“I'm still ahead by three."—Elizabeth Taylor, in a letter to Joan Collins after the latter’s fourth divorce, quoted in Rex Reed, “Wine and Dynasty: Joan Collins at Feinstein’s,” The New York Observer, November 29, 2010
Back in her youth, Joan Collins won a dubious nickname: “The Poor Man’s Elizabeth Taylor.” They were both what a friend of mine (and he knows who he is!) has termed DHBBs (i.e., “Dark-Haired British Beauties”), and were only two years apart in age. But it was Taylor who got the major studio offer and pictures—first the MGM contract, then Father of the Bride, Giant, Raintree County, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof—not to mention Oscars (Butterfield 8, Who‘s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?) and the first million-dollar contract for a film (Cleopatra)--while Collins became The Queen of the B’s.
Even in her love life, Collins was trumped by her contemporary from across the ocean. In the late 1950s, after she had barely established a foothold in Hollywood, Collins went through such a staggering spree of lovers (including a reported 14 in one fortnight) that she won the industry nickname “The British Open.”
But for the newspapers, nothing could compare with Taylor breaking up the marriage of America’s then-sweethearts, Debbie Reynolds and Eddie Fisher—unless it was Taylor embarking on a tempestuous affair on the set of Cleopatra with Richard Burton, leaving both their spouses (now including Fisher) behind.
As the two actresses aged, they looked elsewhere to make their marks. For Taylor, it was the stage (The Little Foxes and Private Lives, the latter with Burton, now her ex), as well as AIDS activism. Collins finally found a sphere where she couldn’t be one-upped (or, in the case of divorces, three-upped) by Taylor: television, where Dynasty brought her the mega-stardom that had long eluded her.
Collins became notorious, in her Dynasty days, for being difficult. But I find humor, particularly at one’s own expense, to be a significant saving grace, and in her new one-woman show at Feinstein's she relates Taylor's letter (quoted above). In the end, neither lady has to take a back seat to the other in the survival technique of laughing at one's self.
Back in her youth, Joan Collins won a dubious nickname: “The Poor Man’s Elizabeth Taylor.” They were both what a friend of mine (and he knows who he is!) has termed DHBBs (i.e., “Dark-Haired British Beauties”), and were only two years apart in age. But it was Taylor who got the major studio offer and pictures—first the MGM contract, then Father of the Bride, Giant, Raintree County, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof—not to mention Oscars (Butterfield 8, Who‘s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?) and the first million-dollar contract for a film (Cleopatra)--while Collins became The Queen of the B’s.
Even in her love life, Collins was trumped by her contemporary from across the ocean. In the late 1950s, after she had barely established a foothold in Hollywood, Collins went through such a staggering spree of lovers (including a reported 14 in one fortnight) that she won the industry nickname “The British Open.”
But for the newspapers, nothing could compare with Taylor breaking up the marriage of America’s then-sweethearts, Debbie Reynolds and Eddie Fisher—unless it was Taylor embarking on a tempestuous affair on the set of Cleopatra with Richard Burton, leaving both their spouses (now including Fisher) behind.
As the two actresses aged, they looked elsewhere to make their marks. For Taylor, it was the stage (The Little Foxes and Private Lives, the latter with Burton, now her ex), as well as AIDS activism. Collins finally found a sphere where she couldn’t be one-upped (or, in the case of divorces, three-upped) by Taylor: television, where Dynasty brought her the mega-stardom that had long eluded her.
Collins became notorious, in her Dynasty days, for being difficult. But I find humor, particularly at one’s own expense, to be a significant saving grace, and in her new one-woman show at Feinstein's she relates Taylor's letter (quoted above). In the end, neither lady has to take a back seat to the other in the survival technique of laughing at one's self.
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