Bette Midler (16 page)

For Bette Midler, 1973 had been one hell of a year, and she was really turning into the legend she had hoped to become. However, with the prize within her grasp, superstardom began to seem as terrifying as it was exciting. “Now that it’s beginning to happen,” she explained at the time, “I really don’t think a lot about the theater or movie offers or about the money. I have a small four-room apartment in the Village in New York with a little garden, and I still ride the subway all the time. Marriage? I’m not going to get married. Who’s going to marry me?” (
8
).

By the end of the year, the whole country was talking about the divine Bette Midler. When
Newsweek
magazine put her on the cover of its December 17, 1973, issue, not even conservative Middle America could miss the arrival of the outrageous Miss M.

In the
Newsweek
piece, writer Charles Michener raved about Midler’s appeal. “In this age of pseudo-phenomena, Bette Midler is the genuine article—and a surprising one at that,” he proclaimed. “Few performers since the Beatles have been so heralded as the harbinger of a ‘new era’—or analyzed so seriously by the media. In March [1973], the normally sober
National Observer
called her, in a feature that top-headlined the front page, ‘Probably the brightest, hottest superstar to rise above the pop music horizon in the ’70s” (
4
).

In a decade remembered for its hedonistic excesses, Bette Midler was the wise-cracking new multimedia goddess of the 1970s. Her blend of old and new fashion and musical styles, her onstage excitement, and her bawdy persona made Miss M a breath of outrageously fresh air. In a world that craved the “next big thing,” Bette had suddenly become “it.”

When her fall 1973 tour came to an end on Broadway, the box-office grosses for the thirty-five-city extravaganza came to a dramatic $3 million.
Variety
, the weekly show-business Bible of a newspaper, described the Palace debut: “Klieg lights (despite the energy crisis), celebs, drag queens, and the Broadway opening night establishment were out in
force for the event.” Although her fans were going berserk with sheer delight, several critics took pause. The same piece in
Variety
noted that she was “less than fresh from an exhausting national tour” and that her “voice was strained, unable to sustain higher registers and sometimes breaking mid-note. She still lacks the sustained confidence and/or guidance to just stand there and sing, but when she manages it, as she did briefly on opening, she is a knockout. . . . Developing a wider range and protecting that tough vulnerability that is her own should ensure Midler the kind of lasting career her raw talent deserves” (
51
).

The
New York Daily News
proclaimed that she was “not divine . . . but Miss M is very special. . . . when the current is on and that oh-so-clever patter is off, she is very special, for her voice goes deep and her voice gets throaty, her voice goes folksy, and her voice goes bluesy and just about every which way you might choose a lyric to be caressed.” The same review also noted, “Her showstoppers came after she descended a stairway molded like a glass slipper silhouetted against a New York skyline backdrop . . . when she walked out on the Palace stage . . . the boys who worshiped Judy Garland, Bette Davis, and Tallulah Bankhead started cheering” (
52
). If the newly established 1970s “gay liberation” movement needed a prom queen diva to call its own, Bette Midler was assuredly this—hands down.

This tour de force of a tour had indeed left Bette Midler exhausted and exhilarated. But according to several insiders, her behind-the-scenes battles with Aaron Russo left her wanting to chuck the whole thing, to run away and hide. For the most part, that is exactly what she did in 1974. After working her butt off for the entirety of 1973, the next year she made only two or three major public appearances and then disappeared from sight.

Bette Midler’s collection of accolades, honors, and awards had begun in April of 1973 when gay-slanted
After Dark
magazine had awarded her its Entertainer of the Year prize, the Ruby Award. But it was in 1974 that she was to garner two of the biggest awards in the business: the Grammy and the Tony.

The Grammy Awards show was telecast in the beginning of March 1974. In her act Bette always poked fun at performers she didn’t like or whose public personas were diametrically opposed to her own flamboyantly liberal self-image. And conservative Karen Carpenter was one of the ones she had the most fun ridiculing. Bette used to say onstage: “Karen Carpenter is so clean, you could run your finger down her and
she would squeak!” When Bette Midler won the “Best New Artist” Grammy Award, who should present her with the statuette on national television but Karen and Richard Carpenter! Smiling for the cameras that night, Bette stood between the brother-and-sister singing team and announced, “Isn’t that a kick? Me getting the award from Karen Carpenter. It’s a wonder she didn’t hit me over the head with it!” (
25
).

That spring, Bette was given a special Tony Award for her one-woman show at the Palace Theater. This time around, the award was presented to her by someone who had been very instrumental in creating the legend of Bette Midler: Johnny Carson. That evening was one of the happiest events of her career.

Whenever people suddenly hit it big, their past seems to come back to haunt them. This also happened to Bette Midler, in the form of a low-budget film she had participated in at a time when she was broke and desperately needed the cash. Filmed in 16mm in 1971, the project, a religious satire about the birth of Christ, was originally entitled
The Greatest Story Overtold
. Bette was paid $250 to appear for twelve minutes of screen time as . . . are you ready for this? . . . the Virgin Mary! Talk about casting against type!

When Bette suddenly hit it big, the film’s director and producer, Peter Alexander (McWilliams), sensed a quick cash-in. After Alexander invested an additional $40,000 to transfer the film to projection-standard 35mm film stock, it was announced that Bette Midler’s film debut was going to open at the Festival Theater in New York City under the advertised title “Bette Midler in
The Divine Mr. J.”
Aaron Russo did what he could to stop the film from opening, but failed. Since the advertising announced that the film starred Bette, Russo had people outside the theater handing out leaflets that carried a statement from Midler disavowing the project. The leaflets read: “In my opinion the movie is dreadful. However, I did it and there’s nothing I can do about it except advise you of the true facts. If you still wish to see me in the film,
c’est la vie
.”

Although its critics felt that the film was a cheaply produced experiment, it was not without a sense of humor. Just before the Immaculate Conception, Bette is seen singing “I’ve Got a Date with an Angel.” In another scene, looking obviously pregnant with the Christ child, Bette swings into “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas.” Although Russo was unable to stop the screening of the film, he succeeded in
having the theater marquee title simply changed to
The Divine Mr. J
., to further distance the project from Bette.

During 1974, two of Bette’s former associates were busily attempting to launch their own careers, apart from Midler. Their association with her was so strong that both Melissa Manchester and Barry Manilow had to work twice as hard to establish their own identities.

According to Melissa, “When I first went solo, there was a tremendous amount of comparison, and interviews were mainly about Bette, which was very difficult to handle on any level. I don’t like that. But that was just in the beginning, and it was understandable. It’s always easier for people to compare you to someone else than to try to find something authentic or original. I am quite sure that there were lots of traits left over—it’s difficult not to have them—but then, hopefully, after the years you come into your own” (
53
).

Manilow, however, took the momentum from his work with Bette in 1973 and used it to launch his own very successful career. In fact, when he began his first solo tour in 1974, he brought the Harlettes along with him as his backup singers. “I had them for my first tour,” he explained. “They were out of work, and I knew them and they still knew my material. So I took them along with me. But when I came back from my first six months on the road, I decided I would get my own girls, because it was Bette’s Harlettes. It’s Bette’s girls, it’s not my girls. You know, even though I had them doing different things, it was still Bette’s Harlettes. So I figured as long as I had decided on that type of group for Bette, I decided on the same type of group for me. So I hired three different girls” (
50
).

“I’m really not working with her anymore,” he emphatically announced in 1975. “I’m her friend, you know, we hang out together, but I’m really not involved in that part of her life anymore. Eventually, I’m sure we’ll get back together again. I mean, there’s just no time. Frankly, I’d love to go back and get it out for her, to go back on the road with her would be a lot of laughs, but there’s just no time. I don’t know, in a couple of years we’ll wind up with ‘Bette and Barry’—in a tasteful BOXING RING!” he snidely quipped (
50
).

Meanwhile, in the Midler camp, the headlines could have read: “Diva goes into Seclusion . . . Nervous Breakdown Suspected.” The negotiations with ABC-TV turned into one big mess, and her previously announced special was “on hold.” Everything was happening too fast. Her fights with Aaron, whose jealousy of everyone around her was becoming
unbearable, left her worn out and in desperate need of a rest. And so Bette Midler literally fled the country in a fit of soul-searching depression.

“I was so battered emotionally and physically that I thought I WOULD break down!” she explained. “I’d been in four or five cities a week with the same people who would always come to me with their problems. I had no one to talk to. Aaron and I had one of our famous battles.” And so it was off to France to seclude herself in a hotel for several months. “I went to Paris, I swam, I read, I wrote, and watched TV. I had a mad, torrid love affair with a Frenchman. I really liked him for about two days, and then he held me captive” (
8
).

“Where was I? I was sitting around getting very chubby for a year!” she later disclosed, laughing. “I was so bruised and battered and I needed to rest. So I went to Paris, France, to become very elegant and I failed
mi-ser-a-bly!
You know, I thought I spoke French. Then I got there and I realized I didn’t. But I ate my brains out!” (
38
).

In between croissants and other high-calorie French delicacies, Bette pondered the past few years. “I was on the way up, young and innocent,” she illuminated philosophically, “and I didn’t know that when you’re on top, people took it upon themselves to shove you down. I thought I would be beloved. I thought they would love it for me. But they throw you out like yesterday’s news. I didn’t know that, really. I couldn’t understand it either. I feel I’m generally generous, especially in terms of my performing. I would love it for someone else. [It] scared the hell out of me. I think in a roundabout way, that’s why I took the time off. I needed a respite from the drive. After a while you get worn out. I’m not going to compare [myself with Greta] Garbo, but I think she made the right decision” (
54
). Like the equally divine Greta Garbo, did Bette really
“vant
to be alone”? Well, in reality—only long enough to reflect on what she had just accomplished and where she wanted to go with it.

Her view of the whole fame game had truly changed now that she had attained it. Originally, she had taken the stance that “I just try to have a good time and let the audience in on a secret. It’s like giving a party and I am the
Grande Hostesse
. I always wanted to be Gertrude Stein and have a salon” (
26
). Suddenly, that innocent version of “everything is lovely” disappeared, and she was able to see show business for what it was.

Barry Manilow had quit working for her to concentrate on his own
career, and several critics who originally loved her were now disparaging her. When her first album came out,
Rolling Stone
magazine gave her a glowing review. When her second album was released and her Palace engagement was over, the same magazine chewed her up alive. The reviewer, Jon Laudau, claimed the album “contains the artifacts of style without nuance, content, or intelligence” and further denounced it by saying that “Bette Midler’s recorded performance of ‘I Shall Be Released’ is the worst performance of a Bob Dylan song I have ever heard” (
55
). That particular review was quite upsetting to her, according to several of her close friends.

When Bette returned from Paris at the end of the summer, she had had time to think and was beginning to adjust her perspective. “I don’t really pay too much attention to the signs of success,” she explained, “the people screaming. I don’t want to be caught up in it. It’s very dangerous to believe all the things they say about you. You can’t be swept off your feet by it because it’s not the truth, it’s not everyday life. It doesn’t have anything to do with being a human being. It has to do with being above the ordinary mortal. Real life is not like that” (
8
).