The news of the death of Diane Keaton at the age of 79 hit us like a truck. The Oscar-winning actress had felt like such an eternal presence on film, TV and stage that it didn’t seem all that unlikely that she would live forever.
For almost 60 years, Keaton was an enduring star whose spunky and self-effacing appeal only grew more potent as she aged. Her filmography, which contains some of the greatest American films ever made, revealed a talent of immense range and pathos from an individual who was so much more than the thrown-together quirk of “Annie Hall.” Of course, if all she had ever done was the acclaimed Woody Allen comedy then she’d still be one of the most iconic figures of 20th century cinema. That she did everything else is a reminder she was truly one of the greats.
After getting her start in theater — she was an understudy in the original Broadway production of “Hair” and received a Tony nomination for the Woody Allen comedy “Play It Again, Sam” — it didn’t take long for Keaton to land her first major movie role. And what a major movie. Francis Ford Coppola cast Keaton in “The Godfather” as Kay Adams, the WASP-y girlfriend of Michael Corleone and his only true connection to the world outside of his criminal family, because he appreciated her eccentricities. It was a brilliant decision.
Keaton is the beating heart of “The Godfather”, the optimistic and thoroughly independent alternative to the old Corleone ways. She’s a reminder of the real world amid this cloistered existence that seems flung out of time. And as Michael sinks deeper into the irrevocable moral rot of organized crime, it’s Kay whose reactions drive the loss home. That legendary ending simply does not work without that look of defeat and realization on Kay’s face as the door to Michael’s office closes.
Keaton became one of the defining actresses of the 1970s, as New Hollywood took over from the crumbling studio system and the auteurs grabbed hold of the reins. With Allen, she made eight films, playing off her kooky image in comedies like “Sleeper” and delving into a steely-eyed flintiness in the Bergman-esque “Interiors.”
But, of course, it’s all about “Annie Hall.” Allen took inspiration from his leading lady for the title character, utilizing many of her mannerisms and her iconic slouchy androgynous style. Annie’s coolness quickly gave way to her rambling self-deprecation, which Allen described as a “nervous breakdown in slow motion.” But Annie was also no fool or male fantasy. She was a fully realized, intelligent, and complicated woman who exists well beyond Allen’s neurotic protagonist and his hunger for the girl that can fix everything. It won Keaton the Oscar and defined a whole new era of cinematic heroines.
By the ’80s, Keaton’s career continued to grow. She started directing films and TV shows, including an episode of “Twin Peaks,” and turned her passion for photography into a side career. She stepped into more dramatic roles, like the epic historical drama “Reds”, wherein she played feminist and journalist Louise Bryant opposite star, director and then-boyfriend Warren Beatty. She never abandoned comedy.
As she got older and aged into the demographic where Hollywood typically begins to ignore women, Keaton’s quirky persona matured alongside her. Films like “Baby Boom,” “Father of the Bride” and “The First Wives Club” let her be a modern screwball heroine in roles of harried professional women waylaid by personal and romantic troubles. These were women whose confidences were often stymied by self-doubt or critical outside voices, but never defeated by them. You could draw a straight line from Annie Hall to Annie Paradis of “The First Wives Club,” two women whose romantic ideals were quickly punctured but still they persevered. No man ever really deserved a great Diane Keaton heroine.
Into her 50s and 60s, Keaton remained vibrant when given the right material. Nancy Meyers gave her one of her most delicious roles in the romantic comedy 2003 “Something’s Gotta Give,” wherein she played a playwright whose daughter unexpectedly shacks up with a man her own age, played by Jack Nicholson. It was a rare thing: an adult romance about aging that did not skimp on intellect or sexiness. Keaton and Nicholson’s sparky chemistry played off their respective public personas – the wolf-eyed playboy and the sparky kook – to impeccable effect. It gave Keaton a chance to be desirable and desired, a disheartening rarity in a business where, as “The First Wives Club” famously noted, the three roles for women are “babe, District Attorney, and Driving Miss Daisy.” If anyone defied the rules, it was always Keaton.
Keaton never stopped working, delving into the kinds of comedies that didn’t always do her justice but were elevated by her mere presence. One of her best roles came in 2016 in HBO’s “The Young Pope,” Paolo Sorrentino’s melodramatic papal satire where she played the conflicted advisor and mother figure of Jude Law’s firebrand Pope.
But truly, it felt like she had so many incredible roles ahead of her. Imagine her reuniting with Steve Martin and Martin Short in “Only Murders in the Building”, or sinking her teeth into something like June Squibb’s role in “Thelma the Great.” Many of the comediennes working today owe a huge debt to Keaton. It’s tough to imagine a cinematic landscape without the baggy waistcoated shadow of Annie Hall looming overhead. Every montage of Hollywood history will contain at least a handful of Keaton moments front and center, and rightly so. The industry shines a little less bright without her legendary smile.
