Within the tapestry of her life, Diane Keaton has woven threads of great amorous encounters, such as with the enigmatic Warren Beatty; torrents of fervent passions akin to those stirred by Al Pacino, a man she once courted in matrimony; and bonds of eternal camaraderie, typified by her steadfast support for Woody Allen.
The idiosyncratic nature of Diane Keaton shines through, replete with candor and eccentricity. A paradoxical figure, she seems almost implausible in her existence, yet she has always harbored the sensation of being akin to an unsightly cygnet.
Recollections lead us back to the moment when Woody Allen extended his invitation for dinner.
Diane reminisces about this encounter, recalling, "It was as if we were engaged in a rendezvous. We dined at the illustrious establishment known as Frankie and Johnnie's steakhouse," she inscribes in a letter to her mother, the year of penning being 1969, when she was but a youthful 23 years of age. The evening transpired with an air of promise until an unforeseen interruption ensued—a mundane scraping of her utensil against the plate, resulting in an innocuous clatter. However, this mundane incident roused disproportionate discomfort within Woody Allen, a discordant note in their evening, prompting Diane to recollect, "The resonance of that scraping seemed to strike a chord of dissonance within him, leading him to emit an unanticipated exclamation." This anecdote is fervently recounted in her memoir, "Now and Forever" (Lumen).
A transformation overcame the ambiance, with an undercurrent of nervousness that swept over Woody. Such a scenario compelled Diane into a state of heightened self-awareness, leaving her in an unenviable conundrum. Bereft of a recourse to silence the disruptive symphony of cutlery, she relinquished further sustenance for the duration of that inaugural dinner, electing instead to engage Woody in discourse regarding the plight of women within the realm of artistic creation. Diane, bemused by her audacious attempt at pseudo-erudition, admits, "As if I were a cognizant oracle on matters of femininity and artistry—an assertion that rests in irony." This revelation did not bode well for the possibility of future culinary sojourns, as Diane conveys, "I anticipated that prolonged interludes between us in the context of dining would remain a rarity, a hunch I candidly shared with my maternal confidante."
The advent of Diane and Woody's acquaintance predates this dining escapade by a year, manifesting during Diane's audition for the role of a siren in "Dreams of a Seducer." Their initial interactions were sporadic, a confluence of circumstances keeping them at arm's length. Two principal factors underscored this intermittent connection: Woody's demanding engagement with his own creative psyche and his adherence to a meticulously choreographed daily regimen, affording him meager intervals of solace for indulgent affection. Diane reflects on this dynamic, articulating, "My presence in his life largely existed on the periphery, an almost peripheral persona. My days witnessed a synthesis of clarinet recitals and dramatic performances, entwined with the consumption of Tolstoy's narratives, coupled with the composition of fresh jests for his appearances at Caesars in Las Vegas. He navigated existence with an air of perpetual enterprise, leaving scant expanse for solicitation." Diane's enunciation reverberates with a narrative retrospective.
Diane's life was entwined with a protracted battle against bulimia, a clandestine affliction she bore in silence. She reveals, "Thrice daily, I succumbed to the unrelenting cadence of self-induced emesis, committing myself to this ritualistic purge for an extensive period, a narrative spanning multiple years." A forthright admittance, unvarnished and resolute, confided to her therapist.
Yet another impeding force that underscored the ebb and flow of Diane's interpersonal dynamics was her concealed struggle with bulimia, an ailment of dire potency. Diane exposes this vulnerability, unburdening herself with stark vulnerability, "With regret, the dominion of bulimia eclipsed the ardor of my yearning for Woody. The pull of this insidious condition was irrepressible, surpassing even the intensity of my affections for him." A narrative of anguished surrender, unfiltered and impassioned. "Five years of my existence I devoted to an insatiable voracity," she confesses, the act of feeding an insatiable hunger that resided within her depths. A ritualistic dance of fingers finding their path toward her mouth, a cycle ritualistically repeated thrice daily to court the release of regurgitation, a ceaseless cycle of self-purification. These revelations, delivered forthrightly, bear the weight of her struggles.
Pages of memoir bear witness to her narrative as it unfurls, divulging an astonishing roster of fellow women who shared her harrowing ordeal of bulimia: Jane Fonda, Lindsay Lohan, Audrey Hepburn, Portia de Rossi (the spouse of Ellen Degeneres), Felicity Huffman (the actress of "Desperate Housewives" fame), Mary Kate Olson, Victoria Beckham, Catherine Oxenberg (notable for her role in "Dynasty"), Mariel Hemingway, Anna Freud, and the iconic Princess Diana.
Bulimia's dominion over her soul persisted, until six months of psychoanalysis culminated in its eventual vanquishment. This triumph of inner fortitude, catalyzed by Woody Allen's encouragement to articulate her plight to the therapeutic divan, stands as testament to her resilience. This peculiar, enigmatic individual—his demeanor oscillating between eccentricity, mania, and melancholy—resonated deeply with Diane, carving a niche for himself within her affections. She articulates, "Behind the mask of his idiosyncrasies, a wellspring of mirth, humility, and intellect lay concealed." A sentiment she holds steadfast even many years subsequent to their romantic entanglement, a friendship surviving the tempestuous tides of existence. Diane, unwavering in her support, stood by Woody during his tumultuous exile from Hollywood, a consequence of the tumult surrounding allegations of misconduct by his daughter, Dylan Farrow.
A visage projecting confidence, a demeanor echoing the rugged resilience of granite, yet Diane Keaton is far from impervious to the tides of insecurity. A tempestuous storm of self-doubt has plagued her since the tender tendrils of her childhood. Her musing offers insight: "Loathing was reserved for my own visage, as if the allure that is begotten by the attractive genes had been diverted from me and gifted to my sisters, leaving me bereft." A cacophony of complex emotions danced upon the stage of her adolescence. Straddling this paradox, she wielded an undeniable individuality, a mélange of ingenuity that manifested as her ability to fashion her apparel and craft her coiffure at the tender age of 16.
