Elizabeth and Michael

by Donald Bogle

  Rarely was Elizabeth thought of as a fighter for professional issues. Producers like Pandro S. Berman, however, knew she was quick to speak her mind about the films she was assigned. MGM’s Benny Thau knew that, too. Now, though, Taylor’s professional rebellion and drive were growing, especially when she heard that Grace Kelly, who announced her plans to marry Prince Rainier of Monaco, would not be able to do Giant at Warner Bros. Instead, MGM, which had Kelly under contract, was rushing Kelly through The Swan and High Society. At this point, director George Stevens “settled on me,” Taylor said. But MGM wouldn’t agree to the loan-out to Warner Bros.

  Elizabeth would not back down. “I had to go almost on a sit-down strike,” she said. By now, her language was no longer that of a polite young American princess. It could be salty, and the expletives could fly. In the years to come, the language would become saltier, to put it mildly. This was all a part of her maturing process and also a still evolving toughness that proved essential for survival in the industry. Finally, MGM consented to let her do the film but on its terms. Warner Bros. agreed to pay MGM $175,000 for Taylor’s services and also agreed to possibly lend James Dean, then under contract to Warner Bros., to MGM for a picture. “I got no extra money for it. MGM got the money,” she said. “It was just a chance to do a part that was an opportunity and with a director like George.” At the same time, MGM planned to star Taylor and dark-haired Italian actress Pier Angeli in “Oriental roles”—each a young woman of a different caste—in a film called Bride of India. Other films considered for her were Maryanne and then Raquel. For Elizabeth, these were other nothing films. In the end, she didn’t do any of them. But she had won the battle to star in Giant.

  • • •

  But while Elizabeth prepared for Giant, Wilding’s career continued to spiral downward. Though it was reported that he asked to be released from his MGM contract, that announcement was made to save him face. For a man facing career problems and who was married to a big female star, Hollywood could be a brutal territory. To most in the industry, including MGM, he was superfluous, someone who might be used to make a request to his wife, even to answer the phone and take a message; in many respects he was a replay of the doomed husband in A Star Is Born.

  Their marriage was in deeper trouble now. Those rumors of marital difficulties were not just rumors. Though she always found Wilding fundamentally charming and never spoke ill of the father of her children, he simply was not strong or forceful enough for her. She said they were better suited to be brother and sister. In truth, the marriage didn’t excite her.

  • • •

  Work started on Giant with additional cast members: Academy Award–winner Mercedes McCambridge as Hudson’s tough sister, Luz; Dennis Hopper, Fran Bennett, and Carroll Baker as the adult children of the Benedicts; former child star Jane Withers; newcomer Australian actor Rod Taylor; and stage actress Judith Evelyn as Taylor’s aristocratic mother. Scenes were filmed first in Virginia. Then Stevens moved the production to Marfa, Texas, for a long location shoot. Daily, an estimated six hundred automobiles—filled with onlookers—descended on the outdoor set, which Stevens basically kept open. Before Elizabeth joined the cast, Stevens had asked Hudson whom he preferred as the leading lady, Grace Kelly or Elizabeth Taylor. Without blinking, he said Taylor. The two became lifelong friends. At night, they would sit, talk, and drink cocktails. There was some chatter that she and Hudson might be having an affair. The rumors must have reached Wilding, who showed up in Texas. Though Hudson was gay, which Taylor apparently knew at this time, even Hudson’s future wife Phyllis Gates—theirs would be a studio-arranged marriage—wondered about the relationship when she visited the Giant set in Texas. “He devoted much attention to Elizabeth,” Gates said. “It wouldn’t have surprised me if Rock made a play for Elizabeth hoping to maintain his balance of power in the Giant company.”

  A lot of talk centered on the moody, sometimes difficult actor James Dean. He and Hudson often clashed. At first, Dean kept his distance from Taylor, was even rude to her on set, and hung out often with Carroll Baker, the other newcomer. But as Dean and Taylor worked together more closely, he fell under her spell, unable to resist her, and became utterly captivated. A famous picture was taken of Dean on a sofa reading a magazine with Taylor, who’s fallen asleep, by his side. The magazine was Look, which ironically had Taylor on its cover. When Wilding visited his wife, Dean reportedly said to him: “You better know right away, Mike, I’ve fallen in love with your wife.” Though said in jest, there was some truth to his statement. At the same time, he, like Hudson, confided in her and revealed something seldom shared with others; stories of his bisexual relationships.

  When Dean stopped hanging out with Carroll Baker to spend his downtime with Taylor, Baker admitted she felt left out. But she too was mesmerized by the actress. “I never got tired of looking at her or listening to her talk. For one thing, she had the most fascinating point of view. She never spoke of people, things, or situations as any other person might have. She had a reality of her own, an MGM reality. Her judgments and dialogue came straight out of MGM movies, but she actually meant them. It was fascinating!” Baker recalled. “My feelings about Liz probably seem extreme, but to me, at that time in my impressionable young life, she was truly the pinnacle of what being a star meant. I loved her—I adored her—I worshipped her. She was truly regal.” Once the cast and crew were back in Los Angeles to film at Warner Bros., Baker’s fascination grew. At the end of a day’s work, Baker noted that everyone else was anxious to get away, except for Elizabeth “who was always the last person to leave the lot.” Baker began joining Taylor in the star’s dressing room. “It was like watching the preening of a magnificent bird! Before the wardrobe woman left for the day, she would assist Elizabeth out of her costume and into a starched, immaculately white surgical-type gown.” Baker would put on records. She’d also fix Elizabeth a drink. “I carefully rehearsed the ingredients,” said Baker.

  “2 jiggers of Beefeater’s gin

  “A small tonic water

  “Serve in a tall glass over 4 ice cubes

  “Garnish with a lime wedge.”

  Those days with Nicky Hilton when Elizabeth barely touched the booze were now long gone. During the filming of Giant, she and Hudson also had their special concoction, something referred to as a “chocolate martini,” a mixture of vodka and a chocolate liqueur. Though her drinking still did not seem to be a problem, her reliance on alcohol was growing.

  Baker couldn’t forgot the “uniquely terrifying experience” of being a passenger as Elizabeth drove her white Cadillac. Never did she seem aware of other drivers on the road—who just “might have the right-of-way.” En route to a restaurant, Baker was startled as Elizabeth hit a parked car and then drove right into another one. “The driver was so dumbstruck at the sight of Elizabeth Taylor that he forgot to complain, and when he stepped out of his car, she glared daggers at him for having dared to be in her path in the first place,” said Baker.

  Once Taylor entered the restaurant, “The diners dropped their forks and stared in openmouthed wonder at Elizabeth’s every movement and gesture, and the poor girl couldn’t relax for a second during lunch. With all her fame and beauty, she was so sincere and sweet and charming and had at times such a helpless, little-girl quality.” Baker grew to feel protective of her.

  Throughout the filming of Giant, Elizabeth was often ill and in physical pain. Some days it might be her leg. Other times it could be her back. At one point, a crippling pain in her right leg forced her to enter St. John’s Hospital in Santa Monica. A blood clot had to heal before she was permitted to return to work. In excruciating pain with sciatica, she ended up walking on crutches. The diagnosis: she had a pinched nerve in her spine. Yet because Giant had several months more before its completion, she’d have to live with the pain. Stevens tended to dismiss her illnesses as being psychosomatic. In time, her husbands would note that she could exaggerate the slightest ailment, and while her illnesses a
fforded her the chance to back out of engagements or professional obligations, indeed to just withdraw from the whirl of activities around her, sciatica problems were very real. So were most of her other ailments. Future husband Mike Todd once wanted to send George Stevens X-rays of Elizabeth’s spine as a Christmas card. Nonetheless, there was no telling Stevens that her ailments were not psychosomatic.

  Other problems with Stevens flared up. “Shooting the film turned out to be murderous,” Elizabeth remembered. During her earlier time on A Place in the Sun, she recalled that she had been a minor. “George couldn’t have treated me more wonderfully. I found out on Giant, that he tends to like having a patsy or two on a film. Jimmy Dean was one and I was another, but I’ll say this for George—he usually picks people who can answer back.”

  Later, Taylor, who rarely discussed the pressures or tensions of moviemaking, recalled in detail an occasion when Stevens exploded with her in front of cast and crew. The scene to be filmed was of Taylor’s Leslie, having temporarily separated from her husband, Bick, back in Virginia for her younger sister’s wedding. Waiting for an exceptionally long time to be called to the set, Taylor sat in her dressing room with her makeup man and hairdresser. After an hour, she left her dressing room to see what the problem was. The set was quiet. Stevens sat in his director’s chair, looking annoyed and down to his last shred of patience. Standing by were the extras and the crew.

  When she asked what had happened, Stevens lashed out at her for holding up production for over an hour. “Just who the hell do you think you are to keep these people waiting?”

  When she explained that she’d never been called, he asked: “Just how much do you think you can get away with? What did you do when you came back from lunch?”

  She had worked on her makeup, she told Stevens, had her dress ironed, and waited in the dressing room. He then exploded that all she cared about was her makeup, which, he said, she assumed was more important than the people waiting for her. “Well, I have news for you,” he said. “It isn’t.”

  “That wasn’t what I meant. I’ve been waiting in there. No one called me.”

  She remembered that Stevens just stared her down and that he had said “something suitable like ‘Go to hell’ or something unprintable.”

  She found an assistant director who realized indeed that no one had called her to the set. Stevens, however, didn’t seem to care. “Of course,” said Taylor, “Stevens never said a word to me. Then I had to go out and act before all the extras that he’d done his tirade in front of. I was quivering—and in the scene I was supposed to cry.” She wondered if Stevens had behaved like this and spoken to her in such a way in order to get the emotion he wanted for the scene.

  She also remembered the day that she sat watching dailies—footage that had recently been shot—with Stevens and others. Having already completed his work on the film, James Dean had left the company. As she sat in the projection room, the phone rang. Stevens answered and was shaken. There had been an accident. Twenty-four-year-old Dean, who had been driving his Porsche en route to road races in Salinas, had collided with another car. Throughout filming, the studio had forbidden Dean to enter car races. Now the worst had occurred. “I’ve just been given the news that Jimmy Dean has been killed,” Stevens told everyone in the room.

  Like everyone else, Taylor was stunned. Because the news had not yet really broken, they called newspapers and hospitals, trying to get it verified or denied. She recalled that later that night, as she walked to her car, she saw Stevens and cried that she couldn’t believe it. “I believe it,” Stevens said. “He had it coming to him. The way he drove, he had it coming.” But Elizabeth knew that Stevens had admired Dean’s work. She had observed him watching Dean as the actor shot a scene. “George would smile, but he didn’t ever let Jimmy know that he was fond of him.”

  Chapter 10

  * * *

  OFF THE WALL. Thriller. Motown 25. The Jackson family was thrilled with Michael’s success. But there was also the feeling that now was the time for him to perform again with his brothers, who, career-wise, seemed at loose ends. Jermaine’s marriage to Berry Gordy’s daughter Hazel had ended and he was back at the family compound. Other brothers had marital troubles, too, along with other woes. Accustomed to fabulous homes, cars, clothes, and women, Jackie, Tito, Jermaine, and Marlon had families now with mounting expenses for their lavish lifestyles. None would ever be able to go back to the way of life in Gary, Indiana. They also thrived on performing. What else could they really do? But without Michael onstage with the brothers, concert promoters and the record executives didn’t have much interest in the group. Both Joseph and Katherine wanted to see their sons together onstage again in a reunion tour. The brothers felt the same way.

  Talk began of a new album and a new tour for the Jacksons that would bring money into the coffers. “Michael has had very big success and sometimes the success of the Jacksons got undermined a bit,” said Tito. “I think the tour is a chance for us to show our success, too.”

  No family member had more influence over Michael than his mother, and it is safe to say that Katherine’s advice, more than anyone else’s, persuaded Michael to agree to both an album and a tour. But it was not easygoing, primarily because stage-managing the reunion plans was Joseph. Long dubious about his father’s business skills, a twenty-one-year-old Michael, in 1979, had refused to renew the management contract with Joseph. In essence, he had fired him. “All I wanted was control over my own life,” he said. “And I took it. I had to do it.” His brothers also knew letting Joe handle things could lead to disaster. They, too, were cutting business ties with him.

  But also greatly distressing Michael and the rest of the family was their father’s philandering. All sorts of stories circulated about his affairs, reckless encounters, and his mistresses. In 1980, Katherine grew suspicious of Joe’s relationship with a young woman who worked in his office. Convinced that Joe was having an affair, Katherine apparently reached the breaking point. With her children Randy and Janet by her side, she arrived at the office, confronted the woman, and even physically assaulted her, according to a police report filed. She was warned to stay away from Joseph, but she maintained that there had never been anything romantic between Joe and herself. When Michael heard of the physical confrontation, he reportedly went into denial. His mother could never do such a thing. Nonetheless, word of the incident alienated him even more from his father.

  There had been other more serious incidents in the past. Recalling that his mother had been “devastated, livid, confused” by Joe’s behavior on one occasion—when Joseph had an affair with a woman who previously chased after Jackie—Jermaine remembered that Janet and Rebbie “pleaded with Mother to ‘leave him, divorce him’ and couldn’t stand the sight of ‘the dirty down dog.’ Janet yelled and screamed in his face for the hurt he had caused.” Jermaine also recalled: “Michael wept with hurt anger, also advising Mother—quietly—to kick out our father.” For a few days, Katherine Jackson just up and walked out of their home. Bewildered and saddened, Michael wanted to go with his mother but he had no idea where she was. Katherine returned. However, in 1974, Joe’s womanizing led to a permanent breach in the marriage when he fathered a daughter named Joh’Vonnie by a young woman named Cheryl Terrell. In 1982, Katherine filed for divorce. Perhaps because of her religious convictions and perhaps because she still loved Joe, Katherine did not go through with it. But things between Joe and Katherine were never the same. Michael had seen all this and carried the hurt inside. His mother, Katherine, was more complicated than she appeared.

  • • •

  For Michael, however, there was no avoiding Joseph, who in November 1983 arranged a meeting with his six sons, including Randy, at New York City’s elegant Tavern on the Green. Joe then laid a bombshell that may have taken the brothers by surprise: Joseph announced that he had hired Don King to produce the huge Jackson reunion tour.

  Known for promoting high-powered boxing bouts, King was co
nsidered a master at fastidious promotion that, in some way or another, seemed to spotlight him as much as the events being publicized. Flashy and outspoken, a wheeler and dealer in and out of the boxing arena, with many big-named friends—and a national reputation—he was immediately identifiable by his big smile, his high spirits, and his hair that seemed to stand on end. Born in Cleveland in 1931, he had a checkered past. He had attended Kent State College but dropped out. Then through grit and shrewd deal making, some of which was considered nefarious, he had handled major boxing events with a true showman’s flair, notably “the Rumble in the Jungle,” the 1974 bout between Muhammad Ali and George Foreman, and “the Thrilla in Manila,” the 1975 third bout between Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier. Among the boxers he would promote over the years were some of the sport’s biggest names: not only Ali, Frazier, and Foreman but also later Mike Tyson, Evander Holyfield, and Salvador Sanchez. King was considered—in some circles—to be unscrupulous and devious, someone never to be trusted. Many boxers ended up suing him for defrauding them.

  King also had a shocking criminal past. In two separate cases spanning thirteen years, he was charged with killing two men. In the first, he had been tried for shooting a man in the back, but it was judged justifiable homicide. The man had attempted to rob King’s employee. In the second case, however, he was found guilty of second-degree murder for stomping an employee to death. His conviction was later declared “non-negligent manslaughter,” for which he served almost four years in prison but was pardoned by Ohio’s governor Jim Rhodes in 1983. Now King had come onboard to promote the tour called Victory.