Diane Keaton makes me think of the sugar diorama Easter eggs I used to get as a kid. Sparkly and ruffled with hard chalky frosting on the outside, a secret world of bunnies and chicks hiding inside.
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Not just any shoot. One with hair and makeup and wardrobe changes, champagne on offer, and a stylist and assistant fussing over you.
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Among the cherubs, saints, and ruffled aristocrats, a couple of fried egg tits suspended above a pair of disembodied legs, or the giant phallus protruding from a barber's chair, stood out like clown kitsch in a Lladro collection. So, of course, I loved it.
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