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SEEMS LIKE OLD TIMES
Oh, to be as universally loved as Diane Keaton—and feted at a
gala tribute at Avery Fisher Hall, roasted and toasted by your
nearest and dearest such as Meryl Streep, Steve Martin, Martin
Short, Lisa Kudrow, Sarah Jessica Parker—as well as Woody Allen,
of course—and a sold-out house.
Then again, maybe not. All that adulation could swell a person’s
head. Well, la-de-dah.
They all brought their remembrances—as did all of us in the
festively attired audience. Lisa Kudrow attesting to the fact
that she steals from Keaton—whereupon she brilliantly acted out
a deposition served upon Keaton, utilizing the verbal tics and
physical charms so long associated with Miss La-de-dah.
And Meryl Streep showcasing an outfit she swore was put together
by channeling Keaton’s sartorial skills. “Well, I tried,” said
Ms. Streep, shrugging gamely.
The truth is, Diane Keaton is sui generis. What looks good on
her doesn’t always work on others—though try telling that to an
entire generation of Annie Halls. And what Keaton does so
effortlessly on film—her nonchalance, her quirky charm, the
giddiness, the sunny smile—is a package not easily embodied by
anyone else.
And that package is loved. As Martin Short said, of all his
high-falutin’ friends, it’s her name which gets the most
response whenever it’s dropped. She’s the coolest kid of them
all, the one everyone wants to hang with.
There’s something to that. Something somehow connected to what
Meryl Streep said about how Keaton awes the men and inspires the
women. Woody Allen (in a perfect deadpan recitation of all that
she is, albeit barely—“Well, she’s punctual, for example.”)
accused her of having unconventional beauty. Nothing’s quite
perfect—and yet it all comes together in her.
There were film montages to emphasize these points. The daffy
post-tennis game scene from Annie Hall, where Keaton’s ditsiness
would make anyone fall in love, and her doctor in Sleeper, with
that barely-suppressed laugh. For thirty-some years and in more
than forty films, Keaton has shifted with ease between comedic
and dramatic roles. Bits of Carole Lombard mixed with Katharine
Hepburn— For there was also the abortion confession scene from
Godfather II—when you realize again how much Keaton’s
understated performance provides counterpoint to Pacino’s
explosives. And then the scenes from Reds, when Keaton and
Beatty go at it in New York—and then later when she fears she’s
lost Beatty’s Jack Reed for good—only to see him at the far end
of the train station platform, still alive.
Keaton does love very well. Perhaps it’s what she does best. The
dizzying sense of falling in love, the giving over, the loss of
resistance—all defenses down, heart open—and so often, ready to
be wounded. Her vulnerability coexisting alongside her
unassuming intelligence.
And as Kudrow said, everyone loves her, and wants to be loved by
her in return—but they just have to accept that it’s enough just
to love her. Or as Streep said in a perfect parting line, “I
love you even though you never call me.”
And now she’s 61—and as Candice Bergen said, that’s why she’s in
New York—because Keaton gets all the good Hollywood roles for
sixty-somethings.
Oh, but they had a good time ribbing Keaton and poking fun at
her attributes. Her penchant for making millions in real
estate—and Martin Short recalling the time he saw her in Toronto
where she was filming Mrs. Soffel with Mel Gibson and how he
overheard her at a restaurant as she leaned into Gibson and
said, “What are we gonna do about these Jews?”
The audience kept applauding every one of her films in the
montages that punctuated the tributes. The women behind us
going, “Oh, I love this one— This one is my favorite.”
And then, at last, there she was, onstage—in a sharply tailored
French-cuffed blouse and a black fishtail full-length skirt, her
nails painted as black as the necklace around her neck. The kind
of off-kilter, prÍt-a-porter elegance upon which she’s made her
fashion reputation. In her heartfelt acceptance speech, Keaton
contended that she rarely saw her old films—and that she was
forty the first time she saw Godfather II, filmed when she was
in her twenties.
But what she was most struck by, what she most reconnected with
in seeing so many of the films highlighted in the video montages
were what she termed her “romantic encounters.” And that to see
those films again, and the actors with whom she shared the
screen, was to feel anew that it all seemed like old times. And
with that, she started to sing in her clear soprano: “Seems like
old times, dinner dates and flowers. Just like old
times…”—whereupon her voice caught, and the profound hush which
had enveloped the entirety of Avery Fisher Hall became suffused
with a kind of shared loss for all that had transpired in the
years since the films’ original releases.
And yet, and yet— The films remain, as do our memories of what
moved us and made us laugh all those years ago. Here’s to you,
Diane Keaton: “Seems like old times being here with you.”
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