Woody Allen and I, cuddlier than Barack and Boehner, avoid one another. I hung back, deliberately staying far away from him when, suddenly, he walked over for a private chat. Overheard by nobody.

Quietly: “You always write badly about me.”

Me, exuding a cobra’s warmth: “I think you’re a s— t.”

Him, softly: “I’m not a s—t. I’m a nice guy. You just never got to really know me.”

I was flat against the St. James wall, where his “Bullets Over Broadway opened. Nowhere to go. Not nerdy or nebby, he continued gently.

Courageously. Finally, I said: “Enough with your wonderfulness. How long did it take to write this show?”

“A month. I never wanted to do it. Everyone wanted me to. Marvin Hamlisch said he’d do the music. I always resisted the idea. Finally my sister said, ‘Stage it in the ’20s.’ I loved that era. This I understood. So, finally, with that concept, I decided to do it.”

Since brilliant, divinely bestowed instincts prevent my ever being totally wrong — even about Woody — it is thus impossible I’m ever 100 percent wrong. But, after his conversation, standing nose to nose, possible is I’m a smidge incorrect. I said: “OK, I take it back. Maybe you’re only a little tiny bit of a s—t.”

“Bullets Over Broadway” will become Box Office Over Broadway. Everything’s in it — more dances than the Rockettes — but brevity. Hookers, gangsters, jokesters, roadsters. Marin Mazzie plays a dipso nympho klepto drunko. Santo Loquasto’s sets; William Ivey Long’s costumes, great. Brooks Ashmanskas, Nick Cordero, Karen Ziemba, Lenny Wolpe, Heléne Yorke, Betsy Wolfe, nifty. Minus a grimace or so, Zach Braff’s B’way debut, A-1.

One complaint. Hoodlum Vincent Pastore slams his phone down repeatedly. But it won’t slam. He must cradle the lightweight, fragile instrument gingerly.

Either weight the thing or replace with a heavier prop.

“Bullets Over Broadway” is a must-see phenomenon. Why? Because you won’t see such stagecraft again.

Odds & ends

About George Rembrandt Bush’s canvasses: Barbara long ago said he’d maximized minor dyslexic limitations in a heavy-duty artistic ability…About Rosie O’Donnell’s artistry, who knows? Her financial ability, I know. Her new Saddle River, NJ, house is a huge multimillionbuck manse.

Local politics here

Running for Assembly: lawyer Rebecca Seawright. Upper East Sider, two children, CUNY vice chancellor husband. She’s attracting Dem heavies like Comptroller Scott Stringer and former chairwoman Judith Hope. Her opponents are one mega rich, another minor rich. She’s the only woman in the race…Oliver Koppell, Bronx Dem, being urged to State Senate primary run. He mumbled his options are open.

Matzo time on the LES

Passover. Rabbi Mayer Kirshner at Streit’s explained the making of matzos:

“Flour from wheat, milled over and over, and water in a mixing bowl. No yeast, no salt. Nothing else. Flatten the dough so it bakes quickly taking two minutes to go through the 72-foot oven at 800 degrees. The dough never rises. Its chemical reaction is the beginning of the leavening process, which cannot exceed 18 minutes because, after the 10 plagues, Israelites could only sun-bake this 18 minutes before fleeing Egypt.

“Huge superstores order thousands and thousands of cases in December. January, way before the holiday, we start many millions of boxes for Passover — 30 pounds of water makes 100 pounds. Matzos have a two-year shelf.

“First machine to make squares was made in 1865. 1925, Aron Streit, with 40 employees, opened right here on 150 Rivington St.”

Only in New York, kids, only in New York.