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June 3, 2002
Monday
She fell victim to many of the troubles that beset people in the entertainment world. She's battled drugs and alcoholism. She's been married four times. She's had four miscarriages, no successful pregnancy. She's had both hips replaced, and both knees. She had throat surgery in 1997. In early 2000 she nearly died from viral encephalitis. Late last month she appeared on The View, the 11:00 a.m. talk show I take a break from writing for. She sparkled. Literally. She was wearing a black top and pants shot through with silver lurex and sequin spangles. Look closely and you can probably guess she's had a face lift. Listen closely and you can hear she's probably wearing dentures (the esses just aren't right). Her voice when she sings now is drier than it was, as was her mother's, the toll exacted by age and taxed by alcohol and tobacco use. But she's still Liza, with a Z, and she's making a comeback. The women on The View asked her how she'd gotten to this place now, back from the brink. She said that, lying in her hospital bed unable to walk, unable to sing, she made a decision to get well. She ditched problem substances (again), lost weight (100 pounds), relearned her craft. She credits producer David Gest, whom she married last March, with helping her turn her life around. Everybody loves a winner, so nobody loved me.
I was 25 years old when I saw Cabaret for the first time. And I was a loser, or so I thought. Unlucky in love, lonely, dissastified with my life, I did little to change anything except buy the soundtrack album and play "Maybe This Time" over and over. It didn't occur to me then how pathetic the song is, how it calls for finding one's self-worth in someone else's approval. It would be ten years before I would take charge of my own life, before I would, like Liza, make the decision to get well, to rise out of depression and self-pity. Like Liza, I had help in a new-found faith and a commitment to spiritual growth, and the love and support of the right partner, and, later, our daughter. "Thank God for film," Liza Minnelli said in 1974. "It can capture a moment and hold it there forever. If anyone ever asks you, 'Who were they?' or 'What made them so good?' I think a reel of film answers the question." She sang "Maybe This Time" on The View. I taped it, and later that day I bought Cabaret on DVD. I can watch Liza-26, thin and elfin, sing as Sally Bowles in a smoky Berlin nightclub, and then switch to Liza-56, more mature of shape and voice, render it as a concert piece. And there is no question about what makes her so good. Well all the odds are in my favor --
I wish you well, Lady Z. All the odds are in our favor. This time, we'll win. |
I
have always loved Liza Minnelli. She is almost exactly one year older than
I am, but she lived a much more glamorous and public life than I. Her parents
were a legendary movie star and a famous director, and she had her own
career on Broadway before I was allowed to stay out past midnight. She
lived fast, burning her candle at both ends, having really two candles
to burn, her own, and that of the legacy of her beloved mother Judy Garland,
who died when Liza was just twenty-three.
I
have no way of knowing how much of Liza Minnelli's present persona is schtick,
a construct she's using now. I seldom seek role models among entertainers,
those masters of illusion and pretense. Nor do I see her as a hero, but
as a fellow sojourner in this world, trying her best to keep on keepin'
on. As happy and fulfilled as I am now, there are still things about myself
I want to change. I want to lose weight, move with grace again, get back
to where I once belonged. I've made a decision to get well.