Tributes to Diane Keaton from friends flow, including Woody Allen

During the few years we lived together, she taught me so much. Example: Before I met her I never heard of bulimia. We'd go to Knicks games and after to Frankie and Johnnie's for a steak. She'd put away a sirloin, hash browns, marble cheesecake, and coffee. Then we'd get home, and moments later she'd be toasting waffles or packing a huge taco with pork. I would stand there, stunned. This slim actress ate like Paul Bunyan. Only years later when she wrote a memoir did she describe her eating disorder, but when I was experiencing it, I could only think I'd never seen anyone eat like that outside of a documentary on whales.

An interesting point: For all her genius and insight into theater and art (she collected paintings and was an early proponent of Cy Twombly), Diane Keaton was a hick, a rube, a hayseed. I should've realized it from the start. When I first dated her, I would look into her eyes over candlelight and tell her how beautiful she was. She would stare back and say, "Honest Injun?" Honest Injun? Who speaks like that unless you're in an Our Gang comedy?

And then there was the time she had me meet her family at Thanksgiving in her Orange County house. Her mom and dad, her sister and brother, Grammy Keaton and Grammy Hall (Grammy?), and an odd little man unaccounted for who had gotten the turkey free from his union.

After dinner and talk of swap meets and garage sales, the table was cleared and pennies were given out while everyone, including me, sat around and played penny poker. We played five- and seven-card stud but the stakes were for pennies.

At the time I was a big poker fan and was used to fairly large games with strong disciplined players, so here I am betting and bluffing and intimidating Grammy Hall and Grammy Keaton out of 10-cent pots. Keaton, the actress daughter, is playing and betting viciously as if each hand were for a thousand dollars. I wound up the big winner, clearing about 80 cents. I don't think the Grammys ever wanted me back. They thought I was hustling them.

This was Keaton's world, her people, her background. It was amazing that this beautiful yokel went on to become an award-winning actress and sophisticated fashion icon. We had a few great personal years together and finally we both moved on, and why we parted only God and Freud might be able to figure out.

She went on to date a number of exciting men, all of them more fascinating than I was. I went on to keep trying to make that great masterpiece that I am still struggling with when I last looked. I kidded Keaton that we'd wind up-she like Norma Desmond, me like Erich von Stroheim, once her director, now her chauffeur. But the world is constantly being redefined, and with Keaton's passing it is redefined once again. A few days ago the world was a place that included Diane Keaton. Now it's a world that does not. Hence, it's a drearier world.

Still, there are her movies. And her great laugh still echoes in my head.

From Robert B. Weide:

DIANE KEATON was my first hardcore movie star crush, my goofy shiksa dream girl. I was a senior in high school in 1977 when "Annie Hall" came out, and all through college, and some years after, she remained the metric by which I measured all women I would date, or aspire to date. For me, the more Diane Keaton-like, the better.

My obsession with her stopped just short of stalking. Except for that one time that it failed to stop short. I suppose the statute of limitations has run out, so now it can be told.

In 1978, I was living in Huntington Beach, California and studying film production at Orange Coast College in Costa Mesa, where coincidentally, Diane Keaton had matriculated about twelve years earlier. (That was just coincidence – I swear.) 1978 was the year that "Annie Hall" was nominated for five Academy Awards, including Best Picture, and an acting nod for Keaton. (Spoiler alert: It won both, along with Director and Screenplay.) Keaton grew up in Orange County (as did I), and I knew that her parents lived in Corona Del Mar, about 10 miles from my apartment in Huntington Beach. Truth be told, I knew exactly where they lived. How? I simply looked up her father’s name, Jack Hall, in the phone book. (Hall was her family name. Diane Hall was often called “Annie.”)

Thanks to an interview in which she revealed her Oscar Day plans, I knew she was going to be staying at her parents’ house for the days preceding the ceremony. It looked like my reconnaissance work might actually pay off! But what could possibly serve as a legitimate reason for approaching the house and ringing the bell? I decided on a congratulatory bouquet of flowers, delivered by me!

The afternoon before the Oscar ceremony, I drove to the Hall residence. I remember my heart pounding as I grabbed the flowers, in a vase, and approached the front door. I rang the bell and waited. I could feel my throat clenching up, and my palms start to sweat. What the hell was I doing? What was I thinking? Why had nobody talked me out of this? An alarm went off in my head that sounded something like, “ABORT! ABORT!” I had already attached a note with my name and address, in case she felt compelled to fire off a thank-you note, so why stick around? I decided to leave the flowers at the doorstep and get the hell out of there before the police showed up. But suddenly, a voice called out from behind the door.

It was her voice. “Who is it?”

Somehow, I had overlooked the possibility that I might be asked to identify myself as a precondition for the door to open. I was wishing I had time to consider various responses, but here’s what I went with: “It’s Bob Weide (as if that would mean anything to her!) I brought you something for good luck tomorrow.” The next two seconds lasted hours, followed by her voice again, slightly flummoxed. “Just a minute.” I had come this far. Whatever happened next, I was going to see it through.

Finally, I could hear the door unlocking. When it opened, there stood Dorothy Hall, Diane’s mom, an attractive Earth-mother type, with an artsy vibe and kind eyes. Her tone was cordial, as she greeted me with a friendly “Hi.” Trying to act calm and collected (forget “cool”), I blurted out who I was and why I was there. She was very sweet to the nervous numbskull at her front door and told me the flowers were beautiful. I’m sure I rambled on about how much “Annie Hall” meant to me and how I had already seen it six times and how I was studying film at Orange Coast College and how Woody Allen was my favorite filmmaker and I had a feeling Diane would win tomorrow night. She didn’t show a flicker of condescension or pity. It was a crossroads moment that could have led to a lifetime of regret, but after five minutes, I finally walked back to my car, relieved and somewhat proud of myself for seeing it through – even though I didn’t get to lay eyes on the object of my affection. (That would come after a few decades.)

About two weeks later, I received a handwritten postcard with this message: “Dear Bob, thank you so much for the flowers! What an amazing time in my life. It will be a relief to get back to normal, whatever that is! All best, Diane.” I framed the postcard, which remained on my wall for years, serving as a reminder that occasionally, if you go out on a limb, you may not come crashing to the ground, after all.

Fast forward 33 years, to 2011, where I found myself producing and directing a definitive 2-part documentary on Woody Allen for PBS’ “American Masters.” On the day I was to film an interview with Diane Keaton, I weighed whether or not to tell her about our previous close encounter, but ultimately decided to stick to the business at hand. However, around the time the documentary aired on PBS, Keaton released a memoir called, “Then, Again,” which mostly centered on her mother, Dorothy, who had died in 2008, at 86, from complications due to Alzheimer’s Disease. It winds up that Dorothy was an avid keeper of journals, and Keaton had learned so much more about her mother’s interior life once she discovered her diaries, posthumously. The book was a touching tribute to the kind woman who put at ease the nervous kid who brought her daughter flowers on a Spring day, more than 30 years earlier.

After reading the book, I sent Keaton a letter, telling her how much I enjoyed it. I now revealed my “secret identity,” recounting an abridged version of my home invasion story. Here’s a brief excerpt from that letter:

"[Dorothy] was very nice and warm to me and we chatted for maybe five minutes. She humored me, was pleasant as could be, and told me she’d pass my best wishes on to you. I’ve often thought that if your mother had gone a different route, and, say, called the cops, I might have had a very different life. So I’m thankful for that.

"That kid is unbelievably now 52 years old. Although no teenage girls have brought flowers to my doorstep, I do get a certain amount of fan letters and e-mails from young wannabe filmmakers who want to chat with me about my work and their dreams. Although my natural inclination is to not bother with any of it, I often think what I would have felt like that day had Dorothy not given me the time of day, and I remember to give these people a little something positive they can take away from the encounter."

A few days later, my original movie-star crush called my home and left the most gracious voice message, telling me how touched she was about my recollection of her mother. “Oh, my God! Thank you so much for telling me that story. Wow. Yeah, that was her. I’m so glad you got to meet her. That’s so kind of you to write me about it. Thank you, thank you!”

Keaton’s message seemed to close out the whole narrative for me. Interestingly, the way it played out over 33 years wound up being so much more satisfying than if Keaton herself had come to the door that day and hurriedly and awkwardly thanked me for the flowers.

Time marches on, as they say, and now another 14 years have passed since Keaton left that voice message for me. Woody Allen and I remain friends. We speak on the phone and get together when we’re on the other’s coast, but we text each other throughout any given week. He had told me, in confidence, about Keaton being ill and the prognosis not being good. It was painful and disturbing to hear about Diane Keaton, our Annie Hall, the la-di-da girl, having to deal with a debilitating illness. Woody had followed up earlier this week to tell me that things “[weren’t] looking good for Keaton,” and a text from him on Saturday morning informed me, “Confidential. DK not expected to survive this day. Hoping for best.” Keaton and I had only logged about two hours of face time, but I felt like I was hearing news about the imminent loss of an old girlfriend. In the middle of my text exchange with Woody, suddenly came these two words: “She’s gone.”

A few hours later, the news went public, and tributes started pouring in from all over the world, from close friends, lovers, colleagues, and fans. It made sense. How could anyone ever have an unkind word about Diane Keaton? It would seem impossible, and that, alone, is already quite the legacy. If there’s a memorial gathering, I’m sure lots of people will be sending flowers.

But I took care of that, well in advance.

These memories show what an original she was.

Who cares what child molester Woody Allen says.

From Susan Dey:

“On screen, Diane was more than an ‘actress’. She was one of nature’s inexplicable phenomena – the human equivalent of the aurora borealis. Stunning. Substantive. Mysterious.”

Woody's still a great writer.

Woody Allen is probably American cinema’s most significant comedic export in the international film world. What he says about his most important collaborator is important, whatever your personal feeling about him, no matter how devoted you are to cancel culture.

And if you’re being triggered by this? Just wait til Mia Farrow dies and Woody AND Roman Polanski are the only colleagues of note mentioned in her obituaries.

Andie McDowell:

Diane Keaton directed me in Unstrung Heroes & it was an honor to work with her. I loved watching how she cared about every detail. She was very involved with set decoration, colors and her creative touch was very much a part of the film. I believe it is one of my best performances and I'm proud of the movie.

We were in Town and Country. That was an odd experience. I told her how thankful I was she was in the movie and she said the same to me. It was one of those films you could tell was spiraling out of control.

I feel so lucky to have spent any time with this marvelous woman, and I'm heartbroken she is gone. When we went to Cannes film Festival together with our movie she was shy and had me get up on the stage to talk about the film.

Diane outgrew her fear and ended up being a very successful speaker.

I flew to Berlin to present her with a lifetime achievement award. I would've flown to the moon #RIP

Please check out this Instagram post from a business owner who worked with Diane on a charity- What a wonderful post and a great tribute. Click on the arrows on the photos to listen to Diane's voicemail. He debated on posting it but I am so glad that he did- She even sang to him.

I have learned that she was EXTREMELY philanthropic and silent about it.

Just an utter gem of a human.

R9 is either Woody or Moses.

I found Diane's non-Woody work to be ten times more fascinating and revelatory than anything she did with him.

She was a loyal supporter of Allen all along, so at the very least he owes her a few kind words. Having said that, he's not much of a character reference.

Woody is still a very good writer.

Being talented isn't a free pass for being a serial underage girl fucker.

Woody Allen's homage was brilliant.

R16- It really was- It was wonderful to read...

And whoever linked that other story from Mr Weide- Also a wonderful read, and sadly showed that something debilitating took her and it appears it ended up being rather fast- Mercifully I suspect for Diane-

The sheer anount of posts/memories on Instagram are staggering- She was genuinely loved-

I am so dumb I just WW'ed myself while trying to add something before my post went through-

The sheer amount of FANS and below the line folks who had experiences with her as well- businesses, fan encounters (with photos)

She was a KIND human being.

Can we stick do Keaton and not rehash the Woody Allen's odious scandal.

R19- Agreed. Its getting old.

Carole Bayer Sager was a good friend and said the last time she saw her she had lost a lot of weight. She was pretty thin to begin with. Also she had been living in Palm Springs for most of the year because of the fires.

[quote] Being talented isn't a free pass for being a serial underage girl fucker.

Thank God no one has suggested such an obvious thing.

Nancy Meyers:

These past 48 hours have not been easy. Seeing all of your tributes to Diane has been a comfort. As a movie lover, I'm with you all - we have lost a giant. A brilliant actress who time and again laid herself bare to tell our stories. As a woman, I lost a friend of almost 40 years - at times over those years, she felt like a sister because we shared so many truly memorable experiences. As a filmmaker, I've lost a connection with an actress that one can only dream of. We all search for that someone who really gets us, right? Well, with Diane, I believe we mutually had that. I always felt she really got me so writing for her made me better because I felt so secure in her hands. I knew how vulnerable she could be. And I knew how hilarious she could be, not only with dialogue (which she said word for word as written but managed to always make it sound improvised) but she could be funny sitting at a dinner table or just walking into a room. But the truth is - Diane didn't just "get me." l've watched all of her groundbreaking spectacular work with Woody Allen a million times and I watch her performance in Warren Beatty's REDS with awe.

Diane did exactly the same for them because that is what she does. She goes deep. And I know those who have worked with her know what I know... she made everything better. Every set up, every day, in every movie, I watched her give it her all. When I needed her to cry in scene after scene in Something's Gotta Give she went at it hard and then somehow made it funny. And I remember she would sometimes spin in a kind of goofy circle before a take to purposely get herself off balance or whatever she needed to shed so she could be in the moment. She was fearless, she was like nobody ever, she was born to be a movie star, her laugh could make your day and for me, knowing her and working with her - changed my life. Thank you Di. I'll miss you forever.

Francis Ford Coppola:

Words can't express the wonder and talent of Diane Keaton. Endlessly intelligent, so beautiful. From her earliest performances in "Hair" and throughout her amazing career, she was an extraordinary actor. I saw her in the film "Lovers and Other Strangers" and knew I had to have her play Kay in The Godfather, (which she told me she based on my wife Ellie) and her wonderful work in "Annie Hall" while simultaneously setting a new fashion trend. Everything about Diane was creativity personified.