by Donald Bogle
At the time of National Velvet’s release, America was still firmly in the grip of the Second World War, even though the war in Europe was about to draw to a close. Hollywood had joined in the war effort. Stars like Clark Gable, James Stewart, and Tyrone Power served in the military. On the home front, war bond drives were led by celebrities. At the Hollywood Canteen and the Stage Door Canteen—military clubs of sorts—members of the armed forces on leave could mix with or be entertained by such stars as Jack Benny, Bette Davis, Count Basie, Barbara Stanwyck, Harpo Marx, Joan Crawford, and Ida Lupino. Stars like Betty Grable, Rita Hayworth, and Lena Horne became pinup girls whose pictures were carried by soldiers in faraway places. Aside from these efforts, movies like Mrs. Miniver and Since You Went Away sought to boost morale by highlighting the effects of the war respectively on “average” British and American families. Films like Bataan dramatized the courage of American military forces. A film like So Proudly We Hail showed the contributions of women to the war. Also released was escapist fare that sought to take audiences’ minds off the war: movies like Cabin in the Sky and Meet Me in St. Louis.
National Velvet showed family warmth and unity, which would benefit not only the individuals but also a community. It clearly challenged attitudes about the power of women and a girl’s role in society. Taylor’s Velvet believes her horse can be a champion, and when she cannot find a jockey to race him, she steps up to the plate. Never does she fear she cannot do it. Yet though the film shatters gender assumptions, it also reassures its audiences that traditional gender roles will remain in place, and the audience need not fear female revolt. Velvet’s hard-edged mother understands her daughter’s passion more so than the other characters. Yet the mother, after having been a champion swimmer, had left all that behind when she assumed her “acceptable” roles as wife and mother. She cautions her daughter to leave her champion days behind. Under her mother’s guidance, Velvet in essence agrees to go back to “normal” life. But she has made her point, and the movie significantly closes with Velvet back on her horse.
Part of Velvet’s appeal, as Taylor plays her, is not just her skill and conviction but also—as director Brown saw—her delicate “traditional” female charms. Audiences were catching sight of what would make Elizabeth Taylor such an international force in the movies to come. She would be, as actress Lee Grant said of Taylor in Giant, a “feminist,” but she would also have the alluring “feminine” side that would not be associated with more “traditional” feminists. In the years to come, her desirability would make her seem less threatening. But underneath the great beauty, there would always be notes (on-screen and off-) of rebellion and defiance—frequently against the gender roles with which women were saddled.
Following National Velvet, it was official: MGM had a major new child star. The studio was so excited that it presented (and publicized) an ecstatic Elizabeth with the horse, King George, she had ridden in the film. Now, Elizabeth Taylor’s life changed dramatically. Within the extended Warmbrodt and Taylor households, the family focus shifted to Elizabeth. Uncle Howard beamed with pride, perhaps a bit perplexed but joyous over his grandniece’s fame. In England, those who had known the little girl Elizabeth followed her career. Sadly, her godfather, Victor Cazalet, never saw her rise to childhood stardom. In 1943, he was killed in a plane crash.
Everything about Elizabeth’s being was soon wrapped up in MGM, which became a third parent, and an overbearing one at that, controlling her activities, her education, her social life, the way she was perceived by the public, and indeed the very way she was to think of herself. She would grow up ever mindful that just about everything she did was being observed, scrutinized, assessed, evaluated, and judged. Every minute of the day was also spent working in one way or another. By the time of the release of National Velvet, Elizabeth’s work in the movies was discussed so much among her classmates that she became a distraction at the school, and, according to Sara, she was advised to take Elizabeth out of Hawthorne. The other children were actually staring at Elizabeth.
In time, Elizabeth was educated exclusively at MGM in what was known as the Little Red Schoolhouse, which at one time or another was the place such other young luminaries as Judy Garland, Margaret O’Brien, Jane Powell, and Debbie Reynolds studied. Until she turned eighteen, daily, between setups, Elizabeth shifted gears and headed to the classroom at the studio—where she was suddenly a child again but expected also to do the required schoolwork. Concentration on the set was one thing. Concentration on her studies was another.
According to writer Ruth Waterbury, Elizabeth was educated in fifteen-minute intervals, which had to add up to at least three hours a day. “This meant that under the law,” said Waterbury, “she could be before the camera only another four hours daily. Thus, sometimes a whole group of around one hundred and fifty people would have to sit around idle while she studied arithmetic.” With her remarkable powers of concentration, she was able to leave the set, do her studies, return, and immediately get back into character. But her education was spotty. How could it be otherwise? Nevertheless, she was a shrewd pupil. “As she grew older, she showed me what a good student she was. She always had top grades in the subjects that interested her,” recalled teacher Dorothy Mullen. Her grades, as Elizabeth herself recalled, were As and Bs.
At MGM, she also had dance and voice lessons. Countless hours were spent posing for studio publicity pictures. There were interviews for the press. “When I’d come home from the studio—I’d get out at twelve, have lunch in the commissary and then have singing lessons,” she recalled, “so I’d get home around three—then we’d play.” On weekends there might be, especially during her teenage years, get-togethers with other young budding stars—Roddy McDowall, Jane Powell, Marshall Thompson, Richard Long, John Derek—at beach parties, barbecues, sports events. Rarely was there anything spontaneous about those gatherings. Studio photographers might be on the scene, running about to capture the supposedly candid moments. Always she was on display.
“Not being like other children, not belonging to the adult world and not belonging to a children’s world, I felt always the outsider. Even the film kids were not really in my mold. Their parents were always giving parties so that the movie magazines like Photoplay or Movie Gems could come and photograph their children,” she remembered. “I’d see that most everybody else—even the kids—were performing almost entirely for the camera. I’d feel absolutely lost.”
But there were always the animals that she adored. “Riding a horse gave me a sense of freedom and abandon because I was so controlled by my parents and the studio when I was a child that when I was on a horse we could do whatever we wanted. Riding a horse was my way of getting away from people telling me what to do and when to do it and how to do it.” A world away from the studio was also found in the pages of books. “I did a lot of reading, painting, drawing in those days—anything that was escapism, I suppose. I went to the movies all the time.” Reading was a constant throughout her life. “Liz is the most voracious reader I know,” producer Walter Wanger later recalled. “At least one book every two days. She reads everything: memoirs, historical novels, plays, and the current bestsellers.”
At home, she observed her father’s lonely discontent. Francis still drank. He also searched for another life, apart from Sara. Rumors circulated that he had met Adrian, MGM’s top designer who had created extraordinary clothes for such stars as Greta Garbo, Norma Shearer, Joan Crawford, and the late Jean Harlow—and that Francis and Adrian became lovers. Yet though her parents still argued, Elizabeth, under the circumstances, had a semblance of a relatively balanced home life. No matter what, her parents loved her and doted on her and her brother. Aware of the importance of stability and security away from the studio, Sara and Francis managed to have family dinners and private times at home. During the summers, a teenaged Elizabeth visited her uncle Howard’s vast estate in Cedar Gates in Wisconsin.
Elizabeth always loved being with her brother. “I worshi
ped Howard as a child—and still do,” she said. “He’s my best friend of all.” Of course, they were typical siblings who sometimes poked fun at each other. Because Howard sometimes called her Lizzie the Lizard, she said that jousting led her to detest being called Liz. Otherwise her closest girlfriend during this time was her neighbor Anne Westmore, a child of the famous Westmore family of makeup artists.
Much was done for Elizabeth at the house. She grew up without certain responsibilities that other children had. Throughout her life, she was known for not picking up after herself. At the end of a day, she left her clothes on the floor. Even later, when she might return home after glamorous movie premieres or parties, she dropped her beautiful gowns on the floor without thinking twice. The idea of her ever learning to iron or take care of her own clothes was never entertained by anyone in the Taylor home. Actually, it seemed a rather preposterous notion. Sara did attempt at one point to make her daughter tidier. But she gave up. Ultimately, staff was there to take care of things for Elizabeth. Even with her animals, she rarely house-trained them. Someone else was responsible for that, too. In the years to come, her husbands would find themselves cleaning up dog poop. Still, that family life gave her a secure foundation, the kind an actress like Marilyn Monroe would never have, and though the public and international press might not know it, she always wanted to share the big events of her life, be it marriages or movie openings, with Sara, Francis, and Howard.
The main thing drummed into her head was that discipline had to be maintained at the studio. Elizabeth had to rise early and be prepared for the day ahead, whether it was knowing her lines or being prepped for press interviews. During the drives to the studio, Elizabeth and Sara discussed the day ahead and what was expected of her. At the studio itself, she was to be polite and mannerly, always ladylike. An awareness of being before the public eye and acting accordingly was repeatedly emphasized by Sara and the studio.
Yet despite the pressures at MGM, another part of her enjoyed studio life. “MGM was a very exciting place to be,” she confessed. “I’ve always loved movie stars, loved movies, loved everything about them except doing them. It was so tremendously thrilling to go into the commissary for lunch. They were all there—Judy Garland, Lana Turner, Spencer Tracy, Hedy Lamarr. And there was the lovely, sweet smell of the pancake make-up the women wore—so much more exciting than the grease paint they use now. Every time Clark Gable walked in I just about dropped my fork. He was the epitome of a movie star—so romantic, such bearing, such friendliness.”
• • •
Surprisingly, following National Velvet, two years passed before moviegoers saw her again. She was maturing, and the studio didn’t seem sure what kind of role to cast her in next. One of the beneficial aspects of a big studio contract was that MGM’s publicity department kept her name before the public with photographs sent to newspapers and with items for the columnists. Hedda Hopper proved important here. Mentioning Taylor whenever possible, Hopper viewed the child as something of a surrogate daughter. Elizabeth kept herself occupied with various projects, one of which was a story about her pet chipmunk, Nibbles, which was published as a book: Nibbles and Me. Of course, the studio had done its part to ensure that the manuscript was in publishable shape and indeed that the young authoress found a publisher. But Elizabeth did the drawings that ran throughout the book. Nibbles and Me was dedicated to “Mummie, Daddy, and Howard, who love Nibbles almost as much as I do.”
• • •
At long last, MGM had Elizabeth back on-screen in a movie that marked her return to the world of Lassie, Courage of Lassie, again under Fred Wilcox’s direction. Here she played a sensitive girl trying to nurse a collie named Bill (but played by Lassie), who has suffered during the war years.
MGM also lent her out to Warner Bros. to appear with Irene Dunne and William Powell in the adaptation of Clarence Day’s comedy Life with Father, to be directed by Michael Curtiz. MGM charged Warner Bros. $3,500 for Elizabeth’s services, which was five times what it paid her. Never did Taylor like the fact that the studio always kept the difference in her salary whenever she was lent out. In the long run, it contributed to some of her later resentment toward MGM. Nonetheless, Sara drove Elizabeth daily to the Warner studio in Burbank, and Elizabeth adapted to the Warner style and culture—less pampered, perhaps less glamorous than MGM’s. Having already appeared with Irene Dunne in The White Cliffs of Dover, she grew friendly with the older actress. Many of her scenes were with that skilled, idiosyncratic comedienne Zasu Pitts.
She also quickly adjusted to the shooting style of Curtiz—and was well aware of his stature in the industry. Born in Hungary, Curtiz had directed Warner Bros.’ biggest stars—Bette Davis, James Cagney, Errol Flynn, Olivia de Havilland—and was on a roll with the direction of such films as Casablanca, which won an Oscar for Outstanding Motion Picture; Yankee Doodle Dandy, for which Cagney walked off with an Oscar for Best Actor; and Mildred Pierce, for which Joan Crawford, having left MGM for Warner Bros., made a stunning comeback that had earned her an Oscar for Best Actress. An experienced tough old bird of a guy, accustomed to being in charge, not taking any flack on- or off-screen, and admired by Warner Bros. for working hard and fast, Curtiz’s attitude was that some people worked to live but he lived to work. Because Curtiz was also bipolar, which may have accounted for his mood shifts and temperament, his directing chores helped him ward off his demons.
Life with Father was shot from April 20 to July 21, 1946. It progressed without major problems. But during the filming of Life, Sara became openly fascinated by director Curtiz. No doubt Elizabeth detected her mother’s attraction to the director—the intent way she looked at him, the way she spoke to him, the way she hung on his every word. Certainly, those working on the set were aware of the mutual attraction. Before long, the word around Warner was that Sara and Curtiz apparently were having a hot and heavy affair. How Elizabeth felt about that would never be known. It wasn’t something she’d ever be eager to discuss. Now a perceptive show biz pro, aware of the peccadilloes, the adventures, intrigues, and vagaries of all the grown-ups around her, Elizabeth’s feelings may have been mixed. On the one hand, she may well have felt her father had failed Sara and given her no choice but to seek romance outside the marriage. Or perhaps she believed that Sara had failed the sensitive Francis. Much as she loved her mother, her sympathies for her father never faltered.
MGM no doubt heard about the discord in the Taylor household, which, from its vantage point, could be problematic. Its teenage star had to look as if she came from a typical, ideal American family. Eventually, MGM had to deal publicly with the troubled Taylor marriage when news hit the press that Francis and Sara had formally separated. Sara maintained custody of Elizabeth; there was no way she would give her up. Francis had custody of Howard; there was no way he would give him up. “Francis and Elizabeth’s brother, Howard, were residing in bungalow three at the Beverly Hills Hotel, while Elizabeth and her mother continued to live in Beverly Hills,” recalled the children’s uncle John Taylor. “Most difficult of all for Elizabeth was her parents’ separation,” recalled hairstylist Sydney Guilaroff, in whom Elizabeth sometimes confided. Born in 1907 in London and raised in Canada, the older Guilaroff had come to New York as a teenager and had first worked at Gimbels. He swept floors, cleaned up, and took care of stock. But ambitious and eager to be a part of New York’s glamour, he answered an ad for a beautician’s assistant, and thereafter rose to become a well-known and popular hairstylist for New York’s wealthy set. After Joan Crawford encouraged him to come to Hollywood, he began working at MGM in 1934, styling hair over the years for the studio’s big stars: Crawford, Greta Garbo, Norma Shearer, Ava Gardner, Lena Horne, Lucille Ball, and Dorothy Dandridge. He was the first hairstylist in Hollywood to receive a credit in films. Tall, slender, and almost always dressed in a suit and tie even while working, he had a friendly, relaxed, discreet, and rather avuncular air that made it easy for stars to open up to him. Elizabeth was no excepti
on. “I soon began to serve as a sort of surrogate father in her life,” said Guilaroff. “Given Francis Taylor’s indifference, my help and concern was both needed and appreciated.”
When Sara became ill, an alarmed Francis rushed to her bedside. Or so the couple told the press. Shortly before Elizabeth’s fifteenth birthday, in February 1947, the two reunited. The separation had lasted four months. But the real conflicts, divisions, and differences would not go away. Sara and Francis’s battles over their children continued until Howard and Elizabeth reached adulthood. Francis absolutely refused to relinquish both his children to his wife. For the children, there must have been the knowledge that Elizabeth’s career was embedded in the parental struggles.
• • •
Francis, his uncle Howard, and all of the relatives were keenly aware, more so now than ever, that Sara’s very existence and her very sense of herself were invested in her daughter’s career. Believing that Elizabeth could be one of the greatest film stars of all time, Sara was determined to navigate her daughter through all the professional difficulties and all the studio intrigues. No family plans, no social evenings, no other types of gatherings could be considered without looking over Elizabeth’s schedule.
Among other actresses at the studio, Elizabeth could appear aloof and distant, which was partly due to her basic shyness. The one young actress she appeared to genuinely like was Judy Garland. She socialized with Jane Powell, but whether that was because of the studio’s maneuvers, no one was sure. (All the same, Taylor and Powell were friends for years.) Actress Kathryn Grayson thought Elizabeth could be “highly competitive, rather spoiled, very insecure.” Still, Sara was the one who pushed for Elizabeth, always believing that the other teenage actresses could never do, could never represent, what Elizabeth did. Elizabeth was the dream girl, the budding goddess who millions would fantasize over. Of course, Sara was right. Actor Dennis Hopper, who years later would appear in Giant with Taylor, remembered that when he was growing up, she was his pillow mate, the girl he went to sleep thinking about. Countless other teenage boys already felt the same way.