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My Woody Allen Dream Goes Like This

I’m at one of those parties only the movies can make interesting: a snazzy and slightly expensive after the premiere kind of atmosphere with everyone dressed in the best fashions, but nothing of an overly formal nature about it. The drinks and conversation are flowing but neither tends to be too imbibing nor bubbly. I’m not sure if anyone famous, other than Woody Allen mind you, is there to be seen. I don’t mingle through the dream and the faces of celebrities don’t pass where I’m standing. There is a general lack of paparazzo fodder to the party mix.

I can’t say why I’m at this party. The dream doesn’t provide me with a back story. However I don’t feel out of place. In fact I’m a bit blasé about the whole thing. Not my natural attitude when it comes to… well, just about anything. But anyway, I’m at this party and chatting with a small circle of people. I don’t know a one of them in my waking life. Dream acquaintances. As is standard, if we were discussing things of import, like a formula which could lead to a cure for dandruff, it was all lost into the unconscious aether when I exited the REM stage. Since those able to get past my alarm clock snooze period are more appropriate for points of argument at a sanity hearing, don’t be overly concerned.

Going along deeper into the dream, the when and why are forever to be fuzzy, Woody appears before me. He’s saying something to the person next to me, a bit of pleasantry. Then several in my party circle start talking about ideas for films, new and old, plot lines and genre elements, topics of that nature. For some reason Woody turns to me and begins talking as if he knows me. I say “for some reason” because the lack of an identity for myself in the dream — other than me as me — leaves all interpretation to his actions open to debate. So Woody turns to me and starts in on issues he’s having with his latest production. Again, sadly, the details are nothing more than neuron driftwood.

A pause in the conversation occurs, and I take the initiative and tell Woody about an idea for a movie I have. At the time it felt, and outside of the dream now it still feels, like it came from nothing, thought up as I was telling him about it. Really don’t know how to interpret that, but in any case, here’s the outline of the plotline, or as far as the dream lets me get:

It’s about a man, someone who is at a stage where nothing in his life is what he planned it to be. His relationship with his wife has broken down and he can’t find in himself a desire to repair it. His job provides few opportunities for release of a pent-up creative side, and what he may be able to wring from it is stifled by the demands of his boss and co-workers. He’s reached a middle of the road, middle-aged plateau, and can’t find a way beyond it, though he desperately wishes to.

This is when he starts arguing in public with strangers, over issues wholly fabricated by him and as if he’s known them for years.

The idea goes on, a little of it to Woody, most of it in my head (dream and otherwise). It sounds serious but the aim of the tale is comedy, as the arguments lead to him meeting a woman who falls in with the man’s created world and argues back. But I won’t go further in describing the story. It’s one I’ve found has some appeal as a piece of fiction, so I’d rather not go blabbing it freely for anyone to use (steal from your own dreams).

Besides, as a part of the dream it ends abruptly and finally at this point, as that’s when I awoke. No chance to get Woody’s reaction, not that I expect it to be of much use outside of the dream. Didn’t get to finish the drink I had. Never even learned what I was doing at the party, or how being there served the dream’s enigmatic purposes. All seems pretty much like real life to me.