Maggie Scratch in Barcelona Today on The Irrational Man and Elevator Philosophy

This is not a review, but I do wonder how anyone could agree with Woody Allen’s philosophy about elevators. This is my philosophy about elevators. If you haven’t seen The Irrational Man and you intend to, I might spoil it for you here, so don’t read further. I’m an elevator person. I take a lot of elevators. And I take them for granted. An elevator is going to come and take me where I have to go, that’s what it’s there for. I would never look into an elevator before I step into it.  Before I enter an elevator I am doing things, I’m busy. I’m frantic sometimes to get where I have to go. Nine times out of ten I lock the door to my apartment, my brain buzzing, my body rushing, I push the button for the elevator and then have to unlock the door and go back and get whatever I forgot, like my plugged phone or something to read on the bus, or my water bottle. Or, even if I haven’t locked the door yet, I ring for the elevator way before I’m really ready to get into it, keep my apartment door open until the elevator comes so I can go back in, check the gas burners, the lights, my lipstick… so I am never not distracted in front of an elevator. Even when my apartment door is locked and I’ve got everything I need and I’m standing in front of the elevator looking like a perfectly normal person waiting for an elevator, if you were looking out of your peephole and you saw me, you would think I was a perfectly normal person. And here’s my philosophy: Normal people standing in front of elevators are all the same. We don’t think twice. When the elevator comes, in we go. I am never going to look where I’m going when I step into that elevator. I mean, if you want to kill me and you’ve rigged the elevator so that when I step into it I will fall twenty stories and break my neck, you do not have to grab me and wrestle me into it.

Queen of the Indies


Parker Posey

Btw, After the film I went outside dying for a drink and a cigarette and I saw Señora Vee. When I told her my elevator philosophy, she stared at me, towering over me in her vampire cape with those big glassed-in eyes wide as empty supermoons, and I thought she was going to tell me what a lot of people tell me: You’re craaaaaaazy! But she didn’t. She couldn’t. She’s a woman and she knows about elevators. “Good point,” said Señora Vee. Good point? A coup! Match point for me!


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