Diana Canova came into the world with show business already humming in her blood. Born June 1, 1953, in West Palm Beach, Florida, she was Diana Canova Rivero then—daughter of Judy Canova, a beloved singer–comedienne from the golden age of radio, and Filberto Rivero, a Cuban musician with rhythm stitched straight into his veins. She grew up in the greater Los Angeles sprawl, the kind of place where palm trees lean over dreams both grand and impossible. By the time she graduated from Hollywood High School, the stage was already calling her by name.
She studied acting at Los Angeles City College, sharpening her instincts not in glamorous studios but in the kind of small drama classrooms where young performers sweat, panic, and begin to understand who they really are. And then—slowly, steadily—she began appearing on screen.
Her first television role came in 1974 on Happy Days, playing a tall date for Richie Cunningham—a gag that worked only because the script assumed Ron Howard was shorter than he was. She moved on to Chico and the Man, Starsky & Hutch, small TV movies, little pockets of work that gave her momentum. Then came the first big left turn: co-starring in The First Nudie Musical (1975), a cult movie that blended cheeky satire, show tunes, and a level of audacity only the ’70s could produce. Diana carried it with a wink, a voice, and a willingness to take risks.
By 1977, the risk paid off.
Soap happened.
Soap was chaos—brilliant, subversive, messy chaos—and Diana Canova landed the role of Corinne Tate, daughter to Katherine Helmond’s Jessica Tate. Corinne was emotional, impulsive, rebellious, funny—everything a primetime farce needed. Diana stole scenes with a smile like a razor blade wrapped in velvet. She stayed with the series until 1980, leaving behind one of the show’s most enduring characters. Soap was the moment people learned her name.
And she could sing.
Not gimmicky singing—real singing.
She appeared in Perry Como’s Early American Christmas special in 1978, filmed in historic Williamsburg and featuring John Wayne in one of his last performances. Her voice wove through the music and storytelling with a clarity that made industry people pay attention. That dual-threat ability—comedy and vocals—was rare, and for a moment, the network saw star potential.
In 1980, ABC handed her I’m a Big Girl Now, casting her opposite Danny Thomas. It lasted just a season. That became a pattern: Diana kept getting sitcoms (Foot in the Door in 1983, Home Free in 1993), and networks kept canceling them. Not because she lacked talent—if anything, she was too sharp, too specific, too good for the soft, middle-ground comedy they kept trying to box her into.
More roles followed:
• Throb (1986–88), a syndicated sitcom where she played Sandy Beatty.
• Three Murder, She Wrote appearances, including an episode where she played the writer of a detective series—meta before meta was trendy.
• Guest spots on nearly every major show of the ’80s and ’90s.
• The wickedly funny nude dancer / grad student on Barney Miller.
• The 2002 Stephen King miniseries Rose Red.
• A starring role in the indie family drama Tillamook Treasure (2006).
She even appeared in the final episode of The Shield, trading on-screen tension with her real-life husband, actor Jay Karnes, who played Dutch Wagenbach. It was a sly, intimate moment tucked into a brutal show.
But as Hollywood kept spinning, Diana did something almost no one in her position ever does:
She walked away.
She shifted into voice acting, theater, and ultimately something far more grounded than fame:
teaching.
From 2015 to 2023, she taught voice at Manhattanville College. She led musicals, plays, improv troupes in Easton and Redding, Connecticut. Under her direction, Joel Barlow High School’s theater program became a small powerhouse, winning multiple Connecticut Drama Association awards—including back-to-back first-place victories, something no one else had pulled off. She didn’t just coach students; she lit fuses under them, passing on the fire she learned on stage sets and sitcom floors.
Her personal life has been its own journey: first married to musician Geoff Levin, later in a relationship with the late comedian Steve Landesberg, then marrying record producer Elliot Scheiner—the one who stuck, the one she built a life with, the one with whom she raised two children.
And then there’s her relationship with Scientology.
Diana was a member for a time, but she left loudly, honestly, unapologetically. She criticized their financial demands—“The first time I walked in those doors, they said, ‘Just give us all the money in your bank account’”—and mocked the hypocrisy of their “auditing” process. Few public figures speak against Scientology without fear. Diana did. That alone takes steel.
But here’s the truth about Diana Canova:
She never chased fame.
She chased meaning.
She chased craft.
She chased authenticity—on the stage, in the classroom, in her family, in her life.
Hollywood tried to mold her into the next sitcom darling.
Instead, she became something real:
a performer with integrity,
a teacher with purpose,
a woman who built her life without letting the industry devour her.
She may be best known for Corinne Tate, but her legacy is much deeper.
She chose her own script—
and she lived it beautifully.
