by Lucy O'Brien
The sacrament has three stages: contrition—an examination of conscience; then confession of one’s sins to the priest, followed by penance and “satisfaction.” Penances were tailored according to the nature of the sin. Seminary professors would advise their newly ordained, for instance: “For sins of the flesh, some mortification; for stinginess, alms according to means; for pride, prayer.” The penitent would then absolve him-or herself with a short prayer known as the Act of Contrition.
Madonna mocked this process, aware that her relaxed attitude toward sex would have cost her more than a few Our Fathers and Hail Marys outside the confessional box. For her, it was important that personal freedom shouldn’t be curtailed. But on a deeper level, she wanted to acknowledge sexuality as a positive force. According to Saint Augustine, “The sexual impulse is a sin and a shame…the genital organs are indecent and dishonorable…. They are the bodily instruments for the transmission of Original Sin.” That medieval viewpoint remained pretty much intact until Madonna’s girlhood. Although many attitudes were breaking down by the late 1980s, she still felt there was a fundamental split between the “virginal and holy” and “low-down and dirty.” She told writer Paul Zollo: “You have to put the two together with people. You have to let both of them surface. And it has so much to do with being honest with yourself and the people you’re with.”
She fused the two ideas in the most provocative way possible in the video for “Like a Prayer.” Initially, she had signed a $1 million deal to star in a commercial for Pepsi Cola. An innocuous commercial was made and aired just before the release of her “Like a Prayer” single in March 1989. But before it could be fully exploited, Madonna’s video came out. Featuring a racially motivated murder, Madonna kissing a black Christ, Madonna with stigmata and tears of blood, and Madonna dancing in front of a field of burning crosses, this was a bold, blaring statement about sex, race, and religion. The gospel choir that appears on the video is not the one she recorded with. “We didn’t want to be a part of that,” recalls Andrae Crouch. “It’s like an architect building rooms in a hotel. He would build the lobby and the dining room, but he wouldn’t want to have a part in the back room where they’re gambling. With the video, the intimacy between a boy and girl on the altar—that was way over the line for us. The altar of God is a sacred place. The House of God is there for us to have contact with God rather than our flesh desires. We didn’t want people to think we were endorsing that.”
The video was banished to late-night MTV, and there was a storm of protest from religious groups condemning Madonna’s “blasphemy.” When church leaders urged their followers to boycott Pepsi, the commercial was swiftly pulled. Madonna’s contract was terminated, but she kept the $1 million.
Many praised her marketing acumen, seeing the video as a publicity stunt. But to Madonna, this was more than just commerce—she was interested in the nexus between art and commerce, in projecting a progressive message into millions of homes. “The ‘Like a Prayer’ video was about overcoming racism and overcoming the fear of telling the truth. I had my own ideas about God and then I had the ideas that I thought were imposed on me,” said Madonna. Maybe, underneath her business demeanor, Madonna was ambivalent about the association with Pepsi, and her video was a way of distancing herself from such an obviously corporate deal.
LIKE A PRAYER proved to be a turning point artistically for Madonna, and she gained a whole new audience. Personally, though, she was in a lonely place. Guy Pratt remembers one day during recording sessions she came in and asked if anyone wanted to go with her to see George Michael. “This was George Michael playing the L.A. Sports Arena on the Faith tour at the absolute fucking peak of his powers. Everyone went, ‘Er…mmm.’ So I put my hand up and said, ‘I wouldn’t mind.’ There was no one else, just me and her. It was like a date.”
She picked him up at eight in her limousine. “It was fantastic to have the time with her on her own. She was a completely different person. It was incredibly poignant. I said, ‘How’re you finding living in L.A., because you strike me as such a New York person?’ She said, ‘I have to be here now. I can’t live in New York, because all my friends are dead.’ It was the height of the AIDS thing—all her friends were dancers. You forget how in the 80s that whole community was ravaged.” After the show, she was dropped off at her house and she told Guy to keep the limo for the night. “I did that classic wanker thing, ringing up everyone I knew. ‘I’ve got a limo.’ I was going round every bar in L.A., but it was a Monday night and everyone was at home. The driver was probably thinking, Madonna’s always home by ten thirty, but now I’ve got this asshole in the back.” His experience seemed to mirror her emptiness. Going down an introspective road was hard for her, and, as if uncertain of the direction in which she was moving, Madonna turned back.
In February 1989, Madonna shot her next movie role as Breathless Mahoney in Dick Tracy. This was an important movie for her, the one that, after the failure of Shanghai Surprise and Who’s That Girl, put her acting career on a more even keel. She took a little persuading though. When the director Warren Beatty approached her to discuss a part, Madonna put him off for a few weeks. Maybe she was unsure about taking on another film role, or maybe she just wanted to keep him guessing. Either way, the thought of working with Hollywood’s leading man was too tempting, so she agreed to meet.
At fifty-two, Beatty had quite a track record as a womanizer. His name had been linked with every glamorous female star since the 1960s, from Catherine Deneuve to Faye Dunaway, Julie Christie, and Carly Simon. The latter purportedly wrote her hit song “You’re So Vain” about him. But he was better known for groundbreaking cinematic work, particularly as producer and star of Bonnie and Clyde (1967).
By the time he met Madonna, Beatty had made numerous top-grossing films, including sharp 70s satire Shampoo and the 1981 Oscar-winning epic Reds. Aware of his celebrity status, and seeing his playboy notoriety as a challenge, Madonna immediately went into flirtation mode. Beatty offered her the part, but although he was entranced by the young star, he gave her only the Screen Actors’ Guild scale wages. His preferred costar would have been Kathleen Turner or Kim Basinger, but both were unavailable. Madonna was to be a canny second choice, and perfect publicity for the movie. The two were intrigued by each other’s reputations, and from that first meeting, there was a crackling attraction. Shortly after the film went into production, they started an affair.
With divorce papers served, Madonna was ready early on to “go legit” about her relationship with Beatty. The complete opposite of Sean Penn, Beatty was poised, subtle, and self-assured. He was an old-school movie actor, as smooth and perfumed as the air in Hollywood Hills. He persuaded her to give up the Like a Prayer angst and go back to the fizzy blonde that everyone knew and loved. “I had to dye my hair blond. I begged Warren Beatty, because it took me so long to grow my hair out and I really wanted to have dark hair,” Madonna said. “Along with the album, which was much more personal…I felt great having my own hair color for the first time in years…. And then I had to change it, so I had a bit of an identity crisis. Women with blond hair are perceived as much more sexual and much more impulsive, not so serious.”
Madonna’s part was high glamour—an expensive gangster’s-moll-turned-showgirl with bubbly blond hair and a silver dress. “Breathless Mahoney…falls in love with Dick Tracy in spite of herself. I don’t think she’s inherently evil, but she’s quite accomplished in villainy,” she remarked, with a degree of satisfaction. She knew that with Dick Tracy she was on a winning streak. Starring Beatty, Al Pacino, Dustin Hoffman, and Paul Sorvino, the film was set to be a blockbuster. It was shot in vivid comic-book colors; all the gangsters were stylized re-creations of the original strip cartoon, with their wide suits and bizarre prosthetic faces. Despite a weak plot, the effects were seductive, making it a diverting film to watch. And after her grueling stint on Broadway in Speed-the-Plow, Madonna knew how to project. Her screen performance was confident, and she seemed
to enjoy playing the vamp. Although her lines were delivered in a slightly faltering, breathy tone, her wordless presence was luminous. In that respect, she exuded some of the appeal of 1930s and 1940s Hollywood. She would have been a dynamic silent-movie actress.
The renowned film archivist, John Kobal, predicted early in her career that “Madonna has the vibrancy required for stardom…. [She] has a curious kind of beauty, like Bette Davis, which she still has to establish.” He compared her favorably with the movie icons she admired, women with classic cheekbones and sass, like Rita Hayworth, Ava Gardner, and Joan Crawford. For Kobal, what made an idol was personality rather than just the look. “All the great stars…could stand quite still and have a compelling quality which would make you ask, ‘What is going on inside this person?’ The talent of the great stars who endured was that they could keep regenerating themselves, keep us interested—that’s why they’re colossal.”
Madonna lamented the end of the early twentieth-century studio system that cosseted its stars. “It would have been great in the old days [of Hollywood]. The studio system really nurtured and cared for you in a way it doesn’t now,” she said. “On the other hand, your life was not your own. Now you have more individual freedom, but you don’t have anyone looking after your career in the way they did then.” As previous filmmakers discovered, Madonna liked to have a lot of direction, and Beatty was sensitive to her needs. He took care of her: he provided a masseuse on set, took her out for expensive meals, and flowers were sent to her trailer every day.
“I think by the time we met Warren, he had nothing to prove. He had made all these films. He was this lovely person who played great piano, he was always ready for people, smiling in his home,” recalls Niki Haris. Beatty was delighted that Madonna was interested in him. Critics have suggested that their affair was a publicity stunt for the movie, but while it created a great deal of press interest, there was also genuine affection between them. When Madonna decided to record the I’m Breathless album separate from the soundtrack, Beatty was supportive. Bob Magnussun, bass player on the I’m Breathless sessions, recalls a very happy Madonna. “She was nice to everybody, she introduced herself to the musicians. One day Warren Beatty came in from the filming and he had that yellow Dick Tracy mac and suit on. Seemed like they were pretty contented with each other!” he laughs.
After the anguished split from Sean, Madonna had a few golden months. She was in a fairy tale. It seemed she had everything—Hollywood at her fingertips, a kind of sugar daddy, the respect of the community, a studio that was taking care of her in the old style. The I’m Breathless album reflects her lightness of mood, fleshing out the romantic fantasy. As the title suggests, she was in character, projecting the sense of a savvy Jazz-era nightclub singer. Featuring Beatty in his trilby and lemon-yellow coat, and Madonna all cleavage and corkscrew curls, the cover looked like a film poster. Described as “Music from and inspired by the film Dick Tracy,” this record was essentially a promo for the movie, and seen as separate from her main mass-market albums. Produced by Pat Leonard and recorded with jazz musicians, it has the feel of 1930s Big Band swing. “It was a ten-piece big band, all really good, cream of the crop, players who captured that style of swing era music,” recalls Magnussun, who has worked with everyone from Art Pepper to Buddy Rich and Sarah Vaughan. He admired Madonna’s willingness to explore a different genre. “I’m pretty impressed when pop musicians move into another area. It takes a little courage to do that.”
Most songs on the album reflect her showgirl persona, like “Hanky Panky,” a ballsy, cheeky paen to the art of spanking. Although the subject matter was a bit forced, the track had a rootsy, rocking jive. There was also “Something to Remember,” a low-key, atmospheric ballad reminiscent of Dusty Springfield in its sense of regret. This song sounds more laid-back and soulful than the other tracks, most of which have a contrived air. That studied approach is most in evidence on the three Stephen Sondheim songs that Madonna tackles—“Sooner or Later,” “More,” and “What Can You Lose.” She tries hard, pitching her voice deep and carefully holding and bending notes where required. She pulls it off—but like an actress, as if she’s playing a part and performing a vocal exercise in technique. She had yet to do the vocal training that so transformed her voice after Evita. “She was in character. She started smoking. She actually bummed a cigarette off me,” says Guy Pratt, who also played on the album. “Her character smoked, therefore she did.”
This record was the flip side to Madonna’s Like a Prayer persona—coquettish, pampered, and pandering. In places, it feels like over-annunciated musical theater. But her natural ebullience saves it from being a mere parody. On “Now I’m Following You (Part 1),” she duets with Beatty to a boogie-woogie rhythm. His soft, seductive voice echoes their easy rapport. For this track, they obviously didn’t stretch themselves too much. “Warren came in and we did it in one take,” recalls Bill Meyers, who played piano on the session. “Everyone’s looking at each other. Pat said, ‘Sure you don’t want to do another one?’ ‘Nope’, he said. ‘That’s it.’ They’d paid for three hours, and the whole thing lasted fifteen minutes. I admire that. If you’ve captured the lightning in the bottle, why not?”
The final track is at odds with the rest of the album, yet it turned out to be one of her biggest hits. “Vogue” is a celebration of those 40s movie sirens, updated to the gay disco dance floor. It was the sound of summer 1990—catchy, defiant, with a delicious groove, and a classic video to match—one that crystallized her iconic status. As the decade turned, Madonna was at the peak of her game.
10
GIVING GOOD FACE
In the summer of 1990, it looked like nothing could go wrong for Madonna. “Vogue,” the video, is shot in luxurious black-and-white by David Fincher. Her hair is sleek, her makeup stark, she looks like a 1940s fashion plate. Her hands perform an expressive choreography, framing her face, reaching out to her dancers as they adopt the exaggerated runway-model poses of the gay underground. She inhabits this world, she controls it. She shows the beauty of style and surfaces, making this video a glorious celebration of image, an old Hollywood movie magazine brought to life. She is at her absolute apogee. Like the medieval Madonnas shining out from those wooden icons, she is the twentieth-century version, captured on celluloid.
She performs the song at the MTV Awards, and goes back to the etymology of the word ‘vogue,’ dressed up like Marie-Antoinette, her dancers moving around her in the powdered faces, wigs, and heaving bosoms of the eighteenth-century French court. It is a moment of inspired brilliance. “That level of production had never been done on MTV. The costumes, the fans, the drama,” said Carlton Wilborn, one of her key dancers. “MTV had just no idea, we just came out and rocked.”
“VOGUE” WAS THE BEGINNING OF A NEW PHASE FOR Madonna. It was as if she got a sense of her immortality, and her true power. Feeling secure in her status as a mainstream artist, she began to play with that power and challenge her audience. “…In the guise of a game you can find things out,” she once said, explaining the game Truth or Dare. “Sometimes it would turn into these really heavy sessions where it was all truths and no dares…the truth brings people closer together. It’s like being intimate with a lover. The more intimate you are with somebody, the more an unspoken closeness occurs.”
In a key scene from her documentary Truth or Dare, the star responds to a dare by fellating a bottle of mineral water. In one fell swoop, she solidifies her reputation as a sexual tease and agent provocateur, while exorcising the trauma of the sexual attack that happened to her when she was a young girl alone in New York. She has often referred to multifarious demons, and this was one of them. From the early 1990s, Madonna began playing an elaborate game of truth or dare with the world, and with herself. With each project—from “Justify My Love,” to Blond Ambition, to Truth or Dare, to Sex, she began a journey of revelation, upping the ante in terms of nudity and psychodrama. “She’s always fishing for people to be real with her,”
a friend once said wistfully, “but only a few people can.” Layer after layer comes off as Madonna chases the intimacy she craves. The Sex era is a beautiful, bold, harrowing exercise in frustration and, despite her attempts at invincibility, a curious act of self-destruction.
THE “VOGUE” video was assembled after a huge casting call in LA. “There were about five hundred guys there. It was mayhem, with all kinds of dancers,” Wilborn told me. A performing arts graduate from Chicago, he was the most experienced of the “Vogue” troupe. “At that time, the dance environment was at a transitional point—L.A. was show town and New York was all about technique. For this audition, dancer dancers as well as commercial dancers turned out. It was red-hot.” Madonna quickly identified her main contenders. “That first day she saw, she cut, she saw, she cut, and ended up with thirty guys. When I got home, there was a message on my machine from her, saying would I meet her at a club that night.” Wilborn turned up, along with two other men from the audition, and they duly partied the night away. To complete the test, Madonna invited them to a private dance class the next morning.
Within days, she had her “Vogue” troupe in place, which included Wilborn; the street-smart Oliver Crumes; Salim Gauwloos (aka Slam), a classically trained Belgian ballet dancer with smoldering Valentino looks; plus Jose Gutierez and Luis Camacho, original “voguers” from the gay scene. Directly inspired by Willi Ninja, the vogueing star of the 1990 documentary Paris Is Burning, Madonna wanted to incorporate his references to Fred Astaire, Olympic gymnastics, and Asian dance into her work.