Then Again - Diane Keaton [51]
8
SOMETHING BIG
FOR A SMALL FAMILY
Black and White
I was having my portrait taken by Irving Penn for the cover of Vogue magazine when an assistant rushed in to announce he’d heard I’d been nominated for an Academy Award. I didn’t know how to respond. I’d always thought a nomination would play out like winning Mrs. Highland Park did for Mom. A curtain would open to an audience of thousands applauding, while a crown was placed on my head as I stood surrounded by a new wardrobe, a Cadillac Seville, and keys to a home in Encino. Instead, I was sitting in front of a white backdrop, worrying about the stylist’s offhanded remark about my shoulders being too small to wear a strapless gown. She pulled no punches. Mr. Penn’s brilliance, as well as his aristocratic manner, didn’t fill me with confidence either. When the makeup artist told me the right side of my face was probably better than the left, I forgot all about the fact that my biggest teenage dreams had come true—I was a movie star and Warren Beatty was my boyfriend.
Being familiar enough with Irving Penn’s genius, I knew a black-and-white cover would be amazing. How I got the gumption to try to sell Vogue the idea is still hard to believe. I had no clout. But I drove a hard bargain. It was black and white or nothing. Vogue passed. And that was it. Needless to say, opportunities with Vogue did not come up again. I repeated the same demand when I posed for the cover of Newsweek in 1980 before the opening of Reds. I actually asked Richard Avedon if he would take a few black-and-white photographs along with the color. He did. When the contact sheets arrived, sure enough, the black-and-white close-ups were better. I begged Newsweek to use them. I even called Avedon to see if I could enlist his help in my struggle to win. Newsweek went with the color. In 2009, thirty years later, I finally landed a black-and-white cover for More magazine. Ruven Afanador was the photographer.
February 23, 1978
I heard over radio KRAC that Diane has been nominated for Best Actress for Annie Hall. So many loose nerve endings. I couldn’t settle down. What a state to be in, all alone. This news should have been shared, like when I heard Robin passed the state exam, or like when Randy got published in a major magazine, or like when I got a photo job, or like when Jack succeeded, or Dorrie found a job on her own, like that. But I was alone, so what could I do? I called Jack. Then I called Diane. She wasn’t home. When she finally called me later, she couldn’t talk long, because Irving Penn was photographing her for a Vogue cover coming up soon.
Sunday night we are scheduled to go out to eat with Diane and Warren Beatty. How will I know what to say to Warren Beatty, how to act, what to wear? Think of it. His sister is nominated. His girlfriend is nominated. What will he do? Where will his loyalties lie? We will be limousined to the music center on Oscar Night. Dorrie will go with Diane, sitting separately. The rest of us will be together in one row, and we’ll all go to the party afterwards. I could hardly sleep.
High Heels with Socks
When I told Grammy Hall I’d been nominated for an Academy Award, she shook her head. “That Woody Allen is too funny-looking to pull some of that crap he pulls off, but you can’t hurt a Jew, can you? How’s Dorothy doing anyway? She looks tired, and your Dad’s getting gray fast worrying about Randy. I still don’t know what his poetry means anyhow. There’s no rhyme to it. Say, are you still seeing that Beatty? Yeah, I’d stick to the guy with money. He’s a pretty still fellow, that Beatty though. He’s awfully artificial-looking, and he’s a womanizer too, ain’t he?”
Without a stylist (I didn’t know what a stylist was) I drove to Rodeo Drive and hit the stores in Beverly Hills. I knew I couldn