I’ve loved a lot of Woody’s work, admired some films a lot, been amused by some, found others lacking, and found some completely uninteresting. But I agree with his assessment that he’s never made a truly great film. He’s been prolific, worked across all kinds of genres and styles, and he’s had complete artistic control—and the result has been some very good films, some very enjoyable films, some insightful films, and plenty of misfires. But never one that falls in the category of “truly great,” and I think that is what makes the filmmaking aspect of the book so interesting. It’s rare to get such insight into the creative process of someone who never strikes gold, but just keeps doing the work. His writing is full of clever wit, as you’d expect—candid and interesting, generous and forgiving, and he handles the terrible stuff as decently as he reasonably can. There are genuine insights and few out-loud laughs (though, to his credit, he refrains from retelling any of his jokes).