“I`ve known you since I was born; it`s about time you meet me!”. That’s what my sister was planning to say to Woody Alen by the end of the show. She rehearsed the phrase for weeks, since the moment we got the good news; we’d been granted a trip to New York. We couldn’t book a table (even though we tried a month in advance, the seats were sold over a month before that), but there still lived the hope of sitting at the bar, at the end of the show room.
To those who just got here, Woody Alen (mainly because of our parents influence) is one of our favorite filmmakers. We’ve watched his movies since our childhood, from his start at physical comedy up to his modern introspective experiences. And this very director, a nostalgic figure to us, is also a good jazz musician; clarinetist in a nice old band of nice old people that presents itself eight Mondays a year in a private room, down into a nook of a big, expensive hotel.
The show starts every time at 8:45pm. At 5:45, we were already waiting by the glass door to see if we would be able to enter. And we weren’t the first group in line. Still, since there wasn’t more than a ... [more]