In 1997 Mia Farrow wrote a memoir called What Falls Away.
It's one of the finest books of its type that I have ever read.
In this book Mia Farrow not only tells the story of her fascinating life but she also blows the lid off the public persona of the very private (and quite vindictive) personality that we know as Woody Allen. As Mia tells it, Allen is a miserable, spiteful little man who has little regard for truth, honor, fidelity or family.
The Woody Allen that we come to know in this book is a cowardly, self-absorbed little jerk.
The book had such a profound effect on me that from 1997 onward I refused to pay money to see a Woody Allen film. And I had been one of his biggest fans. I loved his movies, his humor, his neurotic New York persona. But I just couldn't bear to watch him any more or to give him even one cent of my entertainment dollar.
It's no accident that Woody Allen's films are no longer billed that way. Allen's name is in the background now. So, Vicky Christina Barcelona simply happened to be written and directed by Woody Allen. But Allen himself is not prominently featured in any way. And this is his first movie in a long time to gain reasonable reviews and somewhat of a following.
Yes, I did pay to see the film. I wanted to see this group of new, young actors working together in a [sometimes] sensual "love" story.
But Mia Farrow's sentiments and her searing honesty still ring true with me. And I doubt I'll ever view Woody Allen kindly again.
BTW: I'm not alone in feeling this way. Another person who read the book said this: It'll be quite a while before I would care to touch a Woody Allen ANYTHING, especially a book or film that would put money in his selfish, narcissistic, self-serving pocket.