What's with Baum?

I’ll admit: I approached *What’s with Baum?* with skepticism. Woody Allen’s later work can feel like a greatest-hits retread, but this audiobook caught me off guard—it’s *alive* in a way his recent films aren’t. The key is the narration. Allen’s voice, now gravelly with age, carries the weight of a man who’s spent decades perfecting the art of sounding exhausted by his own brilliance. When Baum rants about his therapist’s “vague, Swiss neutrality” or dissects the existential horror of a misplaced parking ticket, Allen’s timing turns what could be mere griping into something akin to jazz improvisation. The production is spare—no frills, just Allen and the occasional ambient hum of what sounds like a Manhattan apartment—but that’s the point. This isn’t a performance; it’s a confession. That said, the book isn’t without flaws. The second act sags slightly under the weight of Baum’s romantic misadventures, which start to blur together (how many times can one man bemoan his attraction to emotionally unavailable women?). And while Allen’s misanthropy is part of the charm, there are moments where Baum’s self-involvement tips from funny into cloying—like listening to a friend monologue about their problems for the third hour straight. Still, the highs outweigh the lows. The final chapter, a surreal detour involving a talking dog and a rabbi’s questionable advice, is worth the price of admission alone. If you’ve ever loved Allen’s ability to turn anxiety into art—or if you’ve ever stood in a New York deli line and felt the universe conspiring against you—this is your audiobook. Just maybe don’t listen to it on a bad day. Baum’s paranoia is contagious.