by Marion Meade
Still, with Woody, Orion had made Hollywood history. Having the right to make films with final cut and without script approval was like a Montessori film school that provided a structured environment and freedom of choice and allowed Woody to experiment as he pleased. So management patiently waited out their auteur's Fellini period, his Bergman period, his Fritz Lang period, all the while hoping he would get back to his Woody Allen period and make funny movies again. It seldom happened. Instead, they got September and Son of September. According to Variety, Woody's eleven pictures cost them in excess of $100 million, and brought in domestic rentals of under $60 million. Including foreign rentals, some of his films managed to break even "but in the fearsome 1990s," wrote editor Peter Bart, " 'breaking even’ is not enough." In Bart's opinion, Woody had become "a major drag" who should start thinking about his responsibilities to his friends. "Why isn't Woody out there in Hollywood with his patron, Arthur Krim? Why isn't he rallying around the Orion flag?"
But Woody's money machine had to make do without him. On December 11, 1991, when the company finally filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection, he had already abandoned the dying shark for TriStar, which, along with its sister operation, Columbia, had been acquired by Sony, the powerful Japanese electronics empire.
Dylan's and Satchel's problems were becoming harder to ignore. Two years apart in age, they did everything together because Mia liked to pair her children. By three, however, Satch's development rivaled his sister's. Reported an observer, "In intelligence he was off the board. Practically everything caught his interest, from insects to doll houses." When he and Dylan played dress-up, he begged to wear girl's clothing. "I want to be a girl," he cried. "I'm a girl deer, I'm a girl animal." Eventually, his identification with Snow White and other female story characters began to worry Woody, who blamed Mia for being overprotective. But his own relationship with the little boy, now more involved than before, was also troubled. Satch was a rambunctious child, given to tears, demands, sulks, and temper explosions. On one occasion, Woody reprimanded him by threatening to break one of his legs. In contrast to Mia's contemporary parenting style, Woody behaved according to the standards with which he had been brought up. His blunt approach to discipline sounds as if it might have come from an earlier era, in fact, straight from the mouths of Nettie or Marty.
Later, Mia's lawyers and the media would make much of Woody's supposed inability to take an interest in his son. In some respects, the opposite was true. At Episcopal Nursery School on Park Avenue, where Satch attended preschool, Woody's behavior miffed some of the other parents. "The school had a fast rule: You bring your child and leave," said an Episcopal parent. "If parents hung around, there would be three-year-olds constantly running out into the hall. Well, Woody persuaded Episcopal to make an exception for him. He couldn't detach. What a mess." Disapproval never bothered Woody, who decided the Episcopal parents were aloof and snobbish and transferred Satch to Park Avenue Christian. There he encountered similar problems. "Mr. Allen," said Satch's teacher, "you're upsetting the other parents. You're going to have to break away."
"Satch has no problem breaking away," he replied. "I do." For several hours, until dismissal time, he paced up and down the sidewalk outside the school. "He just adores the boy," a sympathetic mother gushed. "You could see he wanted to be inside the classroom."
As for Dylan, Woody's behavior around her continued to alarm Mia. When she began policing him, he got angry and called her a "spoilsport." She recalled that "he would creep up in the morning and lay beside her bed and wait for her to wake up." He would bury his head in her stomach or crotch. Mia thought it was "excessive." As Dylan grew older, Woody's playfulness seemed to become more ferocious. It upset her. No sooner did Dylan hear his key in the door than she ran away in fear and begged her brothers and sisters to hide her. People who knew the family intimately describe Dylan's nature—intense, emotional, theatrical—as that of a little drama queen. If she enjoyed a story or video, she begged to hear or see it over and over; indeed, wanted to be Bambi or the Little Mermaid. Woody decided that she seemed to have difficulty sometimes distinguishing fantasy from reality, but Mia did not agree with his assessment. At preschool, Dylan, who was unusually shy and clinging, was upset when she was left alone. Even in her second year at Park Avenue Christian, "she carried on when Mia or the baby-sitter attempted to leave," remembered one of the parents. "She had to be pried loose from their necks. On parent-visiting days, Mia and Woody came together, and Mia always held Dylan on her lap."
As tensions escalated, Woody and Mia's life together became a dreary round of arguments about parenting. He thought her close relationship with Satchel was abnormal; she thought the same about him and Dylan. Finally in 1990 both children were evaluated by a clinical psychologist. As Dr. Susan Coates would later testify in court, she understood Mia's concern about Dylan and Woody. "I did not see it as sexual," Coates said, "but I saw it as inappropriately intense because it excluded everybody else" and placed excessive demands on the girl. As a result of the evaluation, Dylan was referred to Dr. Nancy Schultz, a clinical psychologist who helped young children with emotional problems. Dr. Coates herself began working with Woody to modify inappropriate behaviors, which consisted of his putting his face in Dylan's lap, encouraging her to suck his thumb, and constant caressing, among other problems. (After a number of sessions with her, Woody reportedly improved in these areas.) Also around this time, Coates began treating Satch for gender problems. With both tots in therapy, Woody's limo driver was kept busy shuttling them back and forth to their appointments.
Moving Pictures:
Sandy Bates: You can make an exception in my case. I'm a celebrity.
—Stardust Memories, 1980
Meanwhile, the adoption case landed in the lap of Renee Roth, a highly experienced, fifty-three-year-old judge who had been first elected to the Surrogate's Court in 1983.
After almost a half-dozen years, Woody's attorney Paul Martin Weltz decided to make an end run around the Family Court, the usual venue for adoption cases. The statute he was up against denied single people the right to separately adopt the same children. As he recalled later, "I didn't want some clerk to say, 'The statute doesn't permit it. Go away.' " Aware that the exception he sought would fare badly there, the tenacious Weltz instead took the case to Surrogate’s Court. Woody Allen, he argued, was a person of superior character, intelligence, and financial means. He also was an outstanding parent, more of a father than many natural fathers. He rose before dawn to see his children and returned to tuck them in at night; he paid for their education and attended PTA meetings. Mia submitted affidavits (without reading them, she said later) attesting to his devotion. Given Woody's celebrity, Roth waived the court's requirement for a home study; indeed, she did not find it necessary to perform even a superficial investigation. As a result, she failed to discover that Woody's parenting was marginal. He knew little about the children's lives, and even though he attended PTA meetings, he neither read report cards nor knew the names of their teachers.
Weltz’s ploy was successful. On December 17, 1991, two weeks after his fifty-sixth birthday, Woody appeared at Surrogate's Court accompanied by Mia, Dylan, and Moses. In Renee Roth's chambers, a bored Dylan squirmed on Mia's lap and whispered that she wanted to go home. But thirteen-year-old Moses, sitting across the table from his new dad, was grinning from ear to ear. The papers were signed, and so Woody at last became the father of Dylan and Moses.
PHOTOGRAPHS
Earliest publicity photo of a bespectacled twenty-six-year-old fledgling comic, who would soon become New York's hottest club act. "A terrific stand-up comic, very charismatic, fast on his feet when it came to improvisation," recalled critic Andrew Sarris. (Photofest)
Woody on the Andy Williams television show in 1965. "Elevator music," Woody, dismissive, used to sniff, but television audiences loved him, and his appearances made him a wealthy man. (Photofest)
Woody, flanked by Ursula Andress and Raquel
Welch at a London movie premiere in the sixties, ogling Queen Elizabeth's bejeweled bosom. (Archive)
Louise Lasser leaving Beverly Hills Municipal Court after being charged with possession of cocaine in 1976. Stardom in the television series Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman failed to bring happiness. (Photofest)
A production still from Take the Money and Run, Woody's first feature of his own, about a gloriously incompetent bank robber. The actress is Janet Margolin. (Photofest)
Twenty-three-year-old Diane Keaton won the lead in Play It Again, Sam, Woody's 1969 Broadway comedy, even though she was too tall and constantly chewed gum. Adored by Woody, who felt superior and once referred to her as "a coatcheck girl," she would be his leading lady throughout the 1970s. (Photofest)
Arthur Krim, Woody's Medici prince, who bestowed on him the most gorgeous production deal in the film business. The Hollywood titan was still an eligible bachelor when he escorted Dina Merrill to a United Artists premiere in 1961. (Photofest)
Oscar night, 1978. Annie Hall won best picture and three other Academy Awards, but Woody was in New York playing clarinet at Michael's Pub. "I'm not interested in an inanimate statuette of a little bald man," he declared. "I like something with long, blond curls." (Photofest)
Woody in the editing room with Ralph Rosenblum, film editor par excellence, whose skill helped transform many of Woody's early films into box-office winners. Rosenblum, disgruntled, had a falling-out with Woody and quit. (Sygma)
December-May lovers: middle-aged Woody playing opposite sixteen-year-old Mariel Hemingway, as the girlfriend who still did homework, in his 1979 hit, Manhattan.
May-December lovers: Mia Farrow, twenty-one, and Frank Sinatra, fifty-one, cutting their wedding cake in 1966. "I finally found a broad I can cheat on," the singer joked to a Las Vegas audience. The marriage lasted sixteen months. (Archive)
Mia Farrow at Heathrow Airport in 1977 with four of her six children, including the Korean orphan Soon-Yi in the foreground. After divorcing her second husband, conductor Andre Previn, Mia settled in New York. (Archive)
Mia hungered to have Woody's baby. In 1987, pregnant with their son Satchel, she pushes a stroller along Central Park West while Woody carries Dylan. Mia found his preoccupation with the child unusual and excessive. (Pau Adao)
America’s three premier film directors of the eighties: Francis Ford Coppola, Woody, and Martin Scorsese, who collaborated on the trilogy New York Stories. (Photofest)
Woody on the set of Another Woman with two-year-old Dylan O'Sullivan Farrow. Obsessed, he was determined to adopt her. (Photofest)
Caught in the act. Paparazzo Dominick Conde snapped Woody and Soon-Yi Previn holding hands during a Knicks game at Madison Square Garden in January 1990. (Dominick Conde/Starfile)
Mia holing up in Bridgewater, Connecticut (here with Satchel and Isaiah), after the breakup with Woody caused a blizzard of headlines the world over, Readers were riveted by the racy details. (Sygma)
Fletcher Previn romping about with his sister at their Connecticut home in 1993. Her family in turmoil, Dylan changed her name to Eliza. (Sygma)
Battleground: Woody with sister Letty Aronson outside the New York County Courthouse. His suit for custody of Moses, Dylan, and Satchel led to a ferocious six-week war. Letty testified that Woody was an enthusiastic father, who "played games and colored" with his children. (Sygma)
Victory press conference: Mia Farrow and attorney Eleanor Alter celebrating after Judge Elliott Wilk denied Woody custody. "Mr. Allen has demonstrated no parenting skills that would qualify him as an adequate custodian for Moses, Dylan, and Satchel." Even so, Mia's family was shattered.
(Sygma)
Judge Wilk restricted Woody's visits with Satchel. At the Dublin Zoo, father and son stroll hand in hand during a tense reunion in the summer of 1993. Woody could not foresee that contact with Dylan, temporarily prohibited, would never be resumed. (Archive)
Soon-Yi and Woody openly affectionate during a 1996 trip to London. In New York, photographers snapped them smooching on Madison Avenue. (Archive)
All in the family: Jean Doumanian, Woody's oldest and dearest friend, took over as his producer in 1993. According to an industry insider, "Nobody wants to be involved with him." (Archive)
Jaqui Safra, Jean Doumanian's wealthy companion, was believed to be secretly bankrolling Woody's pictures. For years Safra had enjoyed playing bit roles in films such as Stardust Memories. (Photofest)
Venice, December 24, 1997. Woody and Soon-Yi with Letty Aronson and Venetian mayor Massimo Cacciari, who had married the couple the previous evening. (Sygma)
Woody and Soon-Yi showing off their adopted baby daughter, Bechet Dumaine. (Lawrence Schwartzwald/Liaison Agency)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sidney Kugelmass Meets His Biographers
Sidney Kugelmass, a middle-aged professor of humanities at the City College of New York (uptown campus), has a depressing dream: He is strolling through a meadow, swinging to and fro a picnic basket packed with luscious goodies that are labeled OPTIONS. Suddenly he looks down and notices the basket has a hole. He is upset to see that some of his options—the best ones, in fact—have disappeared. Describing his dream to Dr. Mandel, Sidney is hoping for sympathy, but the analyst shrugs. Sidney is acting like a big crybaby. All right, so his libido is shriveled, his head bald, his overfed wife, Daphne, a porker. What does he expect at his age?
But all he asked was a bit of pleasure, Sidney argues. Look how hard he slaves at CCNY.
Dr. Mandel refuses to listen. "After all," he grunts, "I'm an analyst, not a magician." Be realistic, he advises.
But realism holds as little attraction for Sidney Kugelmass as for his creator. (In a story written a few months later, Woody reiterated his disdain with masterful brevity: "Cloquet hated reality but realized it was still the only place to get a good steak.") Fantasies of adultery continue to consume Sidney, when a slick Brooklyn magician contacts him about a revolutionary new technology. The Great Persky's magic practice rests on an ingenious literary device: Clients are instructed to climb into a Chinese cabinet with a favorite novel (or short story, play, or poem) and Persky will blast them into the chosen work as though they were astronauts shot into space. Skeptical, Sidney inspects the box, which looks cheap and homemade. Obviously, Persky's practice is far from lucrative. But Sidney finally understands what the magician is offering him— the chance to run amok for only twenty dollars.
Sidney selects Madame Bovary, a few pages after Leon's departure and before Emma meets Rodolphe. Persky closes the door of his orbiter, taps three times, and he has liftoff. In a matter of seconds Sidney finds himself touching down in Yonville-l'Abbaye, where fictitious sex with a fictional woman is all he could have hoped for. In the passion of the moment, Sidney invites his paramour to spend a weekend in New York. After checking her into the Plaza and buying her a pair of black velvet slacks by Ralph Lauren, he spares no expense squiring her to Broadway musicals and dinner at Elaine's. When it's time for Emma to go home, however, Persky's cabinet malfunctions and repairs must be made. Emma, tired of watching TV all day, with no regard whatsoever for Sidney's bank account, develops a taste for Dom Perignon and caviar and begins filling in the gaps in her wardrobe. Before long, she has enrolled in an acting class at the Neighborhood Playhouse. But finally Emma is cleared for launch.
Swearing off reckless sexual misbehavior, Sidney is nevertheless tempted to sample a recent best-seller, Philip Roth's Portnoy's Complaint. Something goes hideously wrong and Persky keels over and dies. Instead of humping Roth's "Monkey," Sidney finds himself trapped instead in a musty textbook, Remedial Spanish, being stalked by the word tener (to have)—"a large and hairy irregular verb."
"The Kugelmass Episode," originally published in The New Yorker, won the O. Henry Award for best short story of 1978. By 1990, however, as life began to imitate literature more and more, Woody had reached the point of middle-aged angst where he resembled his fictional character, in both his professional and privat
e lives. The needy Sidney Kugelmass is an ordinary middle-aged adolescent seeking a romantic soul mate. Woody Allen, equally in need and trapped in a "joyless, sexless" relationship, is not much wiser. Throughout that spring, he began contemplating his "options."
Years of experience had honed Woody's skills in manipulation of the media. In hundreds of interviews, he funneled the public all the news he wished them to have, which consisted entirely of information that would enhance his screen persona. As a result, there was surprisingly little in the way of independent assessment of his life, no biography, for example. The dozen or so volumes that had been published were largely earnest film criticism by scholars attempting to analyze the work, not the self-mythologizer who created it. Woody viewed biographers as the Ebola plague, dangerous, uncontrollable contagions that might squish his public persona into mousse. Not only did he refuse to cooperate with would-be biographers, but he also sued publishers and authors.
