Actresses are often tasked with doing a lot with just a little. There is no way around the fact that most movies are written by men, for men, about men, and as a result women usually figure into them in tertiary roles, as objects more than subjects in themselves. It’s often thankless work, trying to portray a full person from within the confines of that box. The best actresses find a way to reorient the movie in their direction, if only for a moment or two. Diane Keaton, who died on Saturday at 79 years old, was one of the best at that.
In 1972’s The Godfather, Keaton plays “the girlfriend” (who later becomes “the wife”) in a gangster opera that is largely unconcerned with her. Yes, as Kay, she is in some ways the audience surrogate, a narrative device used to introduce us to this heavily Italian, heavily masculine, heavily traditional and honor-bound world, and also to reflect the horror we are meant to feel as Al Pacino’s Michael gets sucked into the mafia lifestyle. At the same time, she is also a trophy, a box Michael has to tick off on his path to fill his father’s shoes as the new boss. The role isn’t given much depth or development or even space in a film full of acting titans all taking up as much space as possible. Instead, Keaton imbues her character with a dimensionality that isn’t on the page just by the use of her face. Throughout the three Godfather movies, Keaton translates her horror and affection and uncertainty in her relationship with Michael with what she does with her face, always rosy and inscrutably searching. So much so that the first movie ends with her face as she watches her husband’s transformation, only for a moment, before being shut out completely.
