It’s worth noting, even if it doesn’t exactly call for the ringing of bells and cheering in the streets, that Woody Allen has written something for The New Yorker that’s actually funny. Not fall down funny, or Kugelmass Episode funny, but funny all the same. Everything he’s written over the last few years has felt forced and strained, but this is easy-going, relaxed, and just about perfect. It’s about a murderous cow, and in tone it reminds me of the moose story that was part of his stand-up act in the ’60s. Who knew he still had it in him?
TweetTags: The New Yorker, Woody Allen
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