David Edelstein of New York Magazine writes this follow up tribute to Diane Keaton who was honored last week by the Film Society at Lincoln Center.
The tribute was notable for the brilliance and hilarity of the speeches and the remarkable lack of specificity. It was as if no one would—or could—violate her exaggerated sphere of privacy. Woody Allen strolled onstage in a sweater: I’m Woody Allen, I don’t have to wear a tux and sit in a box with mortals like Steve Martin and Meryl Streep. He called her “Keaton,” not “Diane,” and covered his evident discomfort with mock hostility that didn’t, once or twice, seem so mock. But then he addressed her, with tremulous sincerity, as “my guiding light”—and coming after clips of Sleeper, Annie Hall, and Manhattan, only Lennon reaching out to McCartney could have felt sweeter. The world was suddenly a better place.