The entire Western world should be ashamed that it took us so long to convince Barbra Streisand that we loved her. In an interview with the BBC this week about her 1,000-page memoir: My name is BarbraShe said that at 81, she hasn’t had much fun in her life. Moreover, at 87 years old, I would say that this is a tragedy, and added that it is never too late to start.
Streisand spoke of the torment of forgetting as a child that he was poor. Or have a terrible stepfather. Or she worked as a doorman when she was 16.
Not that she blames us Brits for all her suffering. She said she believes we are a “less sexist” country than the United States. “They had a queen and Margaret Thatcher as prime minister.” In other words, you weren’t intimidated by the fact that I was a woman.”
Am I afraid of Barbra? Not that you’d notice. Her high notes in slow ballads are jarring, but I’ve been a loyal fan since the 1950s and devoured all the glowing previews of her historic 1962 Broadway debut. I loved her then funny girl Movie. It was great to have a female star who wasn’t just blonde and bubbly or dark and bitchy. I appreciated their adaptation On a clear day even if the critics weren’t kind.
On screen, she radiates a tenderness that makes her seem sweet and likable. Even if she is unusual. She is not a traditional beauty, but she exudes positivity and, at least in films and songs, makes success possible.
But somewhere between an unhappy childhood and worldwide fame and fortune, she blossomed into someone who rose far, far beyond us into the superstar system, and fans still look at her career with interest. She probably learned about the persecution along the way. She talks about it. It seems to haunt her. Legend has it that she now practices rather than suffers from it, but let’s look at two examples of the women she salutes as she congratulates us Brits for not being afraid of them. I met them both by chance.
I met the Queen at the Walker Art Gallery in Liverpool. Paul McCartney was the third person in this conversation. His paintings were exhibited. Her Majesty, looking at her carefully, said: “You take photographs too, don’t you?” “Yes,” Paul said, smiling, “you too.” I’d like to see yours.” HM looked him in the eyes, smiled and muttered, “I would definitely like to,” before continuing smoothly. McCartney was speechless. No intimidation required.
Margaret Thatcher understood what intimidation was, but just as important was when to use it. She also knew when not to do it. I was chairman of Channel 4 In the face of the press on a very difficult weekend for Mrs T. We were in room 10 and there were problems with the office.
Behind the scenes she was busy but friendly and welcoming. She was wild in front of the camera. Even her press secretary, Bernard Ingham, who constantly walked out of camera range and loudly smashed his notepad, was not so angry. The moment the camera stopped, she took a sip of water and apologized, apologizing for not being able to offer us a drink due to business issues. Intimidation? Who needs it?
But let’s return to Barbra. She talked about her unhappy childhood. She would feel completely comfortable in my home. In 1939 there were ten of us living in my grandmother’s three-bedroom council house. My mother, my father, my brother and I are in the bedroom; the other two were shared by Uncles Harold and Bud, Aunts Nancy, Doreen and Pearl, and Grandma herself.
It was the end of the crisis, the beginning of the war, and we soon learned to sleep in an air raid shelter while bombs fell on the Liverpool docks a few miles away. In general, I can’t remember a single sad moment. Even when rationing began.
Think about it, Barbra: if you had been born British, you would have experienced all the post-war austerity that continued for centuries afterwards. There was rationing of bread, shortages of everything and layoffs in all industries. But you could also benefit from the Education Act 1944, the National Health Service, the BBC and at least two or three inspiring politicians.
None of this would make up for an unloving mother and having to start working at 16 (although here it would be at least a year earlier than in the US). And if adversity has made you a better artist, you should really consider adding it to your list of blessings.