Elizabeth Taylor was already a movie star when she landed the role of Angela Vickers in George Stevens's A PLACE IN THE SUN, but what she had not been up until then was a sex symbol. Then this happened:
Stevens cutting to Taylor - in awestruck three-quarter profile - off the clack of the pool ball hitting the pocket was a seminal moment in the lives of young men everywhere. It still is. I remember watching A PLACE IN THE SUN while I was home sick from high school in the early '90s, and being shocked that this indescribably beautiful woman would one day grow up to be a walking parody of Hollywood glamour gone to Nora Desmond-esque seed. I was captivated and heartbroken all at once.
I was also compelled to start taking Taylor seriously as an actress rather than revel in the hideously bloated caricature made infamous by John Belushi on SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE. I immediately went for three of her most celebrated performances: as Maggie the Cat in CAT ON A HOT TIN ROOF, Gloria Wandrous in BUTTERFIELD 8 and, best of all, the abrasive Martha in Mike Nichols's sensational film of Edward Albee's WHO'S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLF? However Taylor had come to be viewed and ridiculed by the public over the years, she was now, to my mind, one of the most breathtakingly versatile - and gorgeous - movie stars to step before a camera. I wasn't laughing anymore. I was in love.
Taylor shared the screen with the two most audaciously talented film actors of her generation (Montgomery Clift in A PLACE IN THE SUN, and James Dean in GIANT), went toe-to-toe with the ferociously talented Richard Burton (a tumultuous relationship that spilled over into their personal lives), survived the studio-crippling CLEOPATRA, and, late in her career, delivered one of the sweetest moments in television history as the voice of baby Maggie on THE SIMPSONS. In most of her films (up until the '70s at least), she ran hot; you didn't dare take your eyes off her, and she almost always left you wanting more. The only thing missing in her filmography was a poignant yet pointed swan song - a farewell that reminded us of her gifts as well as her razor-sharp skill with a stinging riposte. The last film she appeared in that was at all worthy of her talents was probably Guy Hamilton's THE MIRROR CRACK'D.
That Taylor's prime abruptly ended in the 1960s sadly leaves most people my age reminiscing over Larry Fortensky jokes. Don't go there. Not today. Instead, throw on A PLACE IN THE SUN, and recapture that startling moment in time when Elizabeth Taylor walked into that billiard room and made Montgomery Clift - and the whole world - nervous.
Faithfully submitted,
On April 10th, TCM will host a twenty-four hour Elizabeth Taylor memorial. The entire lineup belongs on your DVR.
The following is a complete schedule of TCM’s April 10 memorial tribute to Elizabeth Taylor (all times Eastern):
6 a.m. – Lassie Come Home (1943), with Roddy McDowall and Edmund Gwenn; directed by Fred M. Wilcox.
7:30 a.m. – National Velvet (1944), with Mickey Rooney, Anne Revere and Angela Lansbury; directed by Clarence Brown.
10 a.m. – Conspirator (1952), with Robert Taylor and Robert Flemyng; directed by Victor Saville.
11:30 a.m. – Father of the Bride (1950), with Spencer Tracy, Billie Burke, Joan Bennett and Don Taylor; directed by Vincente Minnelli.
1:15 a.m. – Father’s Little Dividend (1951), with Spencer Tracy, Billie Burke, Joan Bennett and Don Taylor; directed by Vincente Minnelli.
2:45 p.m. –
6 p.m. – Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1958), with Paul Newman and Burl Ives; directed by Richard Brooks.
8 p.m. – Butterfield 8 (1960), with Laurence Harvey and Eddie Fisher; directed by Daniel Mann.
10 p.m. – Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966), with Richard Burton, George Segal and Sandy Dennis; directed by Mike Nichols.
12:30 a.m. – Giant (1956), with James Dean and Rock Hudson; directed by George Stevens.
4 a.m. – Ivanhoe (1952), with Robert Taylor and Joan Fontaine; directed by Richard Thorpe.
In addition to TCM’s on-air tribute to
