, but not opulent, containing more books and records than anything else. His wardrobe of plaid shirts, jeans and beat-up jackets is the same he wears in his movies. "Mariel Hemingway just saw Annie Hall again and called me up, amazed that I wore the same clothes she sees me in all the time," Allen recalls. "Actually I wear some of the same clothes in both Annie Hall and Manhattan. I'm still wearing a shirt I wore in Play It Again, Sam on Broadway in 1969." The only true indulgences he allows himself are a cook and driver, as well as a compulsion to pick up dinner checks. His isolation from financial affairs is so complete that he gave his producer-manager, Charles Joffe, the power of attorney to sign all his contracts and even his divorce papers.
Allen places no more of a premium on intellectual prowess or talent than he does on money or status. "I know so many people who are well educated and supereducated," he explains. "Their common problem is that they have no understanding and no wisdom; without that, their education can only take them so far. On the other hand, someone like Diane Keaton, who had not a trace of intellectualism when I first met her, can always cut right to the heart of the matter. As for talent, it is completely a matter of luck. People put too much of a premium on talent; that was a problem of the characters in Interiors. Certainly talent can give sensual, aesthetic pleasure; it's like looking at a beautiful woman. But people who are huge talents are frequently miserable human beings. In terms of human attributes, what really counts is courage. There's a speech I had to cut out of Manhattan and plan to get into the next film, where my character says that the metaphor for life is a concentration camp. I do believe that. The real question in life is how one copes in that crisis. I just hope I'm never tested, because I'm very pessimistic about how I would respond. I worry that I tend to moralize, as opposed to being moral."