Elizabeth Taylor
The lady, the lover, the legend
1932 – 2011
by David Bret
(Mainstream Publishers, R235)
When asked by a friend if I would do a review of a new “sensational biography” on Elizabeth Taylor, I was sceptical at first, but thrilled to be asked. But how could I give an honest review about someone I had idolised since I was 10 years old?
So I started with great trepidation on my subject who I thought I knew everything about.
My love affair with Taylor, the stars and the movies all started many years ago. I first saw her in a movie called A Date with Judy. Taylor had a secondary lead opposite songbird Jane Powell. An electric shock went through me – I was entranced. Every movie she has appeared in since then I have seen several times over.
She blossomed forth in countless movies, each one getting prettier and prettier – was it possible? In the 1950s she was to me at her most beautiful, still rather girlish, but with every new movie a star and woman emerging and the actress in her becoming more prevalent.
As the years passed, not only did the beauty become even more addictive, but now she was a sharper, more polished actress, eventually winning two Oscars – one for Butterfield 8 and as foul-mouthed, boozy Martha in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, a role many of her fans thought she could never make a success of: she wowed not only her fans, but her many critics for the portrayal and deserved the $1 000 000 plus salary she received for this movie.
In 1975 I was fortunate to see my icon in the flesh – arriving in South Africa for a charity tennis function and a ball – at the Landrost Hotel, Johannesburg. I managed to draw her attention by shouting: “Welcome to South Africa, Elizabeth Taylor.” She turned towards me and politely said, “Thank you,” and I further told her how beautiful she was and once again, “Thank you,” from a cool and distant Richard Burton (with dark glasses on) next to her.
On Sunday, October 9, 1975, Taylor left for London after she had re-wed Burton in Botswana. At 5.45pm, once again at the Landrost Hotel, I again managed to get her attention by shouting, “Goodbye,” and once again she turned to me and sweetly said, “Goodbye, see you again.” She looked ever so lovely. Wow, I was mesmerised that this had happened to me and how lucky I was to have seen her in the flesh.
Today, at 73, I have amassed photos, books, magazines and have six signed items (nogal) by the dame herself. No money can buy them from me. I have travelled in mind and thought with her through all her trials and tribulations and when she passed away on March 23, I was devastated.
David Bret’s book therefore was a big let-down to me – more a rehash of all I had read and knew before, except his trying so hard to expose as many gays and lesbians. This book reads more like a who’s gay and who’s not, giving the author infinite pleasure in telling one and all.
Bret has done his best to promote a hopefully quick-sell biography, using Taylor’s life as fodder. Thankfully, at a mere 300 pages, it is a quick read as the book progresses to its sad end.
Several of the salacious stories told are questionable and, as always, are told to authors and others in confidence by people who only surmise, or merely heard them from a third person.
Taylor will always be remem-bered for a body of work not only in films, but for her extraordinary humanitarian work.
She was an astute and provo-cative human being. She will be sorely missed by many people, but mostly by me. When she passed away, a little bit of me died as well. May she rest in peace.