If you’ve ever felt nostalgic about Woody Allen, thinking fondly of his early funny films before he became a social pariah, a 1967 interview with Twiggy may dispel any sentimental twinges. Having burst onto the London scene the year before, Twiggy had ascended to stardom more rapidly than any previous fashion model. Not bad for a teenager from working-class Neasden, who was still struggling to come to terms with the spotlight.
No sooner had she sat down than Allen asks: “Who’s your favourite philosopher?” She rolls her eyes, sticks out her tongue, and replies: “I haven’t got one. I don’t know any. Who’s yours?”
At this point, the tables unexpectedly turn. Allen says, “I like them all… all your basic philosophers.”
“Who?!” demands Twiggy.
“Just all of them,” says Allen.
“I don’t know their names though, do I?” she insists, in her cockney accent. Allen turns to face the camera, looking exasperated, his attempt to embarrass a teenage girl having blown up in his face.
It’s not that Allen didn’t know the names of a whole lot of philosophers, it’s just that he didn’t want to identify himself with any one of them. Or maybe he suddenly realised he was looking like a ghastly, pretentious dick, and wanted to escape. Either way, this was the end of the interview.