If you go to Paris and talk to people they will often tell you they are passionate about le cinéma, which directors do you like, you say, and they say they love Woo Dee Al Lang and you are impressed and embarrassed because you have not seen that many Chinese films and this is a director you have never even heard of, you’re embarrassed to mention Chen Kaige and Zhang Yimou and while you’re trying to think of something to say that will show you’re not just a butterfly something at the back of the brain says suddenly: Woody Allen! He likes Woody Allen! The guy was born in Tangiers, but he came to Paris when he was six; he’s French. The French love Woody Allen, Allen complains about the fact that American audiences don’t get him, the French love him, and this is a guy who’s French. Ask him about Jerry Lewis, tell him you love The Nutty Professor, do it, do it, go on, I dare you, but you do the decent thing and merely engage in polite chitchat about Purple Rose of Cairo, Crimes and Misdemeanors and so on and so forth.