La citation qui a perdu son auteur

Excellent. Personne n'arrive à savoir qui a écrit cela (cf. message "en 2006...). Merci en tout cas à Vincent, Macache et Marina pour vos recherches. Keep on looking it up though. Faudrait bien savoir de qui elle est, cette citation. Le premier ou la première qui trouve de qui elle est (preuve à l'appui de ses dires) gagne un café et toute ma considération.

Pour l'heure, voici quelques citations et dialogues de Woody Allen afin de vous faire rire (très important de rire vingt minutes par jour car il paraît que c'est le minimum pour être en bonne santé) et là, je suis sûre qu'elles sont de lui (à moins qu'il ait pris un ghostwriter toute sa carrière):

"It seemed the world was divided into good and bad people, the good ones slept better, Cloquet thought, while the bad ones seemed to enjoy the waking hours much more".
in "the condemned"

Manager: Sandy, we've got to talk about the new picture.
Sandy: What do you want me to say? I don't make funny movies anymore. They can't force me to... I don't feel funny. I look around the world and all I see is human suffering.
Manager: Human suffering doesn't sell tickets in Kansas City.
Press Agent: They want laughs in Kansas City. They've been working in the wheat fields all day.
in "Stardust Memories"

Et pour finir, un de ses sketches de l'époque où il se produisait comme stand-up comedian, imaginez donc ce texte dit avec la voix de Woody Allen (les enregistrements ont été édités en K7 et maintenant ça doit se trouver sur d'autres supports) et comme je suis une charmante personne, je viens de m'amuser à vous retaper (parce que je ne suis pas charmante au point de retranscrire ma K7, c'est long et fastidieux à faire) pour votre plaisir à vous tous le texte qui se trouve dans l'excellent livre "the illustrated Woody Allen reader" et que je vous recommande vivement (en plus, vous n'avez pas d'excuse pour ne pas le lire car il a été traduit en français et il se trouve dans toutes les bonnes librairies avec un rayon cinéma):

"Someone asked me if I'd tell this story: a long time ago - it's a weird story - I was out in Los Angeles. I was at a party with a very big Hollywood producter. At that time they wanted to make an elaborate CinemaScope musical comedy out of the Dewey Decimal System. They wanted me to work on it and I go out to the producer's building in downtown Los Angeles.

I walk into his elevator and there're no people in the elevator. No buttons on the wall or anything. And I hear a voice say, "Kindly call out your floors, please".

And I look around and I'm alone. I panic. Then I read on the wall that it's a new elevator and it works on a sonic principle. It's all sound, all I have to do is say what floor I want to go to and it takes me there. So I say, "three, please."

The doors close and the elevator starts going up to three. On the way up, I began to feel very self-conscious because I talk, I think, with a slight New York accent. And the elevator spoke quite well.

I get out. I'm walking out in the hall and I look back. I thought I heard the elevator make a remark. I turn quickly and the doors close and the elevator goes down, you know, and I didn't want to get involved at that timem with an elevator in Hollywood, but this is the strange part of the story - that was the normal part.

I have never in my life had good relationships with mechanical objects of any sort. Anything that I can't reason with or kiss or fondle, I get into trouble with. I have a clock that runs counterclockwise for some reason. I have a sunlamp and, as I sit under it, it rains on me. My toaster pops up my toast and shakes it and burns it. I hate my shower. If I'm taking a shower and someone in America uses his water, that's it for me , you know, I leap from the tub, scalded. I have a tape recorder. I paid a hundred and fifty dollars for it and, as I talk into it, it goes, "I know, I know."

About three years ago, I couldn't stand it anymore. I was home one night and I called a meeting of my possessions. I got everything I owned into the living room: my toaster, my clock, my blender. They'd never been in the living room before. And I spoke to them. I was really adorable. I opened with a joke and then I said, "I know what's going on and cut it out."

I spoke to each appliance. I was really articulate. And then I put them back and I felt good.

Two nights later, I'm watching my portable television set and the set begins to jump up and down and I go up to it - I always talk before I hit. I said, "I thought we had discussed this. What's the problem?"

The set kept going up and down. So I hit it and it felt good hitting it. And I beat the hell out of it. I was really great, I tore off the antenna. I felt very virile.

Two days later, I go to my dentist in midtown New York and they have those elevators and I hear a voice say, "Kindly call out your floors, please." I say, "Sixteen.'' The doors close up and the elevator starts going up to sixteen. On the way up, the elevator says to me, "Are you the guy that hit the television set?"

I felt like an ass, you know. And it took me up and down, fast, between floors. It threw me off in the basement and it yelled out something that was anti-Semitic.

And the upshot of the story is, that day, I call my parents. My father was fired. He was technologically unemployed. My father worked for the same firm for twelve years and they fired him. They replaced him with a tiny gadget that does everything my father does - only it does it much better. The depressing thing is - my mother ran out and bought one.

Si le texte de ce sketch vous a plu et vous a fait rire, la prochaine fois, je vous montre celui sur sa femme, okay? Dites-moi si ça vous fait envie.

Comments

[Byalpel]

Exceptionnel oui !! :-))

Encore ! Encore !

Il me semble avoir déjà lu ce bouquin il y a très longtemps (mais je confonds peut-être). Ce n'est pas dans ce livre qu'il raconte qu'il ne veut pas aller chez le médecin et qu'il envoie son copain, qui meurt subitement juste après ?