Hollywood lost one of its most enduring treasures Saturday when Diane Keaton, the quirky, trailblazing actress who captivated audiences from The Godfather to Annie Hall, passed away at 79. The news, confirmed by multiple sources including the Los Angeles Fire Department and Keaton’s representatives, came hours after an ambulance rushed her from her longtime Brentwood home following a frantic 911 call reporting a “person down.” Dispatch audio, obtained by TMZ and aired on local radio, captured the urgency: “We have a person down at [redacted address]—possible medical emergency,” the operator relayed to firefighters at 8:08 a.m. local time. Paramedics arrived within minutes, loading the ailing star onto a gurney and transporting her to Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, where she was pronounced dead shortly after arrival. A cause of death has not been officially released pending an autopsy, but insiders describe a “sudden and steep” health decline in recent months that caught even close friends off guard.

The morning unfolded like a scene from one of Keaton’s own dramedies—equal parts chaos and quiet dignity. Neighbors in the upscale Brentwood enclave, where Keaton had lived since the 1980s, reported hearing sirens piercing the typical Saturday calm around 8:15 a.m. “It was all so fast—no warning,” one longtime resident told Page Six, requesting anonymity. “We saw the ambulance pull up, lights flashing, and they wheeled someone out covered in a sheet. Heartbreaking.” The LAFD confirmed the response but offered few details, citing patient privacy laws. Keaton’s publicist, issued a somber statement later that afternoon: “Diane was a force of nature, a loving sister, aunt, and friend. She leaves behind a legacy of joy, courage, and unapologetic individuality. We ask for privacy as her family grieves.”

Born Diane Hall on January 5, 1946, in Santa Ana, California, Keaton rose from Broadway ingenue to silver-screen staple, embodying the neurotic glamour of Woody Allen’s muse and the steely resolve of Francis Ford Coppola’s Corleone clan. Her breakthrough came in 1972’s The Godfather, where she played Kay Adams, the resilient outsider marrying into Mafia royalty opposite Al Pacino’s Michael Corleone. Nominated for a Golden Globe, the role catapulted her into A-list orbit. But it was 1977’s Annie Hall—Allen’s semi-autobiographical rom-com—that sealed her as a cultural force. Winning the Academy Award for Best Actress at 31, Keaton’s portrayal of the whimsical, lobsters-obsessed Annie earned raves for its raw vulnerability. “I created this character from my own life,” she later reflected in her 2011 memoir Then Again. “She was me—messy, funny, and utterly real.”

Keaton’s career spanned five decades, blending blockbusters with indies in a way few peers could match. She reprised Kay in The Godfather Part II (1974), earning another Oscar nod, and shone in Reds (1981) as Louise Bryant, netting a third nomination. The 1990s brought box-office gold: Baby Boom (1987) showcased her maternal flair, while Father of the Bride (1991) paired her with Steve Martin for family comedy bliss. Her 1996 turn in The First Wives Club—belting “You Don’t Own Me” with Goldie Hawn and Bette Midler—became a feminist anthem, grossing $181 million worldwide. Later years saw her pivot to producing and directing, helming Unstrung Heroes (1995) and voicing Finding Dory (2016). At 79, she was prepping a memoir sequel and a Netflix special on aging gracefully. “I’m not done yet,” she quipped in a June 2025 Variety interview. “Life’s too short for bad hats.”

Off-screen, Keaton was the eccentric aunt Hollywood adored—turtlenecks, wide-brim hats, and a penchant for adopting siblings’ kids as her own. Never married, she dated Warren Beatty, Woody Allen, and Al Pacino, but chose single motherhood in 1996, adopting daughter Dexter and son Duke. Her 2014 book Let’s Just Say It Wasn’t Pretty chronicled her adoption journey with trademark wit: “I wanted to be a mom more than anything—hats optional.” Friends painted a portrait of quiet resilience amid her final months. “Diane’s health took a nosedive suddenly—maybe the stress of projects, or just time catching up,” a pal told the New York Post. Reports suggest mobility issues and fatigue plagued her since spring, leading to canceled appearances, including a planned AFI Lifetime Achievement tribute. Yet she powered through, posting quirky Instagram reels from her garden, captioned “Aging like a fine wine… or vinegar?” Her last public sighting was a low-key coffee run in Beverly Hills on October 5, bundled in her signature menswear ensemble.

Tributes poured in like rain on a funeral parade. Al Pacino, 85, broke his reclusive streak with a tearful X post: “Kay was my anchor; Diane was my North Star. Rest easy, kid.” Woody Allen, 89, issued a rare statement via his rep: “She was the spark in every scene—the woman who made neurosis look noble.” Meryl Streep, 76, remembered her as “the ultimate chameleon, funny and fierce.” Goldie Hawn, 79, shared a First Wives clip: “My sister forever—diamonds, divorce, and Diane.” Even rivals chimed in: Bette Midler tweeted, “We clashed, we laughed, we conquered. Heaven’s got its diva now.” The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences announced a tribute screening of Annie Hall at the Dolby Theatre next month, with proceeds to adoption charities—Keaton’s passion project.

Fans, too, flooded social media with montages and memes, from her Godfather glare to Marvin’s Room monologues. #ThankYouDiane trended globally, amassing 2 million posts by Sunday evening. “She taught us it’s okay to be weird,” one user wrote. “Hats off to the queen.” Celebrities like Taylor Swift (“A true original—RIP”) and Leonardo DiCaprio (“Her courage inspired my early roles”) added star power to the outpouring.

Keaton’s death caps a somber stretch for Golden Age icons: Sean Connery in 2020, Betty White in 2021, and now this. At 79, she outlived many contemporaries, but her sudden exit underscores Hollywood’s fragility. No foul play is suspected; preliminary reports point to natural causes, possibly cardiac-related, though toxicology results are pending. Her Brentwood home—a mid-century modern filled with art and adopted rescue dogs—now stands as a shrine to her quirks. Neighbors laid flowers at the gate Sunday, a single turtleneck-clad mannequin echoing her style.

In a 2023 AARP profile, Keaton mused on mortality: “I’ve had a helluva ride—regrets? Only that I didn’t wear more hats.” True to form, her estate plans include donating her wardrobe to the Smithsonian and endowing scholarships for aspiring actresses. As the sun sets on her era, Keaton’s light—eccentric, enduring—flickers on in every frame she graced. Hollywood weeps, but thanks her for the laughs, the lessons, and the legacy that no ambulance could carry away.