Just finished reading the big obituary of Elizabeth Taylor in the New York Times while eating lunch at Paulie's Restaurant in Stirling.
The two-page obituary, complete with a couple of sidebars, was like a meal, itself. And it was wonderful
Now I want to see a bunch of Elizabeth Taylor movies. I want to see "Cleopatra." of course. I knew of it, being in grade school in the mid-60s, but I never actually saw it. I want to see "National Velvet," with Mickey Rooney, "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof," with Paul Newman, "Suddenly, Last Summer," written by Tennesse Williams, and with Katherine Hepburn and Montgomery Clift, "Butterfield," with Manhattan as the backdrop and for which she won an Oscar, and, of course, "Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolf," with Richard Burton, for which she won an Oscar, as did Sandy Dennis. The film was directed by Mike Nichols, and is based on a play by Edward Albee. Talk about six degrees of Hollywood, Broadway and American acting during the second half of the 20th Century. That's some six-pack.
She is like no other Hollywood actress. Others are like that, too, for sure. There are a handful of the really great actresses and actors that are like no other. Cagney, Bogart, Gable, Hepburn, Davis, Monroe. And she was definitely in that category. And for all of the headlines, gossip column fodder, glamour, diamonds, and all the other stuff, she was also like a glamorous rock star who could also actually really play his or her instrument. She could act.
I read she didn't like being called "Liz," like the character in "The Blind Side" didn't like everyone calling him "Big Mike."
All right, then, as Sandra Bullock told her adopted son, whom she forever after called Michael, from now on in my mind it will always be: Elizabeth Taylor. Thank you, Elizabeth Taylor. And, thank you New York Times.
For Musings
Denis J. Kelly
March 26, 2011
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