Writings by Diane

A few weeks ago, I watched the movie Capote , starring Philip Seymour Hoffman . During the film, I had to keep reminding myself that it was not the real Truman Capote. The actor was so believable--he changed his voice, mannerisms and posture but didn't make it a caricature. My suspension of disbelief was out in the stratosphere. My memories of Truman Capote were episodes of the Merv Griffin Show . In my mind's eye, I see Capote dressed in flowing scarfs and a swooping fedora.  When he spoke, his voice quality was very, very, very unique. I tried to figure out why he was a frequent guest of the other talk shows. His celebrity insider stories were way over my head. I was too young to have read any of his books or articles. I would wonder why everyone would hang onto his high pitched words? I just didn't get him.  One thing I liked about him was the titles of his books, namely Breakfast at Tiffany's and In Cold Blood . I marvelled a...

During the months before the Academy Awards, I was reading Entertainment Weekly ’s article of the nominees for best actor and actress. As I looked at the glossy photographs of the Best Actress nominees, I began to notice a pattern. The women that were over 40 years of age all had utterly smooth foreheads. Not a trace of a wrinkle or worry line to be found on their lovely faces. When I turned the page to the Best Actor nominees, their countenances were rugged, all wearing the clues of time.   Even Leonardo DiCaprio , whom I remembered first seeing as a gangling teenager in What’s Eating GilbertGrape , was still looking handsome, but definitely matured. Just when I was about to resign myself to the fact that actresses will always look impossibly ageless, I remembered something. I flipped back a couple of pages and found the photo of Dame Judi Dench . It was so refreshing to see her fine laugh lines around her eyes and glistening shock of grey hair. She had aged naturally and...