So there I was...
I was idly musing on my afternoon walk, going along the neighbor's farm acreage, giggling like a madman thinking of myself trying to sound like a knock-off Cher, doing my own version of Gypsies Tramps And Thieves("He was 16, I was 21, and Poppa woulda shot him if he knew what he'd done...")
So we have those two lovely old movie channels on the pay-tv. I'm looking forward to the Harry Belafonte tribute on one of them, looking forward to another viewing of Carmen, and The World, The Flesh And The Devil. With Carmen, its definitely DVR time, in the favorites directory, the movie that asks how I could bring a black woman home("Louie was whiter than white..."), dog will hunt, and that one just unrestrained ball lightning in her performance.
Some botchagaloo named Gassman, but not the reason de'tre: that was young Elizabeth Taylor, sitting and waiting as he fiddled. He'd went straight from the conservatory to headlining as a virtuoso. It reminded me, his dedication, of Roman Emperor Nero of antiquity, sawing the Worry Stick as the city was being destroyed.
"We picked up a stranger south of Mobile..."
Anyway, Liz Taylor's father was madly rich, and rich enough to be understanding and patient, unlike some of these guys. She had indignation that he didn't protest about her having all of her freedoms already, that he was too free with her, and his wanting her at the dinner table, in light of her romantic love waiting, was too much for her; she didn't appreciate the old man. Meanwhile, the botchagaloo, leaving her sitting, for afternoons or whole weeks as he practiced intently on his fiddle, this Izhak Perlman or whoever, this Gassman, Vittorio Gassman, essentially a nobody in the Free World.
It just wasn't that good; cross purposes and all notwithstanding. 2 and a half stars, if I read that right. Elizabeth Taylor cashing a check. She got that paper, and might have got some free "rich girl" wardrobe.