Perhaps it is the sublime performance of her face. Her
perfect nose… violet/blue eyes that turn whatever color you want. Beauty is an
accident that never waits to happen.
She remains a movie star, a celluloid daemon that only asks
for light to live. We see her as a child, already fluent with assumed attitudes
and false fronts. Then, a young woman, soon to mount the golden throne, unassailable,
Cleopatra-like, the greatest of them all.
A better actor than accredited by critics, her supernova
publicity was too blinding to clearly see a performance. Her fame exceeded
skill, always a dangerous condition, but one that she embraced, selling toiletries
one day, AIDS awareness the next.
For few ever had such a clinical understanding of Hollywood as
Elizabeth Taylor. It used her, she used it. Simple, honest, and as coarse as
the Hollywood sign itself.
Gratefully, movie stars cannot be manufactured. There are
too many unknowns that must intertwine. The
magic remains with the magician. Those most committed to celestial heights
embrace an entrepreneurial spiritualism. They just seem to know what to sell, when,
and to whom.
Somehow, against all odds, Elizabeth Taylor discovered how
to fall deeply and passionately in love with herself.
