Then Again - Diane Keaton [54]
I miss Woody. He would cringe if he knew how much I care about him. I’m smart enough not to broach the subject. I know he’s borderline repulsed by the grotesque nature of my affection. What am I supposed to do? I still love him. I’ll always be his Lamphead, Monster, Cosmo Piece, his simple-is-as-simple-does housemeat, and Major Oaf. How do I tell “Uncle Woodums” about my lurve, I mean loave, I mean loof? How can I tell him to please “take care of all your fingers and toes and think sweet thoughts, write if you get a chance, and hang by your thumbs”?
Annie Hall changed my life. When the movie proved to have the kind of legs I’d fantasized but couldn’t envision … I made a U-turn and withdrew. As much as I appreciated the accolades, I wasn’t prepared for the discomfort—or, rather, the guilt—that came with it. I tried going back home. I drove down to my parents’ new house on Cove Street at the beach in Corona del Mar. I hung out with Mom. We took pictures of suburbia with our new Nikon F’s. Dorrie and I went to swap meets. Randy was writing, and Robin was employed as a visiting nurse caring for the elderly. Warren was getting more serious about directing the love story of John Reed and Louise Bryant set against the Russian Revolution.
I went back to New York and hung out with my friends Kathryn Grody and Carol Kane. What did I think I would get by refusing all the attention I had wanted for so long? This new life was scary. Instead of taking it head-on, I tried to deny fame for as long as I could—maybe too long.
Woody’s first drama fit right into my program of avoidance. Interiors was, let’s just say, not commercial. Miscast as a brilliant writer in the vein of Renata Adler, I smoked cigarettes and knotted my brow in an effort to seem intelligent. The words Woody wrote didn’t fit on the lips of my experience. The only things that distracted me from my discomfort in the role were legendary Geraldine Page and Sandy Meisner’s favorite actress, Maureen Stapleton.
Every morning Geraldine Page trudged to the set in rags, lugging two shopping bags full of mending. She’d bend over, pull out her husband Rip Torn’s old clothes, and patch his pants while she was in the makeup chair. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that one of the greatest actresses in the world was a bag lady. If anything, her homeless appearance added to her charisma. When Woody gave her direction, she smiled, nodded her head politely, then completely disregarded everything he said. Before one of her extremely emotional close-ups, I stood next to the camera, about to feed her my lines, when she point-blank asked me to leave. As I watched from a distance, I understood. My presence would have stolen her freedom. Maybe all that Neighborhood Playhouse sharing with your fellow actors, all that living truthfully together in the given imaginary moment, wasn’t for everyone. Geraldine Page was an acting genius. Rules don’t apply to genius.
Maureen Stapleton, on the other hand, had the appearance of a more predictable approach. She wanted the other actors to be there for her close-ups. With her big round Irish face, Maureen seemed to be suspended in a permanent state of surprise, or frenzy. How did she do it so effortlessly? No one knew. At the end of shooting one day, I waited for her in the teamster van. She was a big woman. Her body didn’t have much give, but she managed to lift it into the seat next to me and said, “Someday you’ll be old too, Diane.”
The solitary year of shooting Reds in England was an emotional two steps back and no steps forward. I wasn’t prepared for playing Louise Bryant, someone far less romantic than I’d imagined. She became my cross to bear. I didn’t like her. There was nothing charming about her will to be recognized as an artist in her own right. Her pursuit of the magnetic revolutionary John Reed was suspect and, frankly, laced with envy. I hated her. It was a problem. Rather than face the challenge, I did what I usually do under pressure: I backpedaled.
On the set, Barry, the hairdresser, would joke about farts while rolling my hair