London Observer
Elizabeth Taylor remembered by Shirley MacLaine
She had a way with men, but also great humour and
humanity, recalls her friend and fellow actress
Shirley MacLaine The Observer, Saturday 10 December 2011
I will remember looking at her jewellery in the
sun. In recent years, I would go up to
Elizabeth's home all the time to make sure she
was exercising or I would send someone else to
make her get in the pool. She was not a fan of
exercise, so most of the time we would end up
taking out her jewellery and just looking at it in the sunlight.
We first met when I was 21 and she was 23 and
found we were very relaxed together. I can't
remember how it happened, but then I can't
remember much now about when I was 21. A man I
knew was in love with Elizabeth, I think, and I knew both of them.
At that time, people were not fawning all over
her except the men, of course. We would talk
mainly about work. We were both working six-day
weeks and she was looking for the next piece of
work. She never had a scheme, though. She was the
kind of person who felt that things just happened
when they should happen. Her marriage to Michael
Wilding was ending and, although he was a nice
person and was very nice with her, Elizabeth had
adventures to go on. And, when I think of it, one
of those adventures she never got around to
having was to be anonymous. She talked to me
about being a regular housewife. She honestly
wanted that to look after a home and kids.
She had been a star since she was a child and was
not as naturally outgoing as me anyway. When I
was pregnant, I would go to her house and eat
ice-cream and she would tell me what the rest of
pregnancy was going to be like. Later on, she
would come to my one-room shack on the beach. She
told me so much about her life there, not just
about her childhood but about things that had
happened to her and which I will never tell.
I introduced her to Mike Todd, her third husband,
on Around the World in 80 Days and then watched
the negotiations between them. And they were
negotiations. She was very funny. She used to
bargain with him about going out to dinner.
Later, she told me about asking for $1m to do
Cleopatra and she laughed. She never expected
anyone to pay it. But she was a good
businesswoman and later she turned all that into
a multimillion dollar concern. She felt that,
since she was perceived as a product, she might
as well use it. Elizabeth was always regarded as
a prize and she knew how to manipulate that with men, too.
She did not see herself as ''Elizabeth
Taylor" at all. She was much more like a
Yiddisher momma, to be honest. She used to say
she was going to have to be "Elizabeth Taylor"
and put on that show. That was the gig, after all. It's what she had to do.
She was so much more down to earth than you would
imagine. I miss her deep, deep humanity
something you don't find very often. And, of
course, her humour. We wanted to make fun of the
world together. Not to look down on it, though. We just watched.
R.I,P. Elizabeth Taylor
Re: R.I,P. Elizabeth Taylor
Elizabeth Taylor Remembered at Private Memorial for Friends, Family
By Elizabeth Leonard
Sunday October 16, 2011 08:55 PM EDT People Online
Elizabeth Taylor Remembered at Private Memorial for Friends, Fa
*
Close friends and family of the late Elizabeth
Taylor gathered Sunday afternoon to remember
beloved Hollywood legend during a private
memorial on the Warner Brothers lot in Burbank, PEOPLE has learned.
With Taylor's good friend Colin Farrell hosting
the 75-minute celebration in the lot's Steven J.
Ross Theater, the tribute was attended by
Taylor's children Michael and Christopher
Wilding, Liza Tivey and Maria Burton, as well as
close friends Michael Caine, stepdaughter Kate
Burton and Sir Elton John, who sang a stirring
rendition of "Blue Eyes" to close the program.
"To say that the world got smaller, emptier,
darker and lonelier when we lost Elizabeth is an
understatement," Sir Elton John told the 400
guests during his heartfelt remarks. "She was a
true rock, a pioneer, a pathfinder, a trailblazer
and a star who will always burn bright and always
had time to laugh at herself."
Throughout the program, guests spoke of Taylor's
humor, beauty and generosity, and shared memories
from her rich and colorful life.
<http://www.people.com/people/package/ar ... tml>Taylor
died of congestive heart failure on March 23. She was 79.
One especially touching moment came when grandson
Rhys Tivey stood up and played a trumpet
rendition of "Amazing Grace," a song his
grandmother loved. "People were mesmerized how
her talent and grace lived on in Rhys," says a guest.
There were also tributes to the three-time
Oscar-winner's post-Hollywood career, both as a
businesswoman with her fragrance White Diamonds,
and her tenacious advocacy on behalf of people
living with HIV/AIDS. AIDS activists in the
audience were visibly moved as clips of Taylor
lobbying in Washington, D.C., in the early '80s played on the screen.
"Many of us remember all too well, those early
days of the AIDS epidemic in the early to
mid-1980s," said Sir Elton. "It brought out the
worst hysteria, bigotry, callous indifference.
But it also allowed an angel and warrior, like
Elizabeth, to rise up and show us how to respond
instead with compassion, reason, and humanity."
Taylor's son Michael, from her 1952 marriage to
British actor Michael Wilding, told PEOPLE: "My
mother was an extraordinary woman whose life
touched so many, most of whom we will never know.
"Our whole family is extremely proud of her
accomplishments, and know what a unique and
special experience it was to have her in our
lives. Today, it was especially meaningful for us
to be with so many good friends to celebrate her
spirit, which will be with us forever.
By Elizabeth Leonard
Sunday October 16, 2011 08:55 PM EDT People Online
Elizabeth Taylor Remembered at Private Memorial for Friends, Fa
*
Close friends and family of the late Elizabeth
Taylor gathered Sunday afternoon to remember
beloved Hollywood legend during a private
memorial on the Warner Brothers lot in Burbank, PEOPLE has learned.
With Taylor's good friend Colin Farrell hosting
the 75-minute celebration in the lot's Steven J.
Ross Theater, the tribute was attended by
Taylor's children Michael and Christopher
Wilding, Liza Tivey and Maria Burton, as well as
close friends Michael Caine, stepdaughter Kate
Burton and Sir Elton John, who sang a stirring
rendition of "Blue Eyes" to close the program.
"To say that the world got smaller, emptier,
darker and lonelier when we lost Elizabeth is an
understatement," Sir Elton John told the 400
guests during his heartfelt remarks. "She was a
true rock, a pioneer, a pathfinder, a trailblazer
and a star who will always burn bright and always
had time to laugh at herself."
Throughout the program, guests spoke of Taylor's
humor, beauty and generosity, and shared memories
from her rich and colorful life.
<http://www.people.com/people/package/ar ... tml>Taylor
died of congestive heart failure on March 23. She was 79.
One especially touching moment came when grandson
Rhys Tivey stood up and played a trumpet
rendition of "Amazing Grace," a song his
grandmother loved. "People were mesmerized how
her talent and grace lived on in Rhys," says a guest.
There were also tributes to the three-time
Oscar-winner's post-Hollywood career, both as a
businesswoman with her fragrance White Diamonds,
and her tenacious advocacy on behalf of people
living with HIV/AIDS. AIDS activists in the
audience were visibly moved as clips of Taylor
lobbying in Washington, D.C., in the early '80s played on the screen.
"Many of us remember all too well, those early
days of the AIDS epidemic in the early to
mid-1980s," said Sir Elton. "It brought out the
worst hysteria, bigotry, callous indifference.
But it also allowed an angel and warrior, like
Elizabeth, to rise up and show us how to respond
instead with compassion, reason, and humanity."
Taylor's son Michael, from her 1952 marriage to
British actor Michael Wilding, told PEOPLE: "My
mother was an extraordinary woman whose life
touched so many, most of whom we will never know.
"Our whole family is extremely proud of her
accomplishments, and know what a unique and
special experience it was to have her in our
lives. Today, it was especially meaningful for us
to be with so many good friends to celebrate her
spirit, which will be with us forever.
Re: R.I,P. Elizabeth Taylor
latimes.com
Liz Taylor will dazzle L.A. one last time
Christie's auction of more than 2,000 pieces of
the late actress' memorabilia is set for
mid-December in New York, but first the items
will be displayed Oct. 13-16 at MOCA's Pacific Design Center.
By Geraldine Baum, Los Angeles Times
October 3, 2011
Reporting from New York�
The jewelry from seven husbands. The wardrobe of
a '60s jet-setter. The memorabilia of a Hollywood
icon, including a love poem by Bob Dylan that he
scrawled on a framed publicity poster of himself
and dedicated to "Elizabeth, Sweetheart, Dream angel, Queen-of-the world."
These are among more than 2,000 objects that
belonged to Elizabeth Taylor and are being
auctioned by Christie's in mid-December in New York.
They have already been on display in London and
Moscow and will travel to other capitals of
wealth. But for four days in October, Taylor's
collection will be back in Los Angeles, where she
lived most of her life and died at age 79 in March.
The auction preview will take place Oct. 13-16 at
MOCA's Pacific Design Center in West Hollywood,
with admission costing $20. Anyone lucky enough
to put their nose inside Taylor's Vuitton luggage
set will still be able to smell her perfume.
Marc Porter, chairman of Christie's Americas,
said that before she died she had formalized
arrangements to auction her jewels, clothes, memorabilia and art.
"As much as she was the untouchable, most
glamorous person in Hollywood, she was also
extremely grounded and had a sense of her mortality," Porter said.
The fine jewelry is the core of the collection
because "of its staggering depth," Porter said.
It also accounts for $30 million of the $50
million Christie's expects to raise by the sale;
the proceeds will go to her estate and a portion
of profits generated by events and publications
will be donated to the Elizabeth Taylor AIDS Foundation.
After viewing the jewelry in London last week,
Vivienne Becker, a British jewelry historian and
author, said it was likely to bring in
considerably more than $30 million. She thought
the quality of the gemstones and design might
even inspire houses such as Cartier and Van Cleef
& Arpels to attempt to buy back Taylor's pieces for their own archives.
"The quality was higher than I ever imagined,"
Becker said. "I also think everyone is hungry for
the star quality that Elizabeth Taylor
epitomized. Especially nowadays when actresses
all dress down and walk around with their coffee
cups and sneakers and wear jewelry on the red
carpet that they don't even own. Elizabeth Taylor
owned it, she wore it well and she loved it."
Despite the global financial crisis, Becker
predicted that "big buyers are out there for fine
jewels that have the winning combination of
provenance, great design and top, top quality."
Rahul Kadakia, head of jewelry for Christie's
Americas, said he already knew of at least one
buyer for the colossal diamond ring known as the
"Krupp," which Richard Burton gave Taylor in 1968
and Christie's rebranded as "The Elizabeth Taylor Diamond."
The 33.19-carat ring, which she wore just about
every day, is valued for the sale at $2.5 million
to $3.5 million, but a slightly smaller ring of
similar quality belonging to the late Leonore
Annenberg sold two years ago for $7.7 million.
"The underbidder offered $6.9 million, and she's
still around," Kadakia said. "In fact, I know
five women who will be interested in that ring."
Most of Taylor's jewels are being marketed with
photographs of her wearing them, along with tales
of great intimacy between her and the men who loved and bejeweled her.
Michael Todd, who died in a plane crash a year
after their 1957 marriage, gave Taylor a Cartier
ruby suite � necklace, bracelet and earrings �
while she was swimming laps in their pool in the
south of France and wearing a diamond tiara he
had bought her. She saw the rubies, squealed,
threw her arms around him and pulled him into the water, as the story goes.
Richard Burton gave her perhaps the most historic
gem of the collection � La Peregrina, a large,
16th century pear-shaped pearl that was once
owned by Spanish King Philip II. Burton, more
than any of her other husbands and admirers,
showered Taylor with jewels and clearly enjoyed
selecting them with her at his side.
"I introduced Liz to beer," he famously noted,
"and she introduced me to Bulgari."
In 1970, while they were playing table tennis at
their Swiss chalet, he told Taylor that if she
could take 10 points off him, he'd buy her
diamonds. She did � and he ponied up for three
tiny rings known now as the "ping-pong diamond."
A diamond ring from the late Michael Jackson
doesn't quite measure up to the taste of Burton
and Todd, according to Becker: "It's just not among the best pieces."
The clothes in the sale reflect a woman who
adored color, flash and glamour. Of 18 racks of
clothes, there is hardly anything in black. She
had relatively few shoes for a woman of her
means, though there are 22 pairs of cowboy boots
and 221 bags, mostly Chanel or Dior. She owned
numerous bolero jackets and several Christian
Dior couture gowns in sorbet colors with "1965" sewn into the labels.
The collection also includes less dazzling items
that reflect the ups and downs of a woman whom
many fans could relate to because she openly expressed emotions.
There is a copy of "Nibbles and Me," the
children's book she wrote at age 13 about her
real-life adventures with a chipmunk; a black
turban she wore to Burton's 1984 funeral; a small
AIDS ribbon still pinned to a tiny-waisted ball
gown she wore to a fundraiser for the cause she
championed, as well as a selection of caftans worn in her later years.
Starting in December Christie's will also auction
Taylor's art collection at various sales most
notably Impressionist work that shows she was not
afraid of color and prized flowering beauty over
avant-garde edginess. Her father, Francis Lenn
Taylor, was an American art dealer who worked in
New York and London before setting up shop in the
Beverly Hills Hotel; he helped her acquire several pieces.
Porter called the art "a classic type of
collection assembled in the '50s and '60s. All of
the great Hollywood collectors have those artists
Van Gogh, Degas, Pissarro, Renoir, the Impressionists."
Taylor's Van Gogh, which used to hang above the
sofa in her Bel-Air living room, and her Pissarro
are both essentially paintings of gardens. She
knew flowers intimately and designed her own
gardens and chose scents for her perfume
collection. The Van Gogh was done in 1889, the
same year as "The Starry Night," and at an
estimated value of $5 million to $7 million is the priciest in her collection.
Other artworks, estimated well under six figures,
are expected to bring premiums as souvenirs of
her friendships with artists like David Hockney
and Andy Warhol, who famously painted an image of
"Liz" based on a publicity still. She had a
lithograph version dedicated to her by the artist
and a tiny ink drawing of big red lips by him
that says, "To Elizabeth a big kiss Andy Warhol."
Porter said he expects that Angelenos will lap up
a last view of one of their own.
"We know that the jewelry is the most important
privately held collection to come to market in
America, but how that will translate into terms
of the premium paid by clients in Asia versus in
the West, well, we will see the night of the
sales," Porter said. "But this is Elizabeth
Taylor. We suspect people will at least want a look."
Times staff writer Jori Finkel in Los Angeles contributed to this report.
Liz Taylor will dazzle L.A. one last time
Christie's auction of more than 2,000 pieces of
the late actress' memorabilia is set for
mid-December in New York, but first the items
will be displayed Oct. 13-16 at MOCA's Pacific Design Center.
By Geraldine Baum, Los Angeles Times
October 3, 2011
Reporting from New York�
The jewelry from seven husbands. The wardrobe of
a '60s jet-setter. The memorabilia of a Hollywood
icon, including a love poem by Bob Dylan that he
scrawled on a framed publicity poster of himself
and dedicated to "Elizabeth, Sweetheart, Dream angel, Queen-of-the world."
These are among more than 2,000 objects that
belonged to Elizabeth Taylor and are being
auctioned by Christie's in mid-December in New York.
They have already been on display in London and
Moscow and will travel to other capitals of
wealth. But for four days in October, Taylor's
collection will be back in Los Angeles, where she
lived most of her life and died at age 79 in March.
The auction preview will take place Oct. 13-16 at
MOCA's Pacific Design Center in West Hollywood,
with admission costing $20. Anyone lucky enough
to put their nose inside Taylor's Vuitton luggage
set will still be able to smell her perfume.
Marc Porter, chairman of Christie's Americas,
said that before she died she had formalized
arrangements to auction her jewels, clothes, memorabilia and art.
"As much as she was the untouchable, most
glamorous person in Hollywood, she was also
extremely grounded and had a sense of her mortality," Porter said.
The fine jewelry is the core of the collection
because "of its staggering depth," Porter said.
It also accounts for $30 million of the $50
million Christie's expects to raise by the sale;
the proceeds will go to her estate and a portion
of profits generated by events and publications
will be donated to the Elizabeth Taylor AIDS Foundation.
After viewing the jewelry in London last week,
Vivienne Becker, a British jewelry historian and
author, said it was likely to bring in
considerably more than $30 million. She thought
the quality of the gemstones and design might
even inspire houses such as Cartier and Van Cleef
& Arpels to attempt to buy back Taylor's pieces for their own archives.
"The quality was higher than I ever imagined,"
Becker said. "I also think everyone is hungry for
the star quality that Elizabeth Taylor
epitomized. Especially nowadays when actresses
all dress down and walk around with their coffee
cups and sneakers and wear jewelry on the red
carpet that they don't even own. Elizabeth Taylor
owned it, she wore it well and she loved it."
Despite the global financial crisis, Becker
predicted that "big buyers are out there for fine
jewels that have the winning combination of
provenance, great design and top, top quality."
Rahul Kadakia, head of jewelry for Christie's
Americas, said he already knew of at least one
buyer for the colossal diamond ring known as the
"Krupp," which Richard Burton gave Taylor in 1968
and Christie's rebranded as "The Elizabeth Taylor Diamond."
The 33.19-carat ring, which she wore just about
every day, is valued for the sale at $2.5 million
to $3.5 million, but a slightly smaller ring of
similar quality belonging to the late Leonore
Annenberg sold two years ago for $7.7 million.
"The underbidder offered $6.9 million, and she's
still around," Kadakia said. "In fact, I know
five women who will be interested in that ring."
Most of Taylor's jewels are being marketed with
photographs of her wearing them, along with tales
of great intimacy between her and the men who loved and bejeweled her.
Michael Todd, who died in a plane crash a year
after their 1957 marriage, gave Taylor a Cartier
ruby suite � necklace, bracelet and earrings �
while she was swimming laps in their pool in the
south of France and wearing a diamond tiara he
had bought her. She saw the rubies, squealed,
threw her arms around him and pulled him into the water, as the story goes.
Richard Burton gave her perhaps the most historic
gem of the collection � La Peregrina, a large,
16th century pear-shaped pearl that was once
owned by Spanish King Philip II. Burton, more
than any of her other husbands and admirers,
showered Taylor with jewels and clearly enjoyed
selecting them with her at his side.
"I introduced Liz to beer," he famously noted,
"and she introduced me to Bulgari."
In 1970, while they were playing table tennis at
their Swiss chalet, he told Taylor that if she
could take 10 points off him, he'd buy her
diamonds. She did � and he ponied up for three
tiny rings known now as the "ping-pong diamond."
A diamond ring from the late Michael Jackson
doesn't quite measure up to the taste of Burton
and Todd, according to Becker: "It's just not among the best pieces."
The clothes in the sale reflect a woman who
adored color, flash and glamour. Of 18 racks of
clothes, there is hardly anything in black. She
had relatively few shoes for a woman of her
means, though there are 22 pairs of cowboy boots
and 221 bags, mostly Chanel or Dior. She owned
numerous bolero jackets and several Christian
Dior couture gowns in sorbet colors with "1965" sewn into the labels.
The collection also includes less dazzling items
that reflect the ups and downs of a woman whom
many fans could relate to because she openly expressed emotions.
There is a copy of "Nibbles and Me," the
children's book she wrote at age 13 about her
real-life adventures with a chipmunk; a black
turban she wore to Burton's 1984 funeral; a small
AIDS ribbon still pinned to a tiny-waisted ball
gown she wore to a fundraiser for the cause she
championed, as well as a selection of caftans worn in her later years.
Starting in December Christie's will also auction
Taylor's art collection at various sales most
notably Impressionist work that shows she was not
afraid of color and prized flowering beauty over
avant-garde edginess. Her father, Francis Lenn
Taylor, was an American art dealer who worked in
New York and London before setting up shop in the
Beverly Hills Hotel; he helped her acquire several pieces.
Porter called the art "a classic type of
collection assembled in the '50s and '60s. All of
the great Hollywood collectors have those artists
Van Gogh, Degas, Pissarro, Renoir, the Impressionists."
Taylor's Van Gogh, which used to hang above the
sofa in her Bel-Air living room, and her Pissarro
are both essentially paintings of gardens. She
knew flowers intimately and designed her own
gardens and chose scents for her perfume
collection. The Van Gogh was done in 1889, the
same year as "The Starry Night," and at an
estimated value of $5 million to $7 million is the priciest in her collection.
Other artworks, estimated well under six figures,
are expected to bring premiums as souvenirs of
her friendships with artists like David Hockney
and Andy Warhol, who famously painted an image of
"Liz" based on a publicity still. She had a
lithograph version dedicated to her by the artist
and a tiny ink drawing of big red lips by him
that says, "To Elizabeth a big kiss Andy Warhol."
Porter said he expects that Angelenos will lap up
a last view of one of their own.
"We know that the jewelry is the most important
privately held collection to come to market in
America, but how that will translate into terms
of the premium paid by clients in Asia versus in
the West, well, we will see the night of the
sales," Porter said. "But this is Elizabeth
Taylor. We suspect people will at least want a look."
Times staff writer Jori Finkel in Los Angeles contributed to this report.
Carrie Nye's encounter with the Burton's during the shoot of the film Divorce (1973):
''Making it in Munich''
Her career, observes Actress Carrie Nye, has been "obscure enough to be considered practically invisible, generally involving Ibsen plays in converted pizza parlors, Euripides revivals in condemned bowling alleys and many happy hours at Channel 13 [New York's public television station]." So, despite her extensive stage experience on and off-Broadway, including a Tony nomination performance in Half a Sixpence, she was somewhat surprised last fall when she was asked to appear in two movies for TV with Superstars Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. The movies, a matched set of thudding disasters coyly entitled Divorce His and Divorce Hers, were shown on ABC Feb. 6 and 7 and, incredibly, are being rebroadcast this week. Now back in New York with her husband Dick Cavett, Nye offers the following memoir of her disconcerting brush with moviemaking, Burton-Taylor style:
I was, as Mrs. Onassis' cook and others who rat on their benefactors phrase it, in their employ. An unidentified party, demonstrably in his cups, had called from Zagreb, and in hushed tones and cold blood invited me to be in a movie with Them. You know, Those Two.
The voice from Zagreb tossed off a few bits of information: the two films were to be shot simultaneously. Although the action takes place in Rome, it would naturally be filmed in Bavaria. My wardrobe was to be knitted up by someone known as Madame Gisele. Unreassuringly, the director in command of all these forces was an Etonian Pakistani who was 4 ft. 11 in. tall, or at least he was when we began.
Why did I go? Why, indeed. Wild stallions couldn't have stopped me. Urged on by family, friends true and false, agents, a sense of the grotesque and a positively overwhelming curiosity, I went to Munich.
My introduction to the Stars was delayed somewhat by Madame Gisele. Somehow my 100 lbs. had been translated into roughly 1,000, and Madame Gisele had designed accordingly. The problem was eventually solved by wearing the roomy creation backwards in an attempt to conceal several miles of mournfully trailing crepe de Chine.
Eventually my presence was required to do a smidgen of acting with the Male Star. With great dread, I was taken away in a Mercedes-Benz redolent of the high command and delivered, in a manner usually associated with parcels, to Bavaria Platz Studios.
My acting chore for the day was to be introduced to Himself and launch without further ado into a long, loud and boring scene during which I was to be 1) obstreperous, 2) a general nuisance and 3) drunk as a billy goat. All went as anticipated except for one detail. The Star had beaten me to the punch. Or, if you will, the stirrup cup. And so ended the first day.
As a matter of record, so ended the second, third and fourth days. After a spell, it became apparent that Mr. Burton did not do an awful lot of work after lunch, and Mrs. Taylor-Burton, whom I had yet to clap eyes on, did not generally arrive until about a quarter of three in the afternoon. And as our little moviettes were love stories, albeit somewhat mature love stories, it was important that the lovers meet before the cameras at some point. So until all of this was ironed out, the rest of us had quite a bit of time on our hands. The problem of mutiny was solved in classic movie fashion by issuing a daily call sheet. Examples from this extraordinary document: 10:00: Mr. Burton's car arrives hotel. 10:15: Mr. Burton's car leaves hotel. 10:40-10:45: Mr. Burton gets out of car . . . etc.
Epic Cases. After a while, we began to be invited to luncheon chez Burton. I can only assume this was intended as a kindness, an admirable act of noblesse oblige. Mrs. Burton was a charming and gracious hostess, and Mr. Burton, if a bit expansive at times, did his best to make us all feel right at home, except during a rather murky incident somewhere between the hors ďoeuvres and the fish course, when it appeared that either my wrist or my neck was going to be snapped by the host. I am still mystified as to my transgression, but Mr. Burton's reputation as a lady killer took on for the moment a rather sinister hue.
What was actually eaten, if anything, at these cozy impromptus for twelve (most of whom are in the Burtons' permanent employ, as opposed to us temporary help) is lost to memory. What was imbibed will be permanently inscribed on my liver for the rest of my days. There was a goodly amount of joshing about who drank the most Jack Daniel's, or tequila, or Jack Daniel's with tequila, or vodka and champagne, or Sterno and Scotch, and in just which European capital, South American port or Balkan satellite these epic cases of alcohol poisoning took place. All this good fun would be punctuated by phone calls from the anguished director to inquire when, if ever, work could be resumed. Mr. Burton could generally be relied upon to knock off work early, usually with a magnificent display of temper, foot stamping, and a few exit lines delivered in the finest St. Crispin's Day style. My favorite was "I am old and gray and incredibly gifted!"
Both Bs had a genius for delivering breath-stopping statements. One day Mr. Burton said to me: "You know my wife—my wife Elizabeth [in case her identity had not come to my attention]—s the most beautiful woman in the world." I wisely decided a firm yes would cover that one nicely. He also volunteered the information that he could read an entire book every day. He didn't say he actually did, just that he could if he wanted to. Fortunately, no reply was needed, for at that moment I trod heavily on either a beer can or one of the old Dom Perignon bottles that were usually kicking around underfoot. My wounded toe was promptly dealt with in a manner that in addition to being exquisite for its agony was impressive for its style. A bottle of Napoleon brandy of priceless pedigree was poured over the toe, the floor and the ankles of several dress extras.
I am told every brush with the great and the near great supposedly has its poignant moments, proving that they are just folks after all. My experience seemed notably lacking, though there was one that might qualify. While á deux with Mrs. Taylor-Burton and a beaker of champagne, she remarked that Richard often considered returning to Oxford to become a simple don. This was said with great sincerity and a straight face. Which—since the lady was at the time wearing a stupefying wig made from the scalps of at least nine healthy Italians and a frock costing upwards of $5,000—gave me a poignant vision of donnish simplicity.
Just as I was considering building a home in Austria and putting in some annuals, our chores finally came to an end. Four weeks and umpteen transatlantic phone calls after it began, I returned home—richer, thinner, sporting a veneer of Weltschmerz and the ability to do a staggering imitation of R. Burton, which is pretty effective, if not particularly useful.
''Making it in Munich''
Her career, observes Actress Carrie Nye, has been "obscure enough to be considered practically invisible, generally involving Ibsen plays in converted pizza parlors, Euripides revivals in condemned bowling alleys and many happy hours at Channel 13 [New York's public television station]." So, despite her extensive stage experience on and off-Broadway, including a Tony nomination performance in Half a Sixpence, she was somewhat surprised last fall when she was asked to appear in two movies for TV with Superstars Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. The movies, a matched set of thudding disasters coyly entitled Divorce His and Divorce Hers, were shown on ABC Feb. 6 and 7 and, incredibly, are being rebroadcast this week. Now back in New York with her husband Dick Cavett, Nye offers the following memoir of her disconcerting brush with moviemaking, Burton-Taylor style:
I was, as Mrs. Onassis' cook and others who rat on their benefactors phrase it, in their employ. An unidentified party, demonstrably in his cups, had called from Zagreb, and in hushed tones and cold blood invited me to be in a movie with Them. You know, Those Two.
The voice from Zagreb tossed off a few bits of information: the two films were to be shot simultaneously. Although the action takes place in Rome, it would naturally be filmed in Bavaria. My wardrobe was to be knitted up by someone known as Madame Gisele. Unreassuringly, the director in command of all these forces was an Etonian Pakistani who was 4 ft. 11 in. tall, or at least he was when we began.
Why did I go? Why, indeed. Wild stallions couldn't have stopped me. Urged on by family, friends true and false, agents, a sense of the grotesque and a positively overwhelming curiosity, I went to Munich.
My introduction to the Stars was delayed somewhat by Madame Gisele. Somehow my 100 lbs. had been translated into roughly 1,000, and Madame Gisele had designed accordingly. The problem was eventually solved by wearing the roomy creation backwards in an attempt to conceal several miles of mournfully trailing crepe de Chine.
Eventually my presence was required to do a smidgen of acting with the Male Star. With great dread, I was taken away in a Mercedes-Benz redolent of the high command and delivered, in a manner usually associated with parcels, to Bavaria Platz Studios.
My acting chore for the day was to be introduced to Himself and launch without further ado into a long, loud and boring scene during which I was to be 1) obstreperous, 2) a general nuisance and 3) drunk as a billy goat. All went as anticipated except for one detail. The Star had beaten me to the punch. Or, if you will, the stirrup cup. And so ended the first day.
As a matter of record, so ended the second, third and fourth days. After a spell, it became apparent that Mr. Burton did not do an awful lot of work after lunch, and Mrs. Taylor-Burton, whom I had yet to clap eyes on, did not generally arrive until about a quarter of three in the afternoon. And as our little moviettes were love stories, albeit somewhat mature love stories, it was important that the lovers meet before the cameras at some point. So until all of this was ironed out, the rest of us had quite a bit of time on our hands. The problem of mutiny was solved in classic movie fashion by issuing a daily call sheet. Examples from this extraordinary document: 10:00: Mr. Burton's car arrives hotel. 10:15: Mr. Burton's car leaves hotel. 10:40-10:45: Mr. Burton gets out of car . . . etc.
Epic Cases. After a while, we began to be invited to luncheon chez Burton. I can only assume this was intended as a kindness, an admirable act of noblesse oblige. Mrs. Burton was a charming and gracious hostess, and Mr. Burton, if a bit expansive at times, did his best to make us all feel right at home, except during a rather murky incident somewhere between the hors ďoeuvres and the fish course, when it appeared that either my wrist or my neck was going to be snapped by the host. I am still mystified as to my transgression, but Mr. Burton's reputation as a lady killer took on for the moment a rather sinister hue.
What was actually eaten, if anything, at these cozy impromptus for twelve (most of whom are in the Burtons' permanent employ, as opposed to us temporary help) is lost to memory. What was imbibed will be permanently inscribed on my liver for the rest of my days. There was a goodly amount of joshing about who drank the most Jack Daniel's, or tequila, or Jack Daniel's with tequila, or vodka and champagne, or Sterno and Scotch, and in just which European capital, South American port or Balkan satellite these epic cases of alcohol poisoning took place. All this good fun would be punctuated by phone calls from the anguished director to inquire when, if ever, work could be resumed. Mr. Burton could generally be relied upon to knock off work early, usually with a magnificent display of temper, foot stamping, and a few exit lines delivered in the finest St. Crispin's Day style. My favorite was "I am old and gray and incredibly gifted!"
Both Bs had a genius for delivering breath-stopping statements. One day Mr. Burton said to me: "You know my wife—my wife Elizabeth [in case her identity had not come to my attention]—s the most beautiful woman in the world." I wisely decided a firm yes would cover that one nicely. He also volunteered the information that he could read an entire book every day. He didn't say he actually did, just that he could if he wanted to. Fortunately, no reply was needed, for at that moment I trod heavily on either a beer can or one of the old Dom Perignon bottles that were usually kicking around underfoot. My wounded toe was promptly dealt with in a manner that in addition to being exquisite for its agony was impressive for its style. A bottle of Napoleon brandy of priceless pedigree was poured over the toe, the floor and the ankles of several dress extras.
I am told every brush with the great and the near great supposedly has its poignant moments, proving that they are just folks after all. My experience seemed notably lacking, though there was one that might qualify. While á deux with Mrs. Taylor-Burton and a beaker of champagne, she remarked that Richard often considered returning to Oxford to become a simple don. This was said with great sincerity and a straight face. Which—since the lady was at the time wearing a stupefying wig made from the scalps of at least nine healthy Italians and a frock costing upwards of $5,000—gave me a poignant vision of donnish simplicity.
Just as I was considering building a home in Austria and putting in some annuals, our chores finally came to an end. Four weeks and umpteen transatlantic phone calls after it began, I returned home—richer, thinner, sporting a veneer of Weltschmerz and the ability to do a staggering imitation of R. Burton, which is pretty effective, if not particularly useful.
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Big Magilla
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Yes, it was always "Liz and Dick." I never heard of "Dickenliz." David Carr can kiss my big fat ass, and Mel Gussow could too if he wasn't dead.
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"Y'know, that's one of the things I like about Mitt Romney. He's been consistent since he changed his mind." -- Christine O'Donnell
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Mister Tee
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Can some of my age-congruent folk weigh in on this?
In the Mel Gussow obit, he said, noting the press's full obsession with the Taylor/Burton affair, that people in the trade called the whole thing "Dickenliz". David Carr repeats that phrase in a Week in Review piece today, as if it were a well-established fact.
Not only did I never hear this phrase during the great period of Taylor/Burton notoriety -- word-jamming was a more recent invention -- every time I did hear the couple referred to as an item, it was the other way around: Liz 'n' Dick, if anything.
Does anyone have a different memory?
In the Mel Gussow obit, he said, noting the press's full obsession with the Taylor/Burton affair, that people in the trade called the whole thing "Dickenliz". David Carr repeats that phrase in a Week in Review piece today, as if it were a well-established fact.
Not only did I never hear this phrase during the great period of Taylor/Burton notoriety -- word-jamming was a more recent invention -- every time I did hear the couple referred to as an item, it was the other way around: Liz 'n' Dick, if anything.
Does anyone have a different memory?
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Big Magilla
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London Guardian 3/23/2011
Elizabeth Taylor Obituary
Child actor who became a Hollywood film star
known for her dazzling beauty and her eight marriages
The film star Elizabeth Taylor, who has died of heart
failure aged 79, was in the public eye from the age of 11 and
remained there even decades after her last hit
movie. She managed to keep people fascinated, by
her incandescent beauty, her courage, her
open-natured character, her self-deprecating
humour, her eight marriages (two of them to the
actor Richard Burton), her almost as many brushes
with death, her seesawing weight, her diamonds
and her humanitarian causes, all of which often
obscured the reason why she was famous in the
first place � her tantalising screen presence, in
films including A Place in the Sun (1951), Cat On
a Hot Tin Roof (1958), Butterfield 8 (1961),
Cleopatra (1963) and Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966).
Taylor was born in Hampstead, north London, of
American parents. Her mother, Sara, was a former
stage actor and her father, Francis, an art
dealer. As soon as she could walk she was given
ballet lessons, and at the age of three danced
with her class in front of the royal family. In
1939, a few months before the outbreak of war,
the family moved to Hollywood, where her father
opened an art gallery much patronised by the film
colony. The beauty of the owner's dark-haired,
violet-eyed young daughter won almost as much
praise as the paintings on the walls, and she was
soon making her screen debut at the age of 10 in
There's One Born Every Minute (1942) at Universal.
But it was MGM who launched her career proper
with Lassie Come Home (1943), and for whom most
of her films were made. When Sara Taylor heard
that the studio was looking for a young girl to
play Velvet Brown, who wins the Grand National
disguised as a boy in National Velvet (1945), she
brought her daughter to see the producer Pandro S
Berman. He thought her too thin and fragile for
the part, although she could ride well. But three
months later, after rigid training from her
mother, she was able to change Berman's mind. Her
performance, in which she radiates youth and a
tooth brace, is enjoyed perennially.
Meanwhile, she was struggling to get an education
at the Hollywood school, where she developed a
crush on an older fellow pupil, John Derek, the
first recorded instance of her interest in the
opposite sex. At 17, she was despairing about
getting much schoolwork done while making
Conspirator (1949), in her first "adult" role.
"How can I when Robert Taylor keeps sticking his
tongue down my throat?" When the eccentric RKO
boss Howard Hughes became interested in her, he
sent his lawyer to Mrs Taylor with an offer of
$1m to arrange a marriage with her daughter. At
being told of the offer, Elizabeth laughed out loud.
Her debut marriage was to Nicky Hilton, the
23-year-old playboy son of the hotel magnate
Conrad Hilton, in 1950. It seemed a fairytale
romance, ideal fodder for the glossy fan
magazines, as both were young, attractive, rich
and pampered. MGM took advantage of Hollywood's
biggest wedding of the year by releasing Vincente
Minnelli's delightful comedy Father of the Bride
(1950), in which Taylor was the bride and Spencer
Tracy the father, at around the same time.
After the genuine marriage ceremony, Taylor
whispered to her mother, "Oh, mother! Nick and I
are one now, for ever and ever." "For ever and
ever" turned out to be eight months. According to
her testimony at the divorce proceedings, Hilton
had ignored her during their long European
honeymoon, drank heavily and abused her in
public. He complained, "I didn't marry a girl. I married an institution."
The "institution", still in her teens, in
ravishing closeups, was now driving Montgomery
Clift as George Eastman to murder his pregnant
girlfriend in George Stevens's A Place in the Sun
(1951). "Liz is the only woman I have ever met
who turns me on," remarked the homosexual Clift.
They were to become close friends and, during the
making of Raintree County in 1957, she was the
first on the scene of Clift's car crash, pulling
a dislodged tooth out of his throat to stop him
choking. Two years later, she insisted that the
scarred and drug-addicted Clift be cast with her in Suddenly, Last Summer.
In due course, she met the sophisticated British
actor Michael Wilding, 20 years her senior. She
was playing Rebecca in Ivanhoe (1952) in England
when she proposed to him. Ironically, MGM had
given her the role abroad as a means of breaking
up her affair with the director Stanley Donen.
Taylor and Wilding were married in 1952, at a
London register office. Her sons, Michael Jr and
Christopher, were both born by caesarean section,
in 1953 and 1955 respectively. By 1956 the marriage began to totter.
She was 24, and becoming one of the most
sought-after stars in Hollywood, especially after
her performance in Stevens's Giant (1956) during
which she formed warm relationships with her
co-stars, Rock Hudson and James Dean. Wilding was
middle-aged and his career was fading, although
she got him an MGM contract. Clearly the age gap,
which Taylor had insisted was unimportant at the
outset, played an important part in the break-up
of the marriage, and they agreed to an amicable divorce.
Ironically, the man she was to marry next was
five years older than Wilding. But the flamboyant
impresario Mike Todd (real name Avrom Goldbogen),
the begetter of Around the World in 80 Days, was
noted for his youthful spirit and abundant
energy. At their wedding in Acapulco in 1957,
Mike's lifelong friend, the crooner Eddie Fisher,
was best man, and Eddie's wife, Debbie Reynolds,
was matron of honour. In the same year, a
daughter, Liza, was born, also by caesarean, and
both mother and child nearly died. Taylor was
advised never to have another baby.
A mere seven months later, Todd's private plane,
Lucky Liz, in which he was flying to New York,
crashed in a storm near Albuquerque leaving no
survivors. Taylor had wanted to accompany her
husband on the flight but was persuaded to stay
at home because of a flu virus. On hearing of the
tragedy, she screamed so loudly that neighbours a
few doors away could hear her, and she had to be
drugged to prevent her from taking her own life.
Gradually, Taylor came out of seclusion and
completed Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1958), which she
had already been filming when Todd was killed.
Despite, or because of, her state of mind, she
gave one of her most finely wrought performances
as the sexually frustrated Maggie. Her voice,
never her strong point, seemed to have gained in
power, and she matched Paul Newman and Burl Ives blow for blow.
The film's box-office potential was increased
further by the gossip surrounding Taylor and
Fisher. Taylor, who had been cast as the grieving
widow, now found herself in the role of the vamp
who wrecked the Fishers' apparently idyllic
marriage. The outraged moralistic public was
unaware that the Fisher-Reynolds marriage was
already in tatters. In 1959, Taylor, who had
converted to Judaism when she married Todd,
married Fisher at a synagogue in Las Vegas.
Taylor was in London where she was completing
Suddenly, Last Summer (1959, in which she
brilliantly played Katharine Hepburn's
mentally-disturbed niece), when the producer
Walter Wanger offered her the title role in
Cleopatra. The star half-jokingly told him that
she would do it for $1m against 10% of the gross.
To everyone's astonishment, 20th Century-Fox
agreed to her terms, making her the highest-paid
performer for a single film in the history of
Hollywood to date. As she said, "If someone's
dumb enough to offer me a million dollars to make
a picture, I'm certainly not dumb enough to turn it down."
When filming on Cleopatra started at Pinewood
studios, Peter Finch was Julius Caesar and
Stephen Boyd Mark Antony, although neither of
them was to see their leading lady for more than
a month. Taylor was first stricken with a cold,
then a fever, then an infected tooth. In March
1961, Taylor was rushed to a London clinic with
lung congestion. She was given a tracheotomy that
helped her breathing, but for days she was on the
danger list. After some time in a coma, she began
to rally. Her physicians announced, "She has made
a very rare recovery. Miss Taylor is a woman of
great courage. She put up a wonderful fight."
In the spring, Taylor won her first Oscar, after
three consecutive nominations (Raintree County,
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and Suddenly Last Summer),
for her role as a high-class hooker in the 1960
film Butterfield 8. Overnight, she had regained
the affection of the fickle industry and public.
Taylor herself thought the Oscar was a
consolation prize for not dying and that the film "was a piece of shit".
As for Cleopatra, the whole project was shipped
to Rome, and Finch and Boyd were replaced by Rex
Harrison and Richard Burton. Taylor arrived in
Rome with a large entourage consisting of one
husband, three children, five dogs, two cats,
various secretaries and dozens of servants, and
settled at the Villa Pappa, a 14-roomed mansion off the Via Appia.
"There comes a time during the making of a movie
when the actors become the characters they play,"
Wanger noted in his diary. "The cameras turned
and the current was literally turned on. It was
quiet and you could almost feel the electricity
between Elizabeth Taylor and Burton."
After the first "electric scene" they performed
together, Burton, who was married, frequented the
villa in the evenings. On one particular
occasion, while Burton was regaling the guests
with stories, Fisher went to the piano and
started playing and singing loudly. Finally,
Taylor yelled, "Shut up, Eddie! We can't talk!",
whereupon the jealous crooner slammed down the
lid of the piano and strode into the next room. A
few moments later, Fisher records were blasting
through the house. Taylor covered her ears while
the guests departed, diplomatically.
"I'm afraid at first it was lust, and then I got
to know her and it was love," Burton recalled.
Throughout the shooting, to avoid the constant
prying of the paparazzi, the celebrated couple
would escape to a cheap one-room apartment on the
beach. Finally, weary of subterfuge, they decided
to be seen publicly in the Via Venuto. The
Vatican talked of "this insult to the nobility of
the hearth", and Ed Sullivan on his TV show said,
"You can only trust that youngsters will not be
persuaded that the sanctity of marriage has been
invalidated by the appalling example of Mrs
Taylor-Fisher and married man Burton."
After Cleopatra, Burton and Taylor announced that
they would make another film together, originally
to be called International Affair. The title was
changed to The VIPs. During the filming in
London, Cleopatra opened to mixed reviews.
Audiences were disappointed that the love scenes
between Taylor and Burton that were the talk of
modern Rome were not repeated with so much
passion in those of ancient Rome. But public
interest in their private lives still made the film a top earner of 1963.
The affair continued in the public eye, while
both Fisher and Sybil Burton held out for the
best possible divorce deals. Finally, Sybil
Burton gave in, claiming cruelty and that her
husband was "in the constant company of another
woman," which Newsweek called "the throwaway line
of the decade". Burton and Taylor were married in
March 1964 by a Unitarian minister at the
Ritz-Carlton in Montreal. She wore a pale yellow
Irene Sharaff gown, and a $150,000 emerald and
diamond brooch that Burton had bought her at
Bulgari in Rome. The bride and groom gave their
respective religions as Jewish and Presbyterian.
The scandal over, public interest in them only
seemed to increase. The world's most famous
couple had become celebrities rather than actors.
"I want to be known as an actress," Taylor told
the New York Times in 1964. Unfortunately, their
reputations as serious actors were not much
enhanced by the next film they made together, the
limp soap-opera The Sandpiper (1965). After the
three less than convincing films the couple had
made together, it was fortunate that their
credibility as performers was soon brilliantly
restored in 1966 by Who's Afraid of Virginia
Woolf? for which Taylor won her second Oscar
playing the bitter, 52-year-old, vulgar wife of a
self-loathing professor (Burton). It was Taylor's
ability to get into the skin of the character,
more than the padding and a tousled
salt-and-pepper wig, which transformed the
legendary beauty into a blowsy virago.
Following the film, the couple appeared on stage,
without payment, at Oxford University, for five
sold-out performances of Christopher Marlowe's Dr
Faustus, the proceeds of which were to go to
build an Oxford University Theatre Centre. Burton
played the title role, while Taylor was the
four-minute wordless apparition of Helen of Troy.
Burton continually claimed that Taylor had taught
him how to act on film: "That girl has true
glamour. If I retired tomorrow, I'd be forgotten
in five years, but she would go on forever."
Despite their genuine affection for one another,
their open quarrels earned them the nickname of
"the Battling Burtons" throughout the 1960s. This
was cleverly exploited when they fought lustily
through Franco Zeffirelli's bustling, colourful
version of The Taming of the Shrew (1967). They
also co-starred in The Comedians (1967) and Boom
(1968) which allowed them to work in West Africa
(standing in for Haiti in the former film) and Sardinia.
As the Taylor-Burton circus moved from country to
country, their way of life, which the New York
Times likened to the court of Louis XIV, became
ever more lavish. In the consciousness-raising
late 1960s, younger people especially began to
find them vulgar and frivolous, and their films
irrelevant. Taylor's elder son, Michael, would
become a hippie and live in a commune in Wales
"in order to get away from all those diamonds", according to the Daily Mirror.
"Those diamonds" included the 33.19-carat Krupp
diamond that Burton bought Taylor for more than
$300,000 in 1968; a $1.5m Cartier diamond set in
a necklace of smaller diamonds, and the
much-publicised heart-shaped diamond pendant
Burton gave her for her 40th birthday. It had
first been given by the Emperor Shah Jehan (the
builder of the Taj Mahal) to his young bride in
1621, engraved with the message "Eternal Love
'Til Death". In fairness, the Burtons were
equally generous in giving vast sums to worthy
causes. In 1966, Taylor established a heart
disease research foundation in memory of Clift and endowed it with $1m.
While Taylor's looks and spunky performances
still gathered praise in films such as John
Huston's Reflections in a Golden Eye (1967),
Burton, who was now drinking heavily, became an
object of derision. The marriage broke down and,
in June 1974, Taylor divorced Burton in
Switzerland. "There were too many differences. I
have tried everything," she told the court.
Yet they were reconciled in August 1975,
attracting as much attention as ever. On a visit
to South Africa in the autumn, an X-ray of
Taylor's chest showed two spots on her lungs.
Terrified, Burton and Taylor clung to each other
all night, she gave him valium, and he whispered
poetry in her ear. In the morning, she was told
she did not have cancer. In his joy, Burton
proposed remarriage. The ceremony took place on
the banks of a river in Botswana. A few months
later, they were again filing for divorce.
Taylor soon met John Warner, former secretary of
the navy to President Gerald Ford, and they
married in 1976. She became a political wife,
campaigning hard to get her husband elected to
the Senate by attending endless charity benefits,
shaking hundreds of hands, and speaking at public
functions. "It was so boring. That's why I put on
so much weight," she confessed.
She therefore decided to return to acting, on
Broadway, as vixen Regina Giddens in Lillian
Hellman's drama The Little Foxes, which she also
played at the Victoria Palace theatre, London, in
1982 to mixed reviews. But, with her career in
full swing again � and solo � she was not content
to be kept down on the farm in Virginia. She and Warner divorced in 1982.
After creating a minor sensation by appearing in
several episodes of a daytime TV soap called
General Hospital, opposite a new beau, Tony
Geary, the unsinkable double act of Burton and
Taylor resurfaced again. They starred together in
No�l Coward's Private Lives in New York at a fee
of $7,000 a week each, making the ticket prices
the most expensive in Broadway history for a non-musical.
The long-running romance ended at Burton's death
in August 1984. Taylor stayed away from his
funeral so as not to turn it into a media circus.
But a few days later, she stood stricken with
grief at the graveside of the man with whom she
had shared the limelight for more than two
decades. In 2010 she allowed love letters between
them to be published and said: "Richard was
magnificent in every sense of the word. We were
always madly and powerfully in love."
How different was her marriage in 1991 to Larry
Fortensky, a construction worker 20 years her
junior whom she met while being treated at the
Betty Ford clinic. The vast differences between
them doomed the marriage from the start, but
Taylor always claimed that, with very few
exceptions, she could not have sex with a man unless she was married to him.
Five years later, she was a single woman again
and threw herself into charitable work,
especially her campaign for Aids awareness,
motivated by her affection for Rock Hudson, who
died of an Aids-related illness in 1985. In 1997,
Taylor's health again hit the headlines when she
had an operation for a brain tumour, and had to
shave off her hair. She survived because of "her
will to live, and her millions of fans willing
her to do so", according to her friend Michael
Jackson, who was at her bedside. In 2005 she was
a vocal supporter of Jackson during his trial on
charges of sexually abusing a child, of which he
was acquitted, and after his sudden death in
2009, she said, "My life feels so empty. I don't
think anyone knew how much we loved each other."
Although there were recurring rumours that she
was to marry her constant companion Jason
Winters, she dismissed them, saying she would never marry again.
Taylor, who was made a dame in 2000, is survived
by her two sons, Michael and Christopher, by
Michael Wilding; her daughter, Liza, by Mike
Todd; and her adopted daughter, Maria.
� Elizabeth Rosemond Taylor, actor, born 27 February 1932; died 23 March 2011
Elizabeth Taylor Obituary
Child actor who became a Hollywood film star
known for her dazzling beauty and her eight marriages
The film star Elizabeth Taylor, who has died of heart
failure aged 79, was in the public eye from the age of 11 and
remained there even decades after her last hit
movie. She managed to keep people fascinated, by
her incandescent beauty, her courage, her
open-natured character, her self-deprecating
humour, her eight marriages (two of them to the
actor Richard Burton), her almost as many brushes
with death, her seesawing weight, her diamonds
and her humanitarian causes, all of which often
obscured the reason why she was famous in the
first place � her tantalising screen presence, in
films including A Place in the Sun (1951), Cat On
a Hot Tin Roof (1958), Butterfield 8 (1961),
Cleopatra (1963) and Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966).
Taylor was born in Hampstead, north London, of
American parents. Her mother, Sara, was a former
stage actor and her father, Francis, an art
dealer. As soon as she could walk she was given
ballet lessons, and at the age of three danced
with her class in front of the royal family. In
1939, a few months before the outbreak of war,
the family moved to Hollywood, where her father
opened an art gallery much patronised by the film
colony. The beauty of the owner's dark-haired,
violet-eyed young daughter won almost as much
praise as the paintings on the walls, and she was
soon making her screen debut at the age of 10 in
There's One Born Every Minute (1942) at Universal.
But it was MGM who launched her career proper
with Lassie Come Home (1943), and for whom most
of her films were made. When Sara Taylor heard
that the studio was looking for a young girl to
play Velvet Brown, who wins the Grand National
disguised as a boy in National Velvet (1945), she
brought her daughter to see the producer Pandro S
Berman. He thought her too thin and fragile for
the part, although she could ride well. But three
months later, after rigid training from her
mother, she was able to change Berman's mind. Her
performance, in which she radiates youth and a
tooth brace, is enjoyed perennially.
Meanwhile, she was struggling to get an education
at the Hollywood school, where she developed a
crush on an older fellow pupil, John Derek, the
first recorded instance of her interest in the
opposite sex. At 17, she was despairing about
getting much schoolwork done while making
Conspirator (1949), in her first "adult" role.
"How can I when Robert Taylor keeps sticking his
tongue down my throat?" When the eccentric RKO
boss Howard Hughes became interested in her, he
sent his lawyer to Mrs Taylor with an offer of
$1m to arrange a marriage with her daughter. At
being told of the offer, Elizabeth laughed out loud.
Her debut marriage was to Nicky Hilton, the
23-year-old playboy son of the hotel magnate
Conrad Hilton, in 1950. It seemed a fairytale
romance, ideal fodder for the glossy fan
magazines, as both were young, attractive, rich
and pampered. MGM took advantage of Hollywood's
biggest wedding of the year by releasing Vincente
Minnelli's delightful comedy Father of the Bride
(1950), in which Taylor was the bride and Spencer
Tracy the father, at around the same time.
After the genuine marriage ceremony, Taylor
whispered to her mother, "Oh, mother! Nick and I
are one now, for ever and ever." "For ever and
ever" turned out to be eight months. According to
her testimony at the divorce proceedings, Hilton
had ignored her during their long European
honeymoon, drank heavily and abused her in
public. He complained, "I didn't marry a girl. I married an institution."
The "institution", still in her teens, in
ravishing closeups, was now driving Montgomery
Clift as George Eastman to murder his pregnant
girlfriend in George Stevens's A Place in the Sun
(1951). "Liz is the only woman I have ever met
who turns me on," remarked the homosexual Clift.
They were to become close friends and, during the
making of Raintree County in 1957, she was the
first on the scene of Clift's car crash, pulling
a dislodged tooth out of his throat to stop him
choking. Two years later, she insisted that the
scarred and drug-addicted Clift be cast with her in Suddenly, Last Summer.
In due course, she met the sophisticated British
actor Michael Wilding, 20 years her senior. She
was playing Rebecca in Ivanhoe (1952) in England
when she proposed to him. Ironically, MGM had
given her the role abroad as a means of breaking
up her affair with the director Stanley Donen.
Taylor and Wilding were married in 1952, at a
London register office. Her sons, Michael Jr and
Christopher, were both born by caesarean section,
in 1953 and 1955 respectively. By 1956 the marriage began to totter.
She was 24, and becoming one of the most
sought-after stars in Hollywood, especially after
her performance in Stevens's Giant (1956) during
which she formed warm relationships with her
co-stars, Rock Hudson and James Dean. Wilding was
middle-aged and his career was fading, although
she got him an MGM contract. Clearly the age gap,
which Taylor had insisted was unimportant at the
outset, played an important part in the break-up
of the marriage, and they agreed to an amicable divorce.
Ironically, the man she was to marry next was
five years older than Wilding. But the flamboyant
impresario Mike Todd (real name Avrom Goldbogen),
the begetter of Around the World in 80 Days, was
noted for his youthful spirit and abundant
energy. At their wedding in Acapulco in 1957,
Mike's lifelong friend, the crooner Eddie Fisher,
was best man, and Eddie's wife, Debbie Reynolds,
was matron of honour. In the same year, a
daughter, Liza, was born, also by caesarean, and
both mother and child nearly died. Taylor was
advised never to have another baby.
A mere seven months later, Todd's private plane,
Lucky Liz, in which he was flying to New York,
crashed in a storm near Albuquerque leaving no
survivors. Taylor had wanted to accompany her
husband on the flight but was persuaded to stay
at home because of a flu virus. On hearing of the
tragedy, she screamed so loudly that neighbours a
few doors away could hear her, and she had to be
drugged to prevent her from taking her own life.
Gradually, Taylor came out of seclusion and
completed Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1958), which she
had already been filming when Todd was killed.
Despite, or because of, her state of mind, she
gave one of her most finely wrought performances
as the sexually frustrated Maggie. Her voice,
never her strong point, seemed to have gained in
power, and she matched Paul Newman and Burl Ives blow for blow.
The film's box-office potential was increased
further by the gossip surrounding Taylor and
Fisher. Taylor, who had been cast as the grieving
widow, now found herself in the role of the vamp
who wrecked the Fishers' apparently idyllic
marriage. The outraged moralistic public was
unaware that the Fisher-Reynolds marriage was
already in tatters. In 1959, Taylor, who had
converted to Judaism when she married Todd,
married Fisher at a synagogue in Las Vegas.
Taylor was in London where she was completing
Suddenly, Last Summer (1959, in which she
brilliantly played Katharine Hepburn's
mentally-disturbed niece), when the producer
Walter Wanger offered her the title role in
Cleopatra. The star half-jokingly told him that
she would do it for $1m against 10% of the gross.
To everyone's astonishment, 20th Century-Fox
agreed to her terms, making her the highest-paid
performer for a single film in the history of
Hollywood to date. As she said, "If someone's
dumb enough to offer me a million dollars to make
a picture, I'm certainly not dumb enough to turn it down."
When filming on Cleopatra started at Pinewood
studios, Peter Finch was Julius Caesar and
Stephen Boyd Mark Antony, although neither of
them was to see their leading lady for more than
a month. Taylor was first stricken with a cold,
then a fever, then an infected tooth. In March
1961, Taylor was rushed to a London clinic with
lung congestion. She was given a tracheotomy that
helped her breathing, but for days she was on the
danger list. After some time in a coma, she began
to rally. Her physicians announced, "She has made
a very rare recovery. Miss Taylor is a woman of
great courage. She put up a wonderful fight."
In the spring, Taylor won her first Oscar, after
three consecutive nominations (Raintree County,
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and Suddenly Last Summer),
for her role as a high-class hooker in the 1960
film Butterfield 8. Overnight, she had regained
the affection of the fickle industry and public.
Taylor herself thought the Oscar was a
consolation prize for not dying and that the film "was a piece of shit".
As for Cleopatra, the whole project was shipped
to Rome, and Finch and Boyd were replaced by Rex
Harrison and Richard Burton. Taylor arrived in
Rome with a large entourage consisting of one
husband, three children, five dogs, two cats,
various secretaries and dozens of servants, and
settled at the Villa Pappa, a 14-roomed mansion off the Via Appia.
"There comes a time during the making of a movie
when the actors become the characters they play,"
Wanger noted in his diary. "The cameras turned
and the current was literally turned on. It was
quiet and you could almost feel the electricity
between Elizabeth Taylor and Burton."
After the first "electric scene" they performed
together, Burton, who was married, frequented the
villa in the evenings. On one particular
occasion, while Burton was regaling the guests
with stories, Fisher went to the piano and
started playing and singing loudly. Finally,
Taylor yelled, "Shut up, Eddie! We can't talk!",
whereupon the jealous crooner slammed down the
lid of the piano and strode into the next room. A
few moments later, Fisher records were blasting
through the house. Taylor covered her ears while
the guests departed, diplomatically.
"I'm afraid at first it was lust, and then I got
to know her and it was love," Burton recalled.
Throughout the shooting, to avoid the constant
prying of the paparazzi, the celebrated couple
would escape to a cheap one-room apartment on the
beach. Finally, weary of subterfuge, they decided
to be seen publicly in the Via Venuto. The
Vatican talked of "this insult to the nobility of
the hearth", and Ed Sullivan on his TV show said,
"You can only trust that youngsters will not be
persuaded that the sanctity of marriage has been
invalidated by the appalling example of Mrs
Taylor-Fisher and married man Burton."
After Cleopatra, Burton and Taylor announced that
they would make another film together, originally
to be called International Affair. The title was
changed to The VIPs. During the filming in
London, Cleopatra opened to mixed reviews.
Audiences were disappointed that the love scenes
between Taylor and Burton that were the talk of
modern Rome were not repeated with so much
passion in those of ancient Rome. But public
interest in their private lives still made the film a top earner of 1963.
The affair continued in the public eye, while
both Fisher and Sybil Burton held out for the
best possible divorce deals. Finally, Sybil
Burton gave in, claiming cruelty and that her
husband was "in the constant company of another
woman," which Newsweek called "the throwaway line
of the decade". Burton and Taylor were married in
March 1964 by a Unitarian minister at the
Ritz-Carlton in Montreal. She wore a pale yellow
Irene Sharaff gown, and a $150,000 emerald and
diamond brooch that Burton had bought her at
Bulgari in Rome. The bride and groom gave their
respective religions as Jewish and Presbyterian.
The scandal over, public interest in them only
seemed to increase. The world's most famous
couple had become celebrities rather than actors.
"I want to be known as an actress," Taylor told
the New York Times in 1964. Unfortunately, their
reputations as serious actors were not much
enhanced by the next film they made together, the
limp soap-opera The Sandpiper (1965). After the
three less than convincing films the couple had
made together, it was fortunate that their
credibility as performers was soon brilliantly
restored in 1966 by Who's Afraid of Virginia
Woolf? for which Taylor won her second Oscar
playing the bitter, 52-year-old, vulgar wife of a
self-loathing professor (Burton). It was Taylor's
ability to get into the skin of the character,
more than the padding and a tousled
salt-and-pepper wig, which transformed the
legendary beauty into a blowsy virago.
Following the film, the couple appeared on stage,
without payment, at Oxford University, for five
sold-out performances of Christopher Marlowe's Dr
Faustus, the proceeds of which were to go to
build an Oxford University Theatre Centre. Burton
played the title role, while Taylor was the
four-minute wordless apparition of Helen of Troy.
Burton continually claimed that Taylor had taught
him how to act on film: "That girl has true
glamour. If I retired tomorrow, I'd be forgotten
in five years, but she would go on forever."
Despite their genuine affection for one another,
their open quarrels earned them the nickname of
"the Battling Burtons" throughout the 1960s. This
was cleverly exploited when they fought lustily
through Franco Zeffirelli's bustling, colourful
version of The Taming of the Shrew (1967). They
also co-starred in The Comedians (1967) and Boom
(1968) which allowed them to work in West Africa
(standing in for Haiti in the former film) and Sardinia.
As the Taylor-Burton circus moved from country to
country, their way of life, which the New York
Times likened to the court of Louis XIV, became
ever more lavish. In the consciousness-raising
late 1960s, younger people especially began to
find them vulgar and frivolous, and their films
irrelevant. Taylor's elder son, Michael, would
become a hippie and live in a commune in Wales
"in order to get away from all those diamonds", according to the Daily Mirror.
"Those diamonds" included the 33.19-carat Krupp
diamond that Burton bought Taylor for more than
$300,000 in 1968; a $1.5m Cartier diamond set in
a necklace of smaller diamonds, and the
much-publicised heart-shaped diamond pendant
Burton gave her for her 40th birthday. It had
first been given by the Emperor Shah Jehan (the
builder of the Taj Mahal) to his young bride in
1621, engraved with the message "Eternal Love
'Til Death". In fairness, the Burtons were
equally generous in giving vast sums to worthy
causes. In 1966, Taylor established a heart
disease research foundation in memory of Clift and endowed it with $1m.
While Taylor's looks and spunky performances
still gathered praise in films such as John
Huston's Reflections in a Golden Eye (1967),
Burton, who was now drinking heavily, became an
object of derision. The marriage broke down and,
in June 1974, Taylor divorced Burton in
Switzerland. "There were too many differences. I
have tried everything," she told the court.
Yet they were reconciled in August 1975,
attracting as much attention as ever. On a visit
to South Africa in the autumn, an X-ray of
Taylor's chest showed two spots on her lungs.
Terrified, Burton and Taylor clung to each other
all night, she gave him valium, and he whispered
poetry in her ear. In the morning, she was told
she did not have cancer. In his joy, Burton
proposed remarriage. The ceremony took place on
the banks of a river in Botswana. A few months
later, they were again filing for divorce.
Taylor soon met John Warner, former secretary of
the navy to President Gerald Ford, and they
married in 1976. She became a political wife,
campaigning hard to get her husband elected to
the Senate by attending endless charity benefits,
shaking hundreds of hands, and speaking at public
functions. "It was so boring. That's why I put on
so much weight," she confessed.
She therefore decided to return to acting, on
Broadway, as vixen Regina Giddens in Lillian
Hellman's drama The Little Foxes, which she also
played at the Victoria Palace theatre, London, in
1982 to mixed reviews. But, with her career in
full swing again � and solo � she was not content
to be kept down on the farm in Virginia. She and Warner divorced in 1982.
After creating a minor sensation by appearing in
several episodes of a daytime TV soap called
General Hospital, opposite a new beau, Tony
Geary, the unsinkable double act of Burton and
Taylor resurfaced again. They starred together in
No�l Coward's Private Lives in New York at a fee
of $7,000 a week each, making the ticket prices
the most expensive in Broadway history for a non-musical.
The long-running romance ended at Burton's death
in August 1984. Taylor stayed away from his
funeral so as not to turn it into a media circus.
But a few days later, she stood stricken with
grief at the graveside of the man with whom she
had shared the limelight for more than two
decades. In 2010 she allowed love letters between
them to be published and said: "Richard was
magnificent in every sense of the word. We were
always madly and powerfully in love."
How different was her marriage in 1991 to Larry
Fortensky, a construction worker 20 years her
junior whom she met while being treated at the
Betty Ford clinic. The vast differences between
them doomed the marriage from the start, but
Taylor always claimed that, with very few
exceptions, she could not have sex with a man unless she was married to him.
Five years later, she was a single woman again
and threw herself into charitable work,
especially her campaign for Aids awareness,
motivated by her affection for Rock Hudson, who
died of an Aids-related illness in 1985. In 1997,
Taylor's health again hit the headlines when she
had an operation for a brain tumour, and had to
shave off her hair. She survived because of "her
will to live, and her millions of fans willing
her to do so", according to her friend Michael
Jackson, who was at her bedside. In 2005 she was
a vocal supporter of Jackson during his trial on
charges of sexually abusing a child, of which he
was acquitted, and after his sudden death in
2009, she said, "My life feels so empty. I don't
think anyone knew how much we loved each other."
Although there were recurring rumours that she
was to marry her constant companion Jason
Winters, she dismissed them, saying she would never marry again.
Taylor, who was made a dame in 2000, is survived
by her two sons, Michael and Christopher, by
Michael Wilding; her daughter, Liza, by Mike
Todd; and her adopted daughter, Maria.
� Elizabeth Rosemond Taylor, actor, born 27 February 1932; died 23 March 2011