Abrupt medium close-up of Alvy Singer doing a comedy monologue. He
wearing a crumbled sports jacket and tieless shirt; the background is stark.
There's an old joke. Uh, two elderly
women are at a Catskills mountain
resort, and one of 'em says: "Boy, the
food at this place is really terrible."
The other one says, "Yeah, I know, and
such ... small portions." Well, that's
essentially how I feel about life. Full
of loneliness and misery and suffering
and unhappiness, and it's all over much
too quickly. The-the other important
joke for me is one that's, uh, usually
attributed to Groucho Marx, but I think
it appears originally in Freud's wit and
its relation to the unconscious. And it
goes like this-I'm paraphrasing: Uh ...
"I would never wanna belong to any club
that would have someone like me for a
member." That's the key joke of my adult
life in terms of my relationships with
women. Tsch, you know, lately the
strangest things have been going
through my mind, 'cause I turned forty,
tsch, and I guess I'm going through a
life crisis or something, I don't know.
I, uh ... and I'm not worried about aging.
I'm not one o' those characters, you know.
Although I'm balding slightly on top, that's
about the worst you can say about me. I,
uh, I think I'm gonna get better as I get
older, you know? I think I'm gonna be the-
the balding virile type, you know, as
opposed to say the, uh, distinguished
gray, for instance, you know? 'Less I'm
neither o' those two. Unless I'm one o'
those guys with saliva dribbling out of
his mouth who wanders into a cafeteria
with a shopping bag screaming about