The first movie Woody Allen saw was Snow White, at the age of 3. And he’s been trying to recreate that elusive perfect romance ever since on film. He made eight movies with his longtime companion Diane Keaton and 13 with that other screen gamine Mia Farrow, with whom he lived a dozen years. Now it is announced that he will embark on a new project set to shoot in Spain this summer. It will be the third of his last four to star the luscious and talented Scarlett Johansson, whom he calls “God’s answer to Job” – as an incentive to stop complaining. Looks as if Woody’s found a new muse.

My own seminal film experience was Bright Eyes with Shirley Temple, though any influence on my career would be debatable. But like Allen I, too, am guilty of partiality. Which brings me neatly to one of my own favourite stars: Oliver Reed. I first cast Oliver in the leading role of my drama-documentary The Debussy Film. When I told him he’d got the part, he said: “What about this?”, pointing to a badly scarred chin (the result of a pub brawl). “Scar?” I said. “What scar?” What I actually thought was: “With those pale blue, seductive bedroom eyes, who’s going to be looking at a scar?” In the event, nobody did, and as that moody French Impressionist composer he was great, great fun, great company, a great drinker – but at that stage of his career, hardly a great actor.

I discovered his limitations when I cast him in the title role of my next drama-documentary, about the poet Dante Gabriel Rosetti. As soon as Oliver bounced into the room as that exalted PreRaphaelite, I thought: “Oh no, it’s Debussy again – in a top hat and false beard.”

But ballsy leading men were thin on the ground, added to which he was always the best of company after a hard day’s filming. Since nobody before or since has equalled Oliver for that “mean, moody and magnificent” look, it was only a question of harnessing its intensity.

So before each take, Oliver would say: “What do you want, Jesus?” (he always called me Jesus), “Moody One, Moody Two or Moody Three?” The rest is history, including six films we made together, not forgetting his role as the martyred priest in The Devils, by which time the three moods had become infinite. And no, he never drank on the set nor came to work with a hangover. I unfortunately can’t say the same.

Another thespian who appeared to have a good time on my films was the enigmatically gorgeous Glenda Jackson, who gave me my first screen kiss. I was playing the composer Sir Arnold Bax and she was playing my mistress, the concert pianist Harriet Cohen. Not only did I play that romantic old devil, I also scripted and directed this drama-documentary. It was essential to do take after take before I was “satisfied” with that kiss.

It was Glenda’s last screen kiss before she gave up the film studio for the House of Commons. And who knows, after five luminous screen performances for me, how many more might we have chalked up together?

In case you are wondering if I work only with tried and trusted familiar faces, I have often gone for the new and untried – sometimes with disastrous results, I admit.

However, I am back on safe ground again with Hot Pants (three sexy shorts) in which my wife Elize plays a randy nurse, the spy Mata Hari, a noble nun and the captain’s daughter Mabel. And as for my current drinking partner: as fate would have it, she’s teetotal.

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