Then Again - Diane Keaton [72]
In the A’s, under “The Ambassador Hotel,” I found a picture of triumphant Dorothy Hall being crowned Mrs. Los Angeles by Art Linkletter. But under “Abandoned,” there was no photograph of Beulah Keaton scrubbing toilets at Franklin High School in her new occupation as janitor. What about her hard-luck story? The story of a woman who woke up to see her husband of twenty-five years drive off to Utah in the family’s only car with a woman he was about to marry, thus becoming a bigamist. There was no picture of little Jackie Hall’s face pressed against a window as he watched his mother, Mary Alice, play blackjack inside one of Catalina Island’s notorious gambling ships at one A.M. In fact, there were no stories or pictures of the other Halls or Keatons. For me, the thin line between newsworthy and not was converging. A book began to take shape. A kind of tabloid family of man. I called it Local News.
When Woody asked me to fill in for Mia Farrow on Manhattan Murder Mystery, I took the job. It was crazy. Outside, the press circled Woody’s trailer. A day didn’t go by without microphones in his face. “What’s your take on the custody battle with Mia Farrow?” Inside, it felt like Annie Hall days, only looser, if that was possible. Carlo Di Palma shot the movie handheld. Entire scenes were completed in one take. We were in makeup at seven A.M. and wrapped at two-thirty in the afternoon. I couldn’t believe how easy it was. As for Woody, he never brought up personal problems while working.
Unstrung Heroes
Donna Roth and Susan Arnold were looking for a director. Unstrung Heroes was based on Franz Lidz’s memoir about the struggle of a boy named Steven after his mother, Selma, is diagnosed with ovarian cancer. When Selma begins to fade, Steven’s father has him stay with his two uncles, one a hoarder, the other a paranoid. They teach him to value his own uniqueness. Uncle Arthur in particular gives Steven a way of appreciating the beauty found in mundane objects like string and rubber balls. But it’s Selma who gives him the capacity to love. Steven creates his own memorial to Selma before she dies by filling a box with her things—a tube of her lipstick, a perfume bottle, a cigarette lighter.
Finding redemption through documentation was particularly moving to me. It was almost as if Franz Lidz was telling us that items, possessions, even stuff, could make up for the mercurial comings and goings of love. I auditioned with Donna and Susan by giving them my thoughts, particularly those related to documenting a family’s history. I’d been mimicking Mom for years by writing my own journal. The subject was personal. Susan and Donna were the kind of producers who had enough confidence to give me a try.
It was my first feature as a director. I needed help in every department. I hired a USC film graduate, Greg Yaitanes, as the visual consultant. He had an imaginative approach and was highly inventive with action. Together we shot the film before I shot the film. It may seem insane, but Greg operated the videocam while I played dying Selma, young Steven, even crazy Uncle Danny. Speaking their words made me feel more connected to the story. When we started principal photography, I was grateful I had my little video movie of the movie to help with camera setups. Phedon Papamichael, our cinematographer, went along with my folly. In fact, all department heads were willing to go along with my so-called “vision.” The music, composed by Tom Newman, was nominated for an Academy Award. Garreth Stover, the production designer, was full of ideas. Bill Robinson, my soon-to-be partner, was invaluable. All the actors broke my heart. Andie MacDowell, lovely Andie; the late Maury Chaykin, a great actor and friend;