In which, like the fabled groundhog, Woody Allen emerges to enact his yearly ritual: the presentation of a new movie.
Hello in German!
We’ve all been there. In an alley. With a gun. A knife. A fist. Or with money, paying off a hit-man, not worrying about the grisly details. Sometimes people are inconvenient, is the thing, and what more convenient way to remove their inconvenience than by murdering them?