DC Film Society: Adam's Rib November 2025

A Diane of All Trades

Diane Keaton could do anything, at least that’s how it seemed. She created the Diane Keaton archetype – smart but daffy; capable but insecure; iconoclastic but earthy. Keaton played that character so well on film, TV talk shows and public appearances that it became part of popular culture. “Diane Keaton” could subsume other elements that it’s easy to overlook how much more she did, both onscreen and off.

Sometimes I wish Keaton came around in the 1930s. Her timing and her touch would have fit perfectly with the great screwball comedies. I can picture her opposite Cary Grant or William Powell, in a league with Carole Lombard, Jean Arthur, Barbara Stanwyck or Rosalind Russell. Keaton’s comic gifts became clear through the early Woody Allen films including Play it Again Sam, Sleeper, and Love and Death. She could be both hilarious and credible no matter how zany the scene. (NOTE: For this column, I will refer to Allen only as a filmmaker. A decade ago I wrote about his personal circumstances and the allegations against him, so I will not do so here.)

When Allen’s films grew more serious, so did Keaton without losing any of her comic mastery. She won an Oscar for Annie Hall, and deservedly so. Keaton captivated as a funny, quirky woman trying to find out who she really is. She has such an ease, with the camera and with Allen, that draws us into the character. In both Annie Hall and Manhattan, Keaton’s characters grow in their confidence, ability, and self-esteem, all while staying relatable. That Keaton pulls off this transition so seamlessly is one of the keys to both movies. Allen and Keaton have such chemistry together, but ultimately Keaton’s characters move beyond the Allen characters. We know this and accept it because we know that Diane Keaton deserves better. On top of all of that, Keaton even sings beautifully. It’s no slight on Mia Farrow that Allen’s later films lost a certain spark without Keaton.

Parallel to her work with Allen, Keaton was essential to the success of the first two Godfather films, even with limited screen time. As the outsider Kay Adams, Keaton becomes the audience surrogate. In The Godfather, much of what we learn about the Corleones in the opening wedding sequence comes through Al Pacino’s Michael describing his family to Kay. Her initially incredulous, then moving to acceptance, reaction mirrors what we all may be feeling. Keaton’s humanity and relatability are just as critical as Pacino’s intensity. We miss Kay while she’s gone, then feel for her when Michael reappears. Her uncertainly rings true, as we are not sure either about her reuniting with Michael. Ultimately, Keaton’s face is the last one we see, as the door closes. The sad, questioning look in Keaton’s eyes as the excluded Kay, is heartbreaking.

Keaton does not have much screen time in The Godfather, Part II either, but again she guides the audience. Director Francis Ford Coppola was reportedly dismayed that many viewers pulled for the Corleones through the first film. He wanted to destroy any chance of that in the sequel. Kay’s repudiation of Michael plays a key role in that shift. In the big confrontation, Keaton gives a masterclass in conveying two emotions simultaneously. Kay is scared to death of Michael, but is equally determined to save herself and her kids. Keaton alternates between looking at Pacino and looking down, the way any of us might if we were having a heated argument with someone much more powerful. She and Pacino are two pros at the top of their game. Kay holds her ground, and we believe it because of the strength Keaton conveys.

To her credit, Keaton used her fame and popularity to take chances. In 1977, the same year as Annie Hall, Keaton went against type in Looking for Mr. Goodbar. She turned down her natural brightness to play a lost, dark, sexually adventurous woman. It’s a role that on paper would seem better suited for Jane Fonda, but Keaton nails it, showing a raw, vulnerable side of her. Four years later, she co-starred with Warren Beatty and Jack Nicholson in Reds, a film celebrating the Russian revolution, coming out in the first year of Ronald Reagan’s presidency. As journalist Louise Bryant, Keaton brings a depth and gravitas that showed her maturity as an actress. One example is how easy she makes Bryant turning the tables on a Congressional committee. Perhaps her finest moment in Reds comes when Louise looks for her colleague and lover John Reed (Beatty) at a train station. Louise has not seen Reed for a while, and Keaton expresses her longing, and then elation, so well using only her eyes.

Keaton’s last great role reunited her with Nicholson in Something’s Gotta Give. She was perfect as Erica Barry, an upscale playwright who is very funny, but does not realize how sexy and charming she is. Keaton’s credibility sells what otherwise would seem outlandish – a woman having a romance with an older man dating her daughter. Her comic touch remained in full force, but also the vulnerability and depth she showed in some of her more dramatic roles. Keaton’s tour-de-force comes when the distraught Erica has a crying fit that lasts for days. Here Keaton somehow is both heart-pulling and hilarious. Keaton’s chemistry with Nicholson was electric, and much of the joy is seeing these old pros having so much fun sharing the screen.

In the 1990s, Keaton branched out into directing, both feature films and television. She gave Reese Witherspoon one of her first roles in Wildflower, and Witherspoon credited her for guidance that helped her career. While few people on Planet Earth know less about fashion than I do, even I understand that Keaton became an icon here as well. She largely came up with the thrift chic “Annie Hall” look herself and illustrated how women can look great without blowing their entire salary. Keaton also brought her real-life passion for photography to that role, and published books of her photos. If that were not enough, she also became an expert on architecture.

The one time I saw Keaton in person, at the Sixth and I synagogue in DC, she barely mentioned her movies at all. Instead, she discussed her book Brother & Sister: A Memoir. She wrote about her relationship with her brother, who endured substance abuse and mental illness. The book is sad without becoming maudlin, as she recounts someone she loved so much drifting away from her. She was hard on herself, believing that she did not do enough to help him.Keaton shows an open, no-frills writing style, which feels like a close friend confiding in you. She was great at everything else, so of course she would master writing too.

It's hard to believe Diane Keaton is gone, in part because she never seemed to grow old. She brought an incandescent spirit to everything she did, which made her seem more alive and vibrant than people half her age. Upon further review, there’s no “Diane Keaton type” because she was such a singular presence. Jack Nicholson said it best: “There will never be another Diane Keaton, not in a thousand years.”

Adam Spector
November 1, 2025