Casual notes on show-biz books, memoirs and studies, dust gatherers, and hot off the presses.
Book Review by Samuel L. Leiter . . . .
Barbra Streisand. My Name Is Barbra (New York: Viking, 2023). 970pp.
23rd Edition.
Late in her deeply heartfelt, must-read autobiography, My Name Is Barbra, Barbra Streisand recalls the blow of learning that Jackie Kennedy had died. “I don’t mean to suggest that we were close,” she writes, “I only felt as if I knew her, just like the rest of the world did, simply because she had been a public figure for so long” (p. 821). That basically describes how I feel about Streisand (1942- ), one of the most honored performing artists in history. I never actually met her, but I feel like I know her, since she’s been a part of my life for over 60 years, from 1963, in fact. Reading her book only made me feel like I know her better
Let me explain. In August 1962, I moved from Brooklyn to Honolulu to begin grad school at the University of Hawaii. In February 1963, my Brooklyn girlfriend, Marcia, flew out to Hawaii to marry me. That same month, the 20-year-old Streisand’s first album, “The Barbra Streisand Album,” came out and Marcia insisted we buy it. Marcia, you see, had been in the same acting class, taught by Allan Miller, as Streisand.
Marcia, like Streisand, a Jewish girl from Brooklyn, had been fascinated by her charismatic presence and her budding career as a singer at a club called the Bon Soir. Not long afterward, in March 1962, Streisand made a stunning debut in an otherwise so-so musical, I Can Get it for You Wholesale, stealing the show in the secondary role of a secretary named Miss Marmelstein.
Marcia told me of Streisand’s various idiosyncrasies, such as her fondness for thrift shop vintage clothing and gold-tipped, black cigarettes. Of course, most such quirks are now part of the Streisand legend, although I’d like to ask the singer about the cigarettes Marcia so clearly remembers; in her book, Streisand says she stopped smoking when she was 12.
By the time I finished my MFA, in June 1964, Streisand had produced two more albums, one or the other of which always seemed to be playing in our apartment. She had also become a certified Broadway star, at 21, in Funny Girl, which opened in March 1964. After Marcia and I moved back to Brooklyn we remained devoted Streisand fans—Marcia especially—buying all her albums year after year.
Marcia and I both grew up in a neighborhood 15 minutes from where Streisand was raised in Flatbush; a simple trolley ride on Church Avenue could take you to her high school, Erasmus Hall, which a friend named Jane, who lived on Marcia’s block, attended at the same time (Marcia attended Wingate; I went to Tilden). We went to the same beach and movie theaters as Streisand, and it’s not unlikely that, had she continued her formal education, she would have studied theater with us at nearby Brooklyn College.
In one way or another, Barbra Streisand remained a part of our lives. Over the years, a number of biographies of her were published, although she has little complimentary to say about them. It must be noted, however, that, while Streisand’s own book, whose nearly 1,000 pages weigh in (in the hardback version) at a little more than three pounds, is quite comprehensive, the earlier books—regardless of their biases or occasional misinformation—contain valuable data for which she has no room or that she chooses to ignore. And, despite the careful research she obviously did for her book—10 years in the writing!—the lack of an index for a work with so many names and titles is a serious flaw. Similarly, a thorough listing of her stage, film, TV, and musical achievements would have been helpful.
Still, for a memoir of such magnitude, My Name is Barbra is compulsively readable, expanding my admiration for its writer to the nth degree. By the time I finished I’d stuck so many Post-It notes on its pages it probably added ounces to its weight. Barbra Streisand has accomplished so much in so many areas you’d need at least another 1,000 pages to do them justice.
Known as arguably the greatest pop singer of her generation, Streisand originally focused on her acting, her musical success coming almost by surprise. She thought of herself as an actress who sings. She did, of course, gain acknowledgment of her considerable acting skills (which partly explains why her songs are so effective), although she did only two Broadway shows before focusing on films; she hated repeating the same shows night after night. She recorded countless successful albums, but, after forgetting her lyrics at a major outdoor concert, shied away from live performances as much as possible, although those she gave—often to raise money for charitable purposes—broke all kinds of records for their crowds.
Perhaps her proudest accomplishments were as a film director, often for films, like Yentl, in which she played a leading role. She remains a serious philanthropist, with her own foundation, endowing academic and health-related institutions, and serves as a fearsome activist for politically liberal causes, including those supporting LGBTQ and feminist issues. She also has advocated for Jewish causes (she writes of her close friendships with Israeli leaders Shimon Peres, whom she adored, and Yitzhak Rabin), and was an outspoken backer of Democratic political candidates, like Bill and Hillary Clinton.
Not only were the Clintons close friends, but the former’s mother, Virginia, practically became a surrogate mother to Streisand. Her book details the complicated relationship she had with her real mother, a woman who found it difficult to express maternal love. A theme running through the book concerns the star’s struggle to earn her self-centered mother’s approval, as well as to fill the emotional gap left by the early death of her father, whose memory she reveres. This contrasts with the disdain she reveals for her stepfather, Louis Kind, father of her half-sister, singer Roslyn Kind, about whom one wishes the book had more to say.
Streisand, a fashionista, closely describes various ensembles she’s worn over the years in surprising detail (many designed by her close friend, Donna Karan), while also writing about her tastes in home decorating, about which she published a book, and which talent her various homes allowed her to demonstrate. But for all the financial benefits of fame, which gave her the freedom to spend great sums on decorating, including the purchase of masterpieces by artistic geniuses like Klimt and Modigliani, she also reveals great ambivalence about the price that fame exacted, especially with its consequent loss of privacy.
Essentially a homebody who dislikes getting dressed up for formal occasions (she hates high heels), she’d rather lounge at home by her fireside, surrounded by books, with her pet dogs and her husband, eating coffee ice cream.
It’s not news that following her short-lived, youthful marriage to Elliot Gould (father of her son, Jason Gould), with whom she remained on friendly terms, she had affairs with many attractive men (good teeth were a prerequisite), from movie stars to politicians to tennis champions, as well as with less-than-household names. She writes about many of them, which many fans will appreciate, especially when their names are Newley, Trudeau, Brando, Johnson, and Beatty. These flings ended when she married handsome actor James Brolin in 1998, a bond now in its 25th year.
Readers will relish such personal revelations, just as they will reading (or hearing on the 45-hour audio version) Streisand discuss her personal issues, such as her performance insecurities, her fight to gain respect for women movie directors (reminiscent of that experienced by Elaine May at the same time, although she doesn’t mention it), and her preoccupation with her looks. Knowing how striking, and well-groomed, Streisand’s unusual features were during her salad days, it’s difficult to understand why some powerful men in the entertainment industry (not to mention certain critics) considered her unattractive, at least for show business purposes. It did happen, however, and, despite gorgeous celebrities thinking her beautiful and sexy, she struggled for years to deal with insecurities about her asymmetrical looks, including being obsessed with which of her facial sides photographed better. And I doubt whether even Cyrano de Bergerac’s nose has inspired more commentary than Streisand’s on her own iconic schnoz.
Such personal matters aside, My Name Is Barbra offers numerous dazzling insights into Streisand’s artistic process as she explains, in considerable detail yet always compellingly, how certain songs were created, how major albums were crafted, how her films were directed, and so on. She’s not shy about criticizing those colleagues who did not appreciate her contributions, which she often ascribes to a lack of respect for women in power.
It’s clear that Streisand’s renowned perfectionism was based in knowledge acquired through an unquenchable desire to learn all there is to know about the technical aspects of the various technical crafts—like lighting, costuming, and cinematography—she absorbed. At the same time, her comments, even when expressed in self-deprecating terms, on a wide range of topics, including many outside the entertainment matrix, reveal someone who seems nothing short of a genius.
I can only hint at the treasures Streisand fans will find in her abundantly detailed autobiography, although there are some things I wish she hadn’t overlooked or treated so casually. If I could, I’d ask her not only why she so quickly passes over future singing star Neil Diamond’s presence at Erasmus (he also went to Lincoln High School), but also why she never once mentions fellow Erasmus student, Lainie Kazan, a year ahead of her. Amazingly, Kazan not only became her understudy in Funny Girl but went on for her on the only night Streisand, who had strep, missed. (Streisand mentions the incident but not the understudy.) And, for all the attention Streisand gives to the inception and creation of Yentl, why does she so dismissively mention its pre-cinematic existence as a Broadway play, when it was, indeed, a major success that made actress Tovah Feldshuh a star?
But, as the 82-year-old Streisand herself says, perfection is unattainable. Imperfect as My Name Is Barbra may be, it’s a book that, like its author’s voice, promises to be ageless and evergreen.
Coming up: Robert Christiansen. A Theater of Our Own: A History and a Memoir of 1,001 Nights in Chicago.
Leiter Looks at Books welcomes inquiries from publishers and authors interested in having their theater/show business-related books reviewed.