"Liz"

February 27, 1932 – March 23, 2011. Never forgotten and, therefore, not truly gone

   In the past year alone, all due to the constancy and magic of Turner Classic movies, I have watched Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Butterfield 8 and The VIPs at least twice each. And there was a particular luminescent smoulder belonging to one Elizabeth Taylor that made many of the moments in these films as sexy and yet as dignified as they come. Often, I wondered if her work should be accompanied by a heatstroke warning

    As a child, I initially perceived Ms. Taylor in two states - one as a rather glamorous actress that elicited romance-tinged reminiscences from my parents and the other as a rather glamorous actress that was best friends with my hero, Michael Jackson. But I was already aware that this other indelible star rather liked surrounding himself with the best of the then-living icons: we should all be so fortunate to learn at the feet of Diana Ross, sing tributes to Sammy Davis Jr., or be called on by Fred Astaire for moonwalk lessons  

"Richard! Will you stop drinking and come to bed this minute! Your voice is ricocheting all over this hotel."

   Even after the multitudinous marriages, the faded latter-day career that was sustained primarily by branded perfumes and the cascade of human frailty that has finally claimed her, damn if she didn't continue to command with her presence whilst attending to business. And she never quite seemed to shed a singular, and rather unusual quality: that of being the screen goddess next door; a curiously approachable beauty who lived and looked for all the world like one of its royals, but possessed of a humour that the truly down to earth seem to use best. Between this, her accents and her singular beauty, it was almost too difficult to perceive her as British  

   She also deserves my admiration for affecting the vocal middle ground between Olive Oyl and Betty Boop. Vale, Dame Elizabeth Taylor: never forgotten, not truly gone and missed by more than a great many. Thank you