Forbidden Divas: All That Glitters


David Melville (Wingrove) returns to our pages for the first of, hopefully, many posts this year ~


All That Glitters

In 1975, the veteran Hollywood director George Cukor flew to St Petersburg (or Leningrad, as it was then called) to start work on the first-ever coproduction between the United States of America and the Soviet Union. The Blue Bird (1976) was planned as a star-studded musical epic, adapted from Maurice Maeterlinck’s classic Symbolist fantasy of 1908. The cast included a roster of Hollywood legends (Elizabeth Taylor, Jane Fonda, Ava Gardner) as well as star performers from the Bolshoi Ballet. The aim was to usher in a bold new era of bilateral cooperation and cinematic détente. As he toured the Lenfilm studio, Cukor said how proud he was to be filming on the same spot where Sergei Eisenstein had shot The Battleship Potemkin in 1925. “Indeed, Mr. Cukor,” his interpreter replied, “and with the same equipment too!”

From that moment, The Blue Bird was set to be one of the most fabled fiascos in the history of world cinema. The schedule overran, the budget overflowed, the Soviet and Western crews fell out and Elizabeth Taylor shut the whole production down for two weeks – as she suffered one of her legendary illnesses and flew to London for treatment in a private clinic. On its premiere, The Blue Bird was slated by critics and shunned by the public. Shunned, at least, in the relatively few places where the public had a chance to see it. In fact, it was barely released in the UK and most other Western countries. Its reception worldwide was less a liberal 70s vision of détente than a Reagan 80s wet dream of Mutual Assured Destruction. In its own glitzy way, The Blue Bird helped to usher in a new and very nasty era in world politics.


But forty years later – now that the nuclear fall-out has settled – perhaps it is time to sit down and watch the film itself. To the amazement of anyone who knows their film history, The Blue Bird is a delight. Less a conventional musical than a balletic fantasy in the style of late Michael Powell – Tales of Hoffman (1951), Oh… Rosalinda!! (1955) and Honeymoon (1959) all spring to mind – it stands poised precariously but irresistibly en pointe, in that limbo between High Camp and High Art. Its trio of Hollywood leading ladies – disarmingly but quite wisely, it turns out – make not the slightest effort to act. Instead, they parade about like Pantomime Dames in an array of sumptuous monstrosities designed by the legendary Edith Head. It was written on many a toilet cubicle wall that “Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.” I am still unsure how that would translate into Russian.

The story, if there is one, concerns two rather obnoxious children (Todd Lookinland and Patsy Kensit) on a quest of the mystical Blue Bird of Happiness. Given that they live in a remote hut in the depths of the Siberian taiga, one assumes that any place they look will be an improvement. Their guide on their journey is Light, embodied by Elizabeth Taylor in a series of sparkly chiffon gowns that seem to be borrowed from Billie Burke as Glinda, the Good Witch of the North in The Wizard of Oz (1939). Sadly, the role lacks the dramatic complexity of Glinda. It seems to consist of beaming angelically through as many layers of gauze as cameraman Freddie (Doctor Zhivago) Young chose to put over his lens, as well as warbling one or two less-than-memorable songs. Did you know that Liz Taylor could sing? No? Well, that is because she could not.


Eager to stretch her thespian talents to the full, the enterprising Liz takes on three additional roles. The first is the children’s loving but sharp-tongued Mother, whom she plays a lot like Martha from Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966) – only with a strictly sanitised vocabulary. Next and by far the liveliest is a terrifying Witch; in truth, Liz is barely recognisable and seems to be having the time of her life. Apart, perhaps, from the day she spent off-screen touring the Imperial Jewellery Collection at the Hermitage Museum. (“They say that if you admire something, the Russians give it to you,” recalled the star. “Well, I admired and admired the Crown Jewels and nothing happened!”) The last role, Maternal Love, is basically Mother with a better dress and more make-up. Indeed, Liz allegedly spent $8000 of her own money on bringing her costumes for The Blue Bird up to scratch.


Of the magic realms where the children seek the Blue Bird, the most ominous is the Castle of Night. This is presided over by Jane Fonda as Night herself – draped from head to foot in black satin, sporting a cartwheel hat that is the size of a small galaxy. Luckily, she does not sing but is content to purr menacingly, much in the manner of Anita Pallenberg as the Black Queen in Barbarella (1967) – the film that remains, to my mind, Jane’s greatest and most iconic role. (She went on, alas, to win two Oscars. This was proof that her great days of stardom were behind her.) Guiding the children through her castle, she opens multiple doors, behind one of which we glimpse the horrors of War. Cue for a cavalcade of Teutonic Knights, Napoleonic grenadiers, Nazi storm-troopers and all those who have mistakenly attempted to invade Mother Russia. One can only wonder if Cukor and his beleaguered Anglo-American crew took this warning to heart.


Yet in the trinity of Hollywood divas, the briefest and most satisfying appearance comes from Ava Gardner. Her role is Luxury – an earthy but majestic good-time gal, seated on a white stallion and swathed in vibrant red. She takes an instant shine to the young boy and whisks him off to her palace, where a perpetual orgy is in full swing. Her guests include flamboyantly camp gay men, in suits of lilac and fuchsia silk. (In the dubbed Russian version, do they possibly translate her name as Western Decadence?) Once she gets home, Ava slips into a gown of scarlet and gold swirls, topped off with a spiky jewelled tiara. It bears an eerie resemblance to one of co-star Liz Taylor’s costumes from Boom! (1968). The boy gazes at her in rapt fascination and asks: “Which one of the luxuries are you?” With a splendidly lewd twinkle in her eye, Ava tells him: “That you’ll know once you grow a little bit older.” I take this as proof that he is destined to become a drag queen.

What an actual child might make of The Blue Bird is hard to say. It is by far the most outré piece of ‘family entertainment’ since The Wizard of Oz – but that film has been warping children’s minds for 75 years, until it has assumed the status of a classic. Is it not time we gave The Blue Bird a chance to do the same? It might even be advertised with an appropriate revolutionary slogan: “Camp film buffs of the world unite! You have nothing to lose but your taste!”

David Melville


11 Responses to “Forbidden Divas: All That Glitters”

  1. I saw it when it opened at Radio City Music Hall. Hardly an Art House or an Underground Movie emporium — which might have been more amenable to what Mr. Cukor was up to. I recall a report on the film in mid-shoot with Mr. Cukor declaiming delightedly “Here come my Metro girls!” as Taylor and Gardner walked onto the set.

    Patsy Kensit went on to appear in the almost-as-outre “Lady Oscar” (Jacques Demy’s Japanese movie about the court of Marie Antionette) and star in the less problematic “Absolute Beginners.”

  2. david wingrove Says:

    Cukor seemed to make his career out of how much outre gayness he could smuggle into a mainstream Hollywood movie and get the straight ticket-buying public to buy it. Only a few times in 50-odd years did he miscalculate or go too far…SYLVIA SCARLETT, THE BLUE BIRD, RICH AND FAMOUS. But those are all among my favourite Cukor movies!

  3. Hey, he directed Judy Garland in “A Star is Born.” IT DOESN’T GET ANY GAYER!

    But Mr. Cukor was a gentleman and a film scholar. He kept up on filmmaking developments world wide. That’s why he hosted a lunch for the foreign language Oscar nominees to which he invited all the old-times still breathing. At one of them he sat Almodovar right next to Billy Wilder! As you can well imagine Almodovar thought he’d died and gone to heaven. He was getting a lot of offers to come to Hollywood, but Billy quite wisely told him not to.

  4. Always felt this was cramped and overstuffed when I saw pan-and-scans, and the WS version still feels airless. Cukor isn’t a great filmer of dance — in his Hollywood days he always had brilliant dance directors to help out.

  5. Like Jack Cole for “Les Girls”

  6. And Let’s Make Love, yes. Cukor could do quite well with a song, though: there’s a nice one in Susan and God, and of course My Fair Lady.

  7. Read the play back in the 70s. It’s as if a mad poet tried to write a big children’s pants, spectacular effects vying with shovelfuls of symbols and allegories.

    Even with Hollywood sterilizing and formulas, there’s a substantial amount of madness in the 1940 version, beginning with an unsympathetic preteen Shirley Temple (her character has to learn goodness) and progressing to grandparents who come to life when remembered, Nigel Bruce embodying Luxury, a giant forest fire, and an epically squirmy sequence of boys and girls in micro-togas waiting to being born (all aware of their preordained fates, including infant death and adult martyrdom). All accompanied by human avatars of the family dog and cat.

    It’s lavishly produced, but largely barren of comedy or fun. It’s so off that it defies mockery.

    The 1918 silent hews to the play, so the two young protagonists are accompanied not only by Dog and Cat, but human versions of Milk, Water, Bread, Sugar and Fire. The allegorical significance of this mob is muddy at best, especially when sirens try to vamp the kitchen supplies. It feels like some kind of eccentric pageant, or an early Rene Clair vision. Almost a shock that it was a Hollywood studio product.

  8. I think the silent is the only version that “works” — ie, has a creepy beauty that seems to fit the writer’s intentions. The armies of the unborn sequence is particularly chilling in the talkie versions since all the little ambulatory foetuses are WHITE. Slightly more excusable in the Russian version where an ethnic mix my have been harder to procure but still yeucch.

  9. crumpets Patsy Kensit? well I’m sold David W!

  10. The fact that she was a child star, in lots of ads, explains her whole acting style. I always feel she’s trying to sell me cheese triangles.

  11. david wingrove Says:

    She is.

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