by Lorna Luft
With the script, cast, and crew ready to go and with Streisand sporting a new, curly haircut, courtesy of Peters, filming on A Star Is Born commenced on February 2, 1976, at the Warner Bros. studios in Burbank (where the Garland film had been made) and nearby locations. From the first day of shooting, tensions flared between Streisand and Peters and director Pierson and, at times, between Streisand and Peters. Much like Sid Luft, Peters was inexperienced and in a bit over his head. Once word got out about discord on the set, the press became like vultures, exploiting, exaggerating, and even inventing negative pieces of gossip aimed at Streisand and the “hairdresser” producer.
Streisand’s issues with Pierson were very personal, and her mistrust in him began on the very first day of filming. The night before, she and Pierson worked closely with Surtees on blocking the camera setups for the following day. When Streisand arrived on set in the morning, she discovered that Pierson had, without telling her, changed most of what they had agreed upon. This rattled and angered her. She and Pierson had agreed to be collaborators; feelings of betrayal began to grow. Thus began a struggle of creative control that would last until the film premiered in December. Streisand, always instinctive and creative, definitely had her opinions. As executive producer, she often clashed with Pierson’s vision (or lack thereof) and began wielding her newfound power. “I never had the power before,” Streisand said at the time. “If I did, some of my movies would have been better. When I record an album I have complete artistic freedom. But when I’ve made movies in the past, I haven’t had the same freedom. The director would say one thing, and although I might disagree, I always gave in, you know, him being the director and all. And, of course, I had no say in the editing or anything like that. In this movie, I’m in control.”12 At one point during filming, getting angry at the constant tension between Streisand and Pierson, Kris Kristofferson exploded, “You two have to get your shit together! I don’t care which of you wins, but this way, with two commanders, one sayin’ retreat, the other advance… it’s demoralizing the crew and puttin’ me into catatonia!”13
The greatest logistical challenge facing the production was the huge outdoor concert set piece at Arizona State University’s Sun Devil Stadium, in the city of Tempe. For a sense of authenticity on a grand scale, the studio recruited rock entrepreneur Bill Graham to produce, organize, and stage a mammoth rock concert for Pierson and his crew to shoot key scenes around. In a special Warner Bros. press release, Peters boasted, “Although this full day event is being arranged to draw crowds for the filming of our film, the musical end of it won’t be just a few songs by each group, but a complete concert headlining Peter Frampton, Santana, Montrose, Graham Central Station, the L.A. Jets, and a lot of surprises. We’re charging a nominal $3.50 admission to offset part of the cost of the day, but giving everybody attending an event worth two or three times that much.”14 An enthusiastic crowd of 47,000 extras cheered and reacted on cue and gave the film a key element of realism.
Upon completion of filming, the studio gave Pierson six weeks to finish his first cut of the film and then hold a screening of his version, with Streisand, Peters, and studio executives in attendance. After the screening, as Pierson recalled, “Barbra kisses me, and thanks me. It feels, somehow, like a good-bye kiss.”15 The following day, the production informed Pierson that Streisand was exercising her right of final cut and moving the editing to her Malibu home, where she has had installed all the required postproduction editing equipment. Streisand assembled a small crew of technicians who worked around the clock with her to finish the film before its world premiere on December 18, 1976, at the Village Theatre in Westwood, California.
Jon Peters and Barbra Streisand arrive at the world premiere of A Star Is Born at the Village Theatre, Westwood, California, on December 18, 1976. The invitation asked that guests dress all in white or shades of gray. The new Hollywood “power couple” arrived dressed in black from head to toe.
Tensions and raw nerves were high the day of the opening. That night, klieg lights illuminated the sky over Westwood as reporters, photographers, and fans lined the streets and a long stream of limousines dropped off the Hollywood elites into the constant pop of flashbulbs. The invitations for the premiere announced “A Spectacular Night in White” and requested that all guests wear white or shades of gray. The crowd cheered as Streisand made her way into the theater wearing a black velvet dress and an antique cape with a tall fur collar. The amount of star power paled in comparison to the turnout for Garland’s 1954 premiere, which was attended by over 250 stars. Along with costar Kristofferson (arriving in a white tuxedo), other celebrity guests on this night included Ryan O’Neal, Peter Bogdanovich, Helen Reddy, William Wyler, and George Cukor. Overall, the evening was a triumph for Streisand and Peters. Their film was a hit with the premiere audience and would soon become an even bigger smash with moviegoers across the country when it was released on Christmas Day.
Yet, the press greeted A Star Is Born largely with negative reviews. In the Los Angeles Times, Charles Champlin began his column lauding Streisand as “a distinctive personality, an expert comedienne, and an effective dramatic actress. Her voice is a glorious instrument…” He went on to write, “The disappointment—and it is—is that she and producer Jon Peters evidently chose not to share the creative responsibilities more widely. Too few cooks can spoil a broth, too.”16 Vincent Canby in the New York Times was more specific, noting that Streisand “never plays to or with the other actors. She does A Star Is Born as a solo turn. Everyone else is a backup musician, which is okay when she’s belting out a lyric, but distinctly odd when other actors come into the same frame.”17 Pauline Kael, writing for the New Yorker, remarked, “The picture has had the worst advance press I can recall (with the possible exceptions of Cleopatra and the 1954 A Star Is Born).” Kael described the songs as “often terribly slow and slurpy, with flight-of-fancy lyrics; they’re disappointing throughout, with orchestrations that are fake gospel, fake soul, fake disco, or fake something else.” She summed up her experience viewing the film observing, “Streisand has more talent than she knows what to do with, and the heart of a lion. But she’s made a movie about the unassuming, unaffected person she wants us to think she is, and the image is so truthless she can’t play it.”18
Their film was a hit with the premiere audience and would soon become an even bigger smash with moviegoers across the country when it was released on Christmas Day.
Despite the poor reaction from the press, audiences across the country braved the frigid winter weather and flocked to see the film, making it one of the biggest moneymaking films of the year. With a domestic revenue of over $80 million, it became Streisand’s most successful film to date. Audiences had a passionate connection to the film, a connection that went far beyond Streisand’s loyal fan base. The film drew in a wide range of demographics; young and old alike took to the story and music. This, along with the international success of both the film and the soundtrack album, elevated Streisand to superstar status in the film industry. She was finally vindicated after the constant vitriol from the press.
The 1976 remake of A Star Is Born is, for the most part, a remake in name only. It has more disparities than similarities to Judy Garland’s film. The basic premise is intact—a fading male star meets by happenstance a younger, up-and-coming, unknown female and helps make her a “star.” Although still set in Los Angeles, the remake shifts its scenario from the glossy fantasy world of motion pictures during the era of the studio system to the sordid, volatile, drug-infused world of 1970s rock music. The world presented in the 1954 version is clean, bright, uncluttered and unthreatening. While the biggest crutch of Norman Maine was alcohol, John Norman Howard goes far beyond that with the inclusion of marijuana, cocaine, and sexual infidelities.
The character of Esther as embodied by Judy Garland is an innocent, somewhat naive young lady being thrust into a world that she is ill prepared to combat. Although demure, she possesses a power and an inner stre
ngth that grows as the story progresses. But this Esther also is a product of the 1950s and, as written, is a codependent who, despite being successful as a performer, feels herself a failure in her personal life because she can’t “save” her man. While there are moments when she is fully aware of her husband’s self-destruction, like many women of the time, she feels powerless to rescue him as she doesn’t have the wherewithal to help.
The ultimate triumph for Barbra Streisand, pictured with Paul Williams, was winning the Academy Award for Best Original Song for composing the music for “Evergreen (Love Theme from A Star Is Born)” with lyrics by Williams.
Streisand’s Esther is a much more worldly woman, a product of the 1970s and women’s liberation. She is a divorcée who finds contentment in herself and her aloneness and doesn’t need a man to fulfill her emotionally or physically. She is a feminist, opinionated and with firm ideas. She knows where she’s going and what she wants out of life. She wears men’s suits several times in the film and she’s the one who proposes marriage to John Norman Howard. Thus, she is far less vulnerable than previous Esthers. In his 2016 book-length critical essay, Barbra Streisand: Redefining Beauty, Femininity, and Power, Neal Gabler provides a succinct and perceptive overview of Streisand’s film. Gabler views it less as a remake of A Star Is Born and more as a remake of Streisand’s own Funny Girl, “… with the same Streisand conflations, only modernized to accommodate the new world of rock and roll, along with the new attitudes of feminism and the new attitudes toward romance of Streisand herself.”19
The single release of “Evergreen (Love Theme from A Star Is Born)” and the full soundtrack album succeeded far beyond even Streisand’s imagination. The album spent six weeks in the #1 position on Billboard’s Top 200 LP chart, selling over 15 million copies worldwide. “Evergreen” went on to win Grammy awards as Song of the Year and Best Pop Vocal Performance, Female.
The awards season in 1977 brought many more accolades to Streisand’s A Star Is Born. It won five Golden Globes, including Best Actress (Musical or Comedy) and Best Original Song. While Streisand was not nominated for an Oscar as Best Actress, the film did receive four Academy Award nominations: for Cinematography, Music (Original Song Score), Music (Original Song), and Sound. Streisand’s Academy Award win for “Evergreen” was a personal triumph, and the making of her Star Is Born ultimately was the opposite of Garland’s experience. Jon Peters went on to become a prolific film producer. Among his credits is producer of Bradley Cooper’s A Star Is Born (2018).
One-sheet poster for the 1983 reconstruction of A Star Is Born (1954), designed by illustrator Richard Amsel.
Chapter Four
A STAR IS REBORN
MY MOTHER’S FUNERAL SERVICE WAS HELD IN NEW YORK CITY ON FRIDAY, June 27, 1969. A crowd of over 22,000 filed past her open casket to pay their respects to Judy Garland the performer, while those of us who knew her said a tearful good-bye to Judy the woman. Frank E. Campbell’s Funeral Chapel had not experienced such an outpouring of public mourning since Rudolph Valentino’s memorial back in 1926.
In the early morning of Saturday, June 28, a group of drag queens and their friends gathered at the Stonewall Inn, a gay bar in the West Village of Manhattan. Whether shock or grief had anything to do with it, these men and women spontaneously retaliated when a police raid—the latest among many—forced them into the street and closed the bar, where they had every right to be. They stood their ground against the astonished cops, who assumed the crowd would be agitated, but docile—sheep in women’s clothing. But this final straw of police brutality had taken its toll. The crowd battled back. Stories vary, but the uprising carried on the next night, and the next. The rebellion was reported nationwide, the newspaper headlines and photographs documenting the conflict as a milestone for civil rights.
A portrait of me at the time of my debut at the London Palladium, 1976. A plaque and a photo of Mama from A Star Is Born are in the background. I feel Mama is always at my shoulder.
My mother’s funeral and the Stonewall Uprising may be only circumstantially related, but the two events are often connected. As a remarkable moment in history that is linked to my family, we carry this connection with pride. (I was privileged to make my first visit to Stonewall in 2016 and am proud to be on the advisory committee of the nonprofit organization Stonewall Initiative Gives Back.) I know that my mother would have said that everybody at Stonewall did the right thing: They stood up for themselves. The gay community fought back against years of abuse just at the moment when they lost their legendary icon. My mother raised me to give back and not to simply take. If my mother was a spark in the Stonewall Uprising, then I want to be a part of that legacy as a tribute to her and the people who love her.
Since her death, the gay community has been instrumental in keeping my mother’s star image, her movies, and her music, alive and thriving well into the twenty-first century. Her gay following was commented upon as early as the appearance of the Judy Garland cult, which dates back to the autumn of 1950 and began in earnest with her engagement at the Palace Theatre in New York in 1951. Around this time, a new awareness and admiration was blossoming for the adult Judy onstage; she was no longer the plucky teenager or the winsome young woman she had been on the screen. She had grown into the status of “living legend”—a distinction few performers ever achieve. Further, her persona was tinged with a new vulnerability and accessibility as a result of the recent headlines of her humiliating dismissal from MGM and her suicide attempt. In a period when gay men were, to put it mildly, repressed, many formed a strong attachment to Judy Garland.
Ten years later, at Carnegie Hall, Mama felt and acknowledged the intensity of her impact on audiences and the emotional connection that was established between her and the gay men who made up the better part of the crowd. I know because I was there and saw it for myself. My mother’s way with a song, her intimate improvisations, called out to the “Friends of Dorothy,” a triple-sided designation: a calling card, an endearment, or a slander. Judy Garland’s most famous screen character—Dorothy of The Wizard of Oz—became slang for a gay man. It’s no coincidence that the rainbow flag—a symbol of the lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender social movement—suggests “Over the Rainbow.” Gays were attracted to Mama’s rainbow of characteristics: her vibrancy, her humor, her insecurity, her vulnerability, and her self-consciousness. She played the asexual friend to Mickey Rooney in her early MGM days, as well as Dorothy Gale, the lonely and misunderstood young woman. Mama’s most well-known songs exploit a certain lonesome solitude, expressing an inner longing: “Over the Rainbow” and “The Man That Got Away” are perfect examples. The former finds her yearning for a place happier and more colorful than the drab world she inhabits, the latter has her yearning for a love that can never be.
My mother’s way with a song, her intimate improvisations, called out to the “Friends of Dorothy,” a triple-sided designation: a calling card, an endearment, or a slander.
Especially in the film A Star Is Born, Mama was embraced by gay men and elevated to an integral part of their culture’s iconography. Indeed, Mart Crowley’s groundbreaking 1968 play The Boys in the Band, which became a famous gay film in 1970, drew its title from Norman Maine’s line of encouragement to Esther before her screen test: “You’re singing for yourself and the boys in the band.” This phenomenon is even the subject of scholarly examination. In her 1992 essay “The Logic of Alternative Readings: A Star Is Born,” Janet Staiger explores the relevant published material on the subject. Staiger considers how my mother’s suffering, her theatricality, her instability, her intensity, her problems with her appearance, her choices in men, and her somewhat androgynous look in A Star Is Born, invite comparison between my mother and the men who elevated her as an early gay icon. The essay also examines how my mother’s private life—rather than the life of the fictional character of Esther Blodgett/Vicki Lester—informs her gay fans’ reaction to the movie.1
My mother—always forward-thinking
—embraced her entire audience no matter what race, religion, or sexual orientation. She loved everyone. My mother even knew and loved Republicans, liberal as she was. When I appeared with my mother at that legendary last engagement at the Palace in 1967, the theater was always a sell-out and drew a diverse audience. Mama’s gay fans were vocal and passionate, but they were not the overwhelming majority. Child fans were an important part of her story, too. They saw her on television in The Wizard of Oz and became instant admirers of the film and Judy Garland. This continues today. People come up to me all the time with their children and say how much they love Mama as Dorothy. My grandchildren call me “GG” and their great-grandmother “Triple G.” My granddaughter, Jordan, told me in early autumn 2017, “I’m dressing as Triple G for Halloween!”
Mama soldiered on from crisis to crisis, often self-inflicted. The loyal “boys” couldn’t save her, however, no matter how much love they held in reserve for her. She was over the rainbow before they knew it. Their loneliness and sense of otherness matched hers, from Dorothy Gale to Esther Blodgett to “the lady onstage,” as Peter Allen affectionately wrote as a tribute to my mother many years after her death. Peter married my sister, Liza, in 1967, so he was my mother’s son-in-law. (Liza and Peter divorced in 1974.) “Quiet please, there’s a lady onstage,” Peter sang. “She may not be the latest rage/But she’s singing and she means it.”
