Tag: Annie Hall

In her later years, some of the best work of Diane Keaton’s career came under fire/grew somewhat tainted for its inextricable association with Woody Allen. And through his declining reputation as Dylan Farrow began reminding the masses yet again (first via an open letter published in The New York Times in 2014, three years before #MeToo popped off) that she was abused by him in 1992, Keaton consistently remained loyal to her longtime friend, collaborator and former boyfriend. This done at a time when even the staunchest defenders of Allen (including Scarlett Johansson) were forced by public opinion to back down on their cries of “he’s innocent.”

Keaton perhaps felt she had less to lose in continuing to support Allen. After all, unlike Johansson, it’s not as though she was at the mercy of all the studio manipulation and control that comes with playing a Marvel character. For Johansson had made her comments about supporting Allen (“I love Woody. I believe him, and I would work with him anytime”) too close to the moment when promotion for Black Widow was about to ramp up.

As for Keaton, she would always insist that none of the allegations against Allen could tarnish their collaborations together, the most iconic one of all being, without a doubt, Annie Hall. Considered a landmark moment in film, and one that paved the way for the modern rom-com, Keaton’s portrayal as the titular character was her true breakout role—though, of course, most will say it was as Kay Adams-Corleone in The Godfather and The Godfather Part II. But, in truth, Annie Hall was what made her fixed in the public consciousness. Although she had starred in previous Allen films, including Play It Again, Sam (first a stage play by Allen that debuted in 1969 before it became a movie, in which Keaton also played the same part), Sleeper and Love and Death, Annie Hall allowed her to truly carve out her own sense of acting brilliance. This due, in large part, to intermixing so much of the truth of her own life in with Annie’s (e.g., putting together the famed androgynous look featuring a men’s vest, fedora and tie via pieces from her own closet [for, lest anyone forget, Katharine Hepburn was a key source of inspiration to Keaton, not just for her own “butch” style, but also her tendency to play strong, independent characters]).

In point of fact, Allen wrote the part with her specifically in mind, right down to her musical aspirations (shown during an affecting scene where she sings in a nightclub), her real last name, her neurotic, “kooky” personality and the fact that Allen and Keaton had emerged from a romantic relationship around that time. And drawing from the on-again, off-again nature of it was a key part of getting across the heart-wrenching authenticity of the dynamic, one that many a couple could relate to (and still do—or at least, those who purport themselves to be capable of “separating the artist from the art”). Without Keaton, the film wouldn’t have been what it was. Yet, without Allen as her unwavering champion, in addition to letting her “find the character” without too much help from him, Keaton wouldn’t have given such a tour de force performance. In effect, there is no Keaton without Allen. And it’s not one of those things where a person “ought to” say that he, like, “invented” her, but rather, it was more that he was the one capable of drawing her out of a kind of chrysalis that she was still caught inside of, half in and half out. But once she was fully out, her acting potential seemed to know no bounds as the late 70s bled into the early 80s.

Perhaps that’s why she felt emboldened enough to star in 1977’s Looking for Mr. Goodbar right after Annie Hall. Yet another incredible performance that continued to show the depth of her range. A versatility that would also shine through in one of Allen’s (many) less well-received films, Interiors. After that movie’s release in 1979, it would be another fourteen years before Keaton would reteam with Allen again in a “full-on” starring role (though she did make a cameo in 1987’s Radio Days) as Carol Lipton in Manhattan Murder Mystery. Once again given a chance to showcase her prowess as a comedienne, the part seemed to be a launching-off point into what would become her “shtick” for most of the rest of her career. Playing the daffy, “well what’s wrong with that?” wife and/or mother that would crystallize more fully in films like Father of the Bride, The First Wives Club, Something’s Gotta Give, The Family Stone and Because I Said So. And yet, for all the work she did outside of the “Allen universe,” it remains his movies that are most indelible when it comes to conjuring up an image of Keaton. In other words, there is no Keaton without Allen, and vice versa. For there’s no denying that she was what made his career as mainstream (relatively speaking) as it got. Perhaps that’s why she could never believe he would do something as egregious as molesting a child, commenting, “I have nothing to say about that. Except: I believe my friend.”

It was this ardent belief in Allen and his innocence that perhaps accounted for some of her erstwhile unknown bad taste. The sort of taste that came to light during the final movies of her filmography, during which she mostly appeared to be selecting projects on the basis of needing a paycheck. At the minimum, however, and despite her declarations of support for Allen, she never did agree to star in one of his late-career clunkers (A Rainy Day in New York and Rifkin’s Festival are some prime examples). This being perhaps her shrewdest move of all as an actress. While she might be right to a certain extent that the accusation against Allen can never besmirch their work together, it does loom large, especially in a film like Manhattan (you know, the one where Allen “plays a character” dating a seventeen-year-old). And that’s more of a disservice done to Keaton’s legacy than it is to Allen’s.