An End and A Beginning

Diane Keaton’s death hit me harder than I expected. Not because I followed her career closely. I couldn’t even name many of her movies. I had to be reminded that she played Michael Corleone’s wife in The Godfather. But I’ll never need reminding that she was Annie Hall.

What made Annie Hall so special to me wasn’t just that it was a glorious, funny movie with Woody Allen at his creative (and spider-killing) best. It wasn’t the men’s ties or floppy hats that Annie made famous. It was the time in my life when I first saw it.

In the spring of 1977, I was a medical student at the University of Illinois in Chicago. Though I lived on campus, I spent most of my free time with friends in Rogers Park. We’d hang out, hear some music, go to the movies.

One night, a movie-loving friend called to say he wanted to see the new Woody Allen flick, Annie Hall. I picked him up in my beat-up Mercury Comet, and we headed to suburbia for the 8:00 show.

I loved the movie, without realizing it would be a kind of ending. Annie Hall was the last film I’d see before a new part of my life began.

Annie Hall was the last movie I saw without Barb. We’ve been sharing coming attractions, armrests, and Raisinets ever since that spring of 1977. She may not be much of a Woody Allen fan (who is these days), and we don’t always agree on what deserves two thumbs up, but she’s a damn good movie partner.

So, Miss Keaton, I’m sure Annie Hall will be streaming again soon. Maybe I’ll talk Barb into watching it with me — or maybe I’ll call one of those old friends instead. We can kill a spider or two. No big deal.

Or as Diane Keaton’s Annie would say, “la dee dah, la dee dah.”