Read Online How to Be a Movie Star by William J. Mann - Free Book Online
Authors: William J. Mann
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he, too, would leave his spouse. But that didn't stop "Liz and Dick" from continuing to frolic—and sell lots of newspapers. They became the talk of two continents now more than ever, setting the stage for scandal. Hedda Hopper wasn't the only one sharpening her claws. Gossip columnist Suzy was the first to weigh in. "Elizabeth Taylor is going to have her cake and eat it, too," she wrote. "And if she wants your cake—watch out. Because she's going to get it. She got Debbie Reynolds' cake. Frosting and all. And she licked her ruby lips over every last crumb. Now she's after Sybil Burton's cake ... Such a rich diet, no matter how strong a girl's stomach, can sometimes give her indigestion. I think Miss Taylor is going to get indigestion."
Elizabeth understood what she faced. Columnists like Suzy and Hopper were declaring that her career was over. A harried Dick Hanley was taking messages at all hours from studio executives worried that the publicity would tip against them. And though Elizabeth wouldn't learn of it for a few more weeks, her actions had even inspired passionate debate in the corridors of power—the Vatican and the United States Congress—over what to do about this moral "vagrant."
Some years later the poet Philip Larkin would famously opine that sexual intercourse was invented in 1963—a metaphorical observation of changing cultural mores—yet, in fact, Larkin seems to have been a year off. For it was in April 1962 that an adulterous couple first stared defiantly into the cameras and flaunted their "sin" without apology. It's hard to imagine today, with marriage being largely irrelevant among celebrity couples, how incendiary such behavior was once considered. But the last star who had so transgressed, Ingrid Bergman (who'd borne a child out of wedlock with the director Roberto Rossellini in 1950), had found herself persona non grata (at least in the United States) for nearly a decade. Elizabeth, by refusing to hide her affair with Burton, was confronting similar public standards. Yet she seemed to be betting that the world had evolved since Bergman's troubles. And if it hadn't, she was prepared to nudge it along.
Elizabeth Taylor knew what worked. She had been out there a long time and could sense the climate. Heading out with Richard once again along the Via Veneto, she wore her Egyptian eye makeup and hoop earrings from that day's shoot. Studio-generated press releases, run nearly verbatim in newspaper fashion sections, had been proclaiming for weeks that Cleopatra's "fantastic, exotic" beauty was the latest trend for women. The cover of Look featured Elizabeth's exotic face and asked, "Will her new Cleopatra look change your hairdo and makeup?" Society hairstylist Michel Kazan had developed a special Cleopatra hairstyle; Kurlash had launched a new line of false eyelashes called "Egyptian Eyes." Syndicated fashion columnist Tobe advised readers to copy Elizabeth's look if they wanted "to be first with the newest."
Elizabeth was fully conscious of her ability to set the vogue. Sitting beside Burton in the front seat of her Cadillac, her chin held high, her exotic Egyptian eyes undisturbed by the popping of flashcubes all around her, she looked every inch the queen.
And she knew very well that tomorrow morning millions of newspapers would be sold because she had decided to venture out onto the street. She was also just as confident about Cleopatra; hadn't every film in which she'd starred been a hit so far? Who could resist seeing Taylor and Burton together on the screen after all this?
Of course, she couldn't be certain about everything. She didn't know just how brutal the battle with Hedda and her cronies might become. She didn't know if the script Joe Mankiewicz was rewriting every night would turn out to be any good. She didn't know if Eddie would drag her name through the mud, or if he'd attempt to take Maria from her. And she certainly didn't know if Richard would ever divorce his wife.
But as
Elizabeth understood what she faced. Columnists like Suzy and Hopper were declaring that her career was over. A harried Dick Hanley was taking messages at all hours from studio executives worried that the publicity would tip against them. And though Elizabeth wouldn't learn of it for a few more weeks, her actions had even inspired passionate debate in the corridors of power—the Vatican and the United States Congress—over what to do about this moral "vagrant."
Some years later the poet Philip Larkin would famously opine that sexual intercourse was invented in 1963—a metaphorical observation of changing cultural mores—yet, in fact, Larkin seems to have been a year off. For it was in April 1962 that an adulterous couple first stared defiantly into the cameras and flaunted their "sin" without apology. It's hard to imagine today, with marriage being largely irrelevant among celebrity couples, how incendiary such behavior was once considered. But the last star who had so transgressed, Ingrid Bergman (who'd borne a child out of wedlock with the director Roberto Rossellini in 1950), had found herself persona non grata (at least in the United States) for nearly a decade. Elizabeth, by refusing to hide her affair with Burton, was confronting similar public standards. Yet she seemed to be betting that the world had evolved since Bergman's troubles. And if it hadn't, she was prepared to nudge it along.
Elizabeth Taylor knew what worked. She had been out there a long time and could sense the climate. Heading out with Richard once again along the Via Veneto, she wore her Egyptian eye makeup and hoop earrings from that day's shoot. Studio-generated press releases, run nearly verbatim in newspaper fashion sections, had been proclaiming for weeks that Cleopatra's "fantastic, exotic" beauty was the latest trend for women. The cover of Look featured Elizabeth's exotic face and asked, "Will her new Cleopatra look change your hairdo and makeup?" Society hairstylist Michel Kazan had developed a special Cleopatra hairstyle; Kurlash had launched a new line of false eyelashes called "Egyptian Eyes." Syndicated fashion columnist Tobe advised readers to copy Elizabeth's look if they wanted "to be first with the newest."
Elizabeth was fully conscious of her ability to set the vogue. Sitting beside Burton in the front seat of her Cadillac, her chin held high, her exotic Egyptian eyes undisturbed by the popping of flashcubes all around her, she looked every inch the queen.
And she knew very well that tomorrow morning millions of newspapers would be sold because she had decided to venture out onto the street. She was also just as confident about Cleopatra; hadn't every film in which she'd starred been a hit so far? Who could resist seeing Taylor and Burton together on the screen after all this?
Of course, she couldn't be certain about everything. She didn't know just how brutal the battle with Hedda and her cronies might become. She didn't know if the script Joe Mankiewicz was rewriting every night would turn out to be any good. She didn't know if Eddie would drag her name through the mud, or if he'd attempt to take Maria from her. And she certainly didn't know if Richard would ever divorce his wife.
But as
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