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Then Again
by Diane Keaton
by Diane Keaton
I have to start out by saying that I've never been a particularly big fan of Keaton's acting - maybe I found her too quirky and ditzy, I don't really know - I would still gladly snatch away her 1977 Best Actress Oscar for ANNIE HALL and hand it over to Anne Bancroft, Jane Fonda, or Shirley MacLaine.
But Diane Keaton, human being - well, that's something and someone different altogether. This is not your typical 'movie-star memoir,' either of the "and then I filmed..." or "and then I f--ed" variety. Rather, Diane Keaton is a woman who takes acting seriously yet has never taken her stardom seriously, who considers it a privilege to have worked with and known and learned from some of the biggest names in the business, yet family and friends have always come first with her. This memoir is a testament to that.
She writes movingly of the death of her father from a brain tumor, of the incremental disappearance of her mother's quick, creative mind into the non-world of Alzheimer's, and of the joys and wonders of raising children in her 50s and 60s. And without pulling any punches or asking for sympathy, she discloses her own dark secret, a five-year bout with bulimia.
Keaton mentions Audrey Hepburn several times, that she idolized her when she was young, and failed to make the most of meeting her later on ("You can imagine my shock when Audrey Hepburn rushed up to me after I won the Academy Award and told me the future was mine. 'Really? Oh, I don't know. Wow. I don't know about that, I mean, the future and all, but you're...you...you're my idol, I'm just...what can I say? I'm so honored to meet you.' I stumbled and bumbled. What could I do? This was not 'Miss Hepburn at Home.' This woman was old. . . .Audrey Hepburn, my one true without equal, beyond compare, second to none, was no longer a perfect still life. . . .She was forty-eight when I met her, not exactly what you'd call old. Backstage, I pretended to listen to her words, but in truth I couldn't get my mind off age and what it does to a person. Maybe it was said best by Cher: 'There is only value to having the look you have when you are young and no value to the look you have when you are older.' Instead of taking the time to have a conversation with Audrey Hepburn, I chose to hightail my way out of her company as fast as I could. It is another regret in a growing list of regrets." - yet take a look at the last photo ("Diane with pearls")in the book's second section of pictures, and you'll see a startling resemblance to another legendary Hepburn.
But Diane Keaton, human being - well, that's something and someone different altogether. This is not your typical 'movie-star memoir,' either of the "and then I filmed..." or "and then I f--ed" variety. Rather, Diane Keaton is a woman who takes acting seriously yet has never taken her stardom seriously, who considers it a privilege to have worked with and known and learned from some of the biggest names in the business, yet family and friends have always come first with her. This memoir is a testament to that.
She writes movingly of the death of her father from a brain tumor, of the incremental disappearance of her mother's quick, creative mind into the non-world of Alzheimer's, and of the joys and wonders of raising children in her 50s and 60s. And without pulling any punches or asking for sympathy, she discloses her own dark secret, a five-year bout with bulimia.
Keaton mentions Audrey Hepburn several times, that she idolized her when she was young, and failed to make the most of meeting her later on ("You can imagine my shock when Audrey Hepburn rushed up to me after I won the Academy Award and told me the future was mine. 'Really? Oh, I don't know. Wow. I don't know about that, I mean, the future and all, but you're...you...you're my idol, I'm just...what can I say? I'm so honored to meet you.' I stumbled and bumbled. What could I do? This was not 'Miss Hepburn at Home.' This woman was old. . . .Audrey Hepburn, my one true without equal, beyond compare, second to none, was no longer a perfect still life. . . .She was forty-eight when I met her, not exactly what you'd call old. Backstage, I pretended to listen to her words, but in truth I couldn't get my mind off age and what it does to a person. Maybe it was said best by Cher: 'There is only value to having the look you have when you are young and no value to the look you have when you are older.' Instead of taking the time to have a conversation with Audrey Hepburn, I chose to hightail my way out of her company as fast as I could. It is another regret in a growing list of regrets." - yet take a look at the last photo ("Diane with pearls")in the book's second section of pictures, and you'll see a startling resemblance to another legendary Hepburn.
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