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My first and still most vivid memory of a Woody Allen movie is of the scene in Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex* (*But Were Afraid to Ask) in which Gene Wilder, ruined for love of a ewe, is left penniless in the gutter, guzzling Woolite from the bottle. Here Allen does at least have the grace to make an absurd joke of his apparent conviction that it’s the man fucking a creature weaker than himself — and incapable of meaningful consent — whom the audience should pity. “And you know,” I recall my mother telling a male friend, “it really was a pretty sheep.”

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