La Liz

The one and only Elizabeth Rosemond Taylor, born in London on Feb. 27, 1932, has moved on to that exclusive resort in the sky for screen legends.

I have many fond memories of La Liz. She was a mainstay of my mother’s generation, and I remember listening to the mums sitting around many a kitchen table discussing Liz's latest escapades and mentioning things that I vaguely knew about but, in those distant, pre-Google days, did not yet have an in depth knowledge of – poor Mike Todd, poor Debbie Reynolds, whisper, whisper Eddie Fischer – but always the conversations came back to Liz and Richard, back to the parties, the boozing, the glamour, the clothes, the jewellery, the outrageous behaviour, the passion. The mums, I could tell, were breathlessly excited by the whole swoon-inducing business.

For me, however, La Liz was the star of National Velvet. If I’d been given a dollar for every time I watched that movie as a horse mad tot, I could have bought myself a tiny training diamond by the time I became a teenager. What’s not to love about it? A girl saves a beautiful horse, a horse which she knows deep in her heart is a champion. The girl defies the odds and risks social censure to follow her dreams. The girl gets to thumb her nose at boys by doing brave, physical stuff that the boys say girls can’t do and yet remain a polite, well-spoken and well-dressed miss. The girl and the horse win! So thank you Liz for that sterling adventure.

Another of my favourite Liz films is the much maligned Cleopatra. I saw this first at the drive-in when I was knee-high to a Nubian slave, mostly because Mum wanted to see Liz and Richard I suspect, and I remember being blown away by the spectacle of it. In the years that followed, I forgot most of it, and I heard and read so many bad reviews about it, everyone focusing on how much it cost and how much it didn’t take at the box office etc, all of which affected my perception of it. I probably wouldn’t have watched it again if I hadn’t recieved a DVD of it as a joke Xmas present many years ago. The next day, stuffed to the gills, lethargic and in the mood for a cheesy Hollywood spectacle, I settled down for a Boxing Day veg out to watch it and was, much to my surprise blown away by the sets and story. It's one of my favourite movie time sucks now. And I think I owe Liz for my love of court dramas like Rome and The Tudors.

So vale, Liz, thank you for inspiring young girls, and for brightening the days of many a house-bound mum, and for making fine movies like Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, and for flashing your diamonds, and helping chartities, and for just being you.