Elizabeth Taylor – screen legend, world-renowned beauty, Oscar-winning actress – has passed away. She died today, of congestive heart failure, at the age of 79.
Like most who recall her in Butterfield 8 or Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, we think of her exquisite face and voluptuous body, her smoldering sexuality that heightened extraordinary performances. And that, reinforced by a private life that was tumultuous, passionate, surprising, and often as “big” as the characters she portrayed.
Whatever thoughts I had this morning of writing about this or that, losing Elizabeth Taylor takes precedence.
For me, it means saying goodbye to something of my own youth; an awareness of the passing of time that feels strangely personal.
I have no time for a proper tribute, for the diligence of research, or even to pick through the many thoughts and emotions I’m experiencing at this news. But I will say that Elizabeth Taylor is a figure I admired, not only for the power of her talent, but the example of pushing beyond external beauty, flaunting convention when it suited her, and not playing into stereotypes that would have lessened her.
As for her appetite for life – in particular, eight marriages?
Yes, it’s excessive to most of us. I can’t imagine it. Then again, doesn’t it amply illustrate a passion for love and for living, and equally, a romantic desire for traditional commitment?
Doesn’t her working for AIDS awareness in the 1980s and beyond show the courage of her convictions, and the support for her friends and community at a time when our society was ignorant and scared?
I’m sure we’ll all be reading about Liz Taylor in the next weeks and longer. Hopefully, we’ll be treated to her remarkable films that remain a legacy for all to enjoy. And with each performance, I know I’ll be taken back to a first time I saw it, or a second, or a tenth. I’ll filter through recollections of my childhood and my adolescence, my earliest notions of womanliness, the contradictions of beauty’s incredible force, and the vulnerability – or strength – that it may belie.
As for what she leaves behind, and the lessons of any legacy, even for those of us who aren’t in the public eye?
There is a special feeling when marking the end of a life when that life has been lived fully and well. This is not tragedy; it is loss. It is a natural termination, and in this case, to an exceptional life and career.
I would wish this for myself. For all of us. That those who know us would mourn and say “she lived her life well and fully, a life of compassion and contribution.” I would wish that those who know of us might say the same.
I would wish that the lives we touch would be better for our presence, and possibly, that we may leave behind a trace of the extraordinary.
Elizabeth Taylor image, color, publicity still (c. 1955), public domain, see Wiki.
Oh it is a loss, although I can’t say I’ve seen a single one of her films. My primary recollections are of the tabloids, full of mockery about marriages and plastic surgery. I can imagine the glamour and what she represented, but never experienced it for myself. Still, a star has moved to the heavens.
Rest in peace, Elizabeth Taylor. She was, without a doubt, an incredible force. You’re right, BLW — the hope of being celebrated for having lived a full life that touches others is a lovely guiding principle for what we choose to pursue while we’re here. We don’t have to do it in the precise ways Ms. Taylor did, but certainly it requires us to tap our own unique forms of passion.
No doubt she’s an incredible legend of our time. But what you view as a romantic desire for commitment, I see as, possibly, a woman very insecure in her ability to be alone and without a man by her side. She was a box office powerhouse on the screen and her work with AIDS is to be commended for sure. Beautiful and talented. Absolutely. It’s sad that her addictions to drugs and plastic surgery will also be part of her legacy.
I do see your point, Lisa. And we’ll all have a mixed legacy, if anyone looks closely enough. Still, I think the message that Liz Taylor sent – certainly to me, as a woman – was one of living passionately and on all cylinders. Part of that involves excess, and certainly, major mistakes in judgment. But for a woman to do so, and a beautiful one at that, who capitalized on her beauty without forgoing her talent and capacity, it was also eye-opening to me. And remains as such. As for her many marriages, I think about the time in which she was raised and lived, not to mention the unusual environment that Hollywood was and is.
In my parents’ day (and hers), if you fell in love, you married, rather than living with someone or having an affair. As I ponder this though, the contrast to someone like Katherine Hepburn is interesting. Hepburn chose to commit herself to a married man – but for decades, and out of the limelight. Another powerhouse in many ways – with a very different style.
I love that you said that about her loving so passionately that her 8 marriages are a tribute to that. That’s what I was thinking as I was watching the news this a.m. And I was going to write about it, but you’ve said it all here – everything I was thinking.
I feel a bit like I did when Bob Hope died. I just assumed she would always be there. Time to go watch “National Velvet” for the thousandth time.