"I’m trying to schedule an MRI tomorrow. No, no, I don’t want to wait until Friday. I could be dead by Friday!"

I was at the NYC premiere of Woody Allen’s "Vicky Cristina Barcelona" and the above was part of a conversation overheard, by a man — an actor, I am sure, with a very familiar voice, sitting behind me. I couldn’t place it, but knew if I turned around and he recognized me, he might have expired on the spot. So I kept sitting face forward. Of course, this is part of the fun of being in a semi-dark theater, waiting (and waiting!) for a screening to begin. The "Vicky" crowd was young, hip and semi-dressed. I intercepted a cacophony of intimate conversations: "Have you seen Monica?  Oh, God, bad. Drugs, darling" … "Yeah, I might get married, but I’m such an all-or-nothing guy, and right now it’s all about me. Do you have a card?" … "I’m soooo mad. I stood out there for five minutes and nobody took my picture!" … "Doris saw this the other night, at Lincoln Center. She wouldn’t utter a word until I saw it, she said we’d discuss then" … "I think Monica actually died" … "Love the dress" … "Love the shoes" … "Where’s Peggy Siegal? I don’t want her to see me!" … "Honey, Monica is right over there!" … "Yeah, well, I still say she’s dead."

It was the usual endless clogged-aisles/cocktail-party crush until the guy behind me, Mr. MRI, started to complain, loudly. Well, life is short, even if you’re waiting for a Woody Allen film.

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Finally, our favorite movie mogul Harvey Weinstein appeared, thanked everybody connected with the movie, and told a very funny (fictitious) story about two of its stars, Javier Bardem and Penélope Cruz – how they’d first worked in a Spanish version of "Heidi." Lots of back and forth between Harvey and Javier on how to pronounce "Heidi" in Spanish. It was a riot, honest.

The Diamond Information Center was one of the night’s sponsors, along with the Sherry Council of America. Harvey, who is as loyal to friends as he is implacable with foes, paid affectionate tribute to DIC’s big wheel, Sally Morrison. Sally and Harvey go way back, to the early days of his old Miramax Company and her years at AmFAR. She would also later work at Miramax. They put together many great AIDS fundraisers and were instrumental in creating Harvey’s annual Cannes gala, "Cinema Against AIDS." It was a lovely, loving moment. Harvey is irresistible when he chooses to be.

He said, "I’ll wrap up now," and MRI guy said, loudly, "please!" I figure the latter really expects bad news and that was the reason he risked his life in such a manner.

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The Weinstein Company has been looking for an unqualified hit. Movies are a crapshoot, and Woody Allen movies more so, but in "Vicky Cristina Barcelona," Harvey may have found a delicious crowd-pleasing success.

Director Allen seems newly invigorated now that he’s moved his films out of the various environs of Manhattan and gone European — London for "Match Point" and "Scoop," Spain for this one. Make no mistake, these are Woody Allen movies, and his sensibilities and philosophies are still evident. (Though "Match Point" was more of a Hitchcockian take on "A Place in the Sun.") But there’s a freshness to Woody’s latest efforts that one might not expect from an auteur in his 70s.