“The heart wants what it wants,” he famously said, and what his 56-year-old heart desired was a 21-year-old woman he had known since she was a child. Art belongs to life, and anyone — critic, creator or fan — who has devoted his or her life to art knows as much. Allen’s art in particular is saturated with his personality, his preoccupations, his biography and his tastes.
He married her, kept making movies, and the whole business faded into tabloid memory. One of the most powerful illusions encouraged by popular art is that its creators are people the rest of us know.
No explanation is necessary for why our hero can hear a ringing telephone but not the movie's soundtrack, or why the space ship is menaced by the Negative Space Wedgie, but not by the opening credits drifting by outside the ship: it's something we accept as part of our Willing Suspension of Disbelief.
It's also a wonderful thing to play with, and that is what Medium Awareness does; the characters acknowledge and interact with elements and conventions of the medium that shouldn't technically "exist" in-universe.
His characteristic deflationary swerve from the lofty to the absurd, from high seriousness to utter banality, struck me as the very definition of funny.
Their replacements, at least temporarily, are earnest, sensuous, generous and, more often than not, younger and less worldly than their predecessors. A recent Washington Post article dug deep into the archive of Mr. Allen’s work at present is the extent to which I and so many of my colleagues have ignored or minimized its uglier aspects.