‘Elizabeth Taylor: The Lost Tapes’ Review: Nanette Burstein’s HBO Documentary Reveals How Elizabeth Taylor’s Life Became a Parable

As I delve into the captivating tale of Elizabeth Taylor, it is impossible not to be awestruck by her indomitable spirit and resilience in the face of adversity. Her life, much like a Hollywood blockbuster, is a rollercoaster ride of love, loss, and redemption, filled with drama that would make even the most seasoned screenwriter green with envy.

the assassination of President John F. Kennedy and the first performance of The Beatles on “Ed Sullivan.” The Beatles’ appearance was particularly significant, serving almost like a spark to a tinderbox, providing joy, hope, and a new way of living after the tragic event of Kennedy’s death.

In a different global event that unfolded over a more extended span, there emerged another media sensation equally symbolic of the times’ novel vitality. This was none other than the tumultuous romance between Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. Often perceived as the epitome of celebrity chatter, this tale, when portrayed in Nanette Burstein’s captivating documentary “Elizabeth Taylor: The Lost Tapes,” reveals itself to be much more profound. It was not merely a love story; it was mythic.

I’ve always been intrigued by the extraordinary love story of Taylor and Burton, a pair whose private lives were unparalleled in their exposure to the public eye. The term “paparazzi” was born from their relentless pursuit; photographers would go to great lengths, even disguising themselves as priests or plumbers, just to capture them. It wasn’t just about the extraordinary coverage they received. Their tale, unfolding as it did during the dawn of modern divorce, straddled two eras. Taylor had been a silver screen icon since the 1940s, possessing an ethereal beauty that rivaled the likes of Vivien Leigh or Marilyn Monroe. She hailed from a realm larger than life itself; this is part of why she made history by becoming the first actor to earn $1 million for a movie role in “Cleopatra.”

The scandal surrounding Elizabeth Taylor’s departure from her husband Eddie Fisher to be with Richard Burton, her co-star in “Cleopatra,” was deemed immoral by the Vatican. However, it also showcased a powerful and passionate love affair that was unprecedented at the time. As documented, Taylor had a more traditional side, which might explain why she went through eight marriages; she didn’t jump from one boyfriend to another but rather got deeply involved and tied the knot. The Liz-and-Dick storyline signified the dawn of a new era because it represented Taylor pursuing her happiness, leaving her marriage when it felt right. The 1960s, in many ways, became known for this very attitude, and for that infamous phase at least, Taylor embodied the iconic diva of hedonistic pleasure.

A new type of celebrity documentary has emerged, focusing on playing old analog tape recordings, initially used for interviews. For instance, “The Capote Tapes” and “Kubrick on Kubrick” were made this way. The documentary “Feud: Capote vs. the Swans” might not have existed without that captivating documentary. Similarly, “Elizabeth Taylor: The Lost Tapes” is based on interviews Elizabeth Taylor conducted with journalist Richard Meryman in 1964 for a book he was working on. In these recordings, Taylor’s voice stands out for its rich expressiveness – she is rebellious, melancholic, seductive, enraged, oozing decadent pleasure, and always casually candid. Her words breathe fresh insight into even the most familiar happenings.

Her expressiveness captivated me, revealing the depth of her beauty. The movie showcases breathtaking scenes of both private and public Elizabeth Taylor, and despite always appearing as herself – those unforgettable eyes (even on the set of “National Velvet,” she was instructed to remove her mascara, but she wore none), the tranquil lips reminiscent of a Greek statue in repose, the elastic, contemporary yet timelessly engraved smile – she always seemed different, radiating an astonishing variety of emotions. Born in London to American parents, she never relinquished that aristocratic lilt in her speech; it’s what imbued her anger with a striking, elegant snap.

As a film critic, I found Burstein’s documentary brimming with a captivating, personal narrative charm, reminiscent of the lost-tapes school of documentary. Taylor, in her own words, recounted secretive late-night conversations with James Dean during the filming of “Giant.” Her friendships with the closeted gay icons of that era – Dean, Montgomery Clift, Rock Hudson, and Roddy McDowall – were more than just professional connections; they provided her an escape from the dangerous Hollywood scene.

The day following her divorce from Michael Wilding was concluded, Mike Todd – the renowned producer – invited her to his office, expressing his desire to meet her. He confessed his affection for her and his intention to marry her, leaving her convinced by the end of his proposal. She admiringly remarks, “He could persuade gold out of your teeth.” Additionally, there’s an ongoing acknowledgment of her mischievous and sometimes deceitful nature as a partner. “I am aware of myself,” she says, “and I acknowledge that I will attempt to get away with anything, even murder.”

Throughout her marriage to Todd, she picked up a touch of his brashness; his plane crash death left her devastated and grief-stricken, causing a fundamental shift in her life’s trajectory. Her subsequent marriage to Eddie Fisher was more about survival than love (she admitted that she found him appealing but never truly loved him), a relationship that ultimately crumbled under the torrent of her passion for Burton. “The Lost Tapes” doesn’t sensationalize personal drama over art. However, like Liz herself, the documentary is candid about how she felt underutilized as an actress. Although she was captivating as a child star and excelled in “A Place in the Sun” and “Giant”, she, much like Brando, was often sacrificed to the sugary studio productions of the ’50s.

She has nothing but contempt for “Butterfield 8,” the lurid tale that won her an Oscar after she’d nearly died from pneumonia during the shooting of “Cleopatra.” Here’s her bluntness: “I won the award for my tracheotomy…It must have been some kind of sympathy thing, because I think the film is so embarrassing.” Yet if Taylor recognized, rightly, that “Butterfield 8” was slapdash and moralistic in a trashy way (the whole depiction of her tragic prostitute character fell between the cracks of empathy and a leftover Hays Code puritanism), she admits that she acted the whole thing out of anger — anger at the film itself — and when you watch “Butterfield 8,” there is a cathartic anger to her performance. It’s the bridge to her extraordinary work in “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf.”

Her description of meeting Burton is priceless. He came onto the set of “Cleopatra,” “and I’ve never seen a gentleman so hungover in my whole life. He was kind of quivering from head to foot.” He couldn’t even hold the cup of coffee he ordered, so Liz held it for him. “I fed him coffee, and he was terribly nervous and sweet and shaky, and it just endeared me so to him.” He had never seen her in a movie except when she was a child star, and he went in thinking that she was “just a star” who couldn’t act at all. But he came to understand her gift. As Burton says later on, “It’s the inaccessibility of Elizabeth that makes her exciting.”

They reciprocally protected and harmed each other significantly, predominantly via heavy drinking sprees. As noted by onlookers, they mirrored George and Martha’s tumultuous relationship. In part, the media contributed to their downfall, and conversely, it aided in their exhaustion. George Hamilton, in particular, stated that the press no longer pursued glamour, but rather, sought the demolition of glamour. The final phase of Liz Taylor’s life and career, as depicted in “The Lost Tapes,” delves into this destruction but also showcases her regaining control by championing those battling AIDS. This struggle was both a reality and a role she played: her harsh criticism of the world for its insufficient response. Upon observing her during those years, it becomes clear that despite her experiences, Taylor had not lost any essence of herself; instead, she replaced her divine purity with an equally regal demeanor.

2024-08-07 06:20

‘Elizabeth Taylor: The Lost Tapes’ Review: Nanette Burstein’s HBO Documentary Reveals How Elizabeth Taylor’s Life Became a Parable

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