Right off the top, I’m going to categorically state that I’d rather stick my head in an Asplundh Whisper Chipper than get into a discussion about Woody Allen and his present ex-familial travails. So, for the purposes of this sociological treatise, let’s all pretend that the Woodster never drew his first neurotic breath.
That being said…this bespectacled “He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named”, this nerdy non-gentile who does not exist anymore than The Perth County Conspiracy, does shine a bright light on a peculiar and startlingly capricious aspect of the human condition. I.E. the separation of the artist from the art.
