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Dec. 22, 2006
Proud of being Jewish
Barbra Streisand rejected Hollywood stereotypes.
EUGENE KAELLIS
One would have to live in some obscure and inaccessible part of
the world to be unaware of the professional and even personal life
of Barbra Streisand. She is a superstar and everything from the
way she decorates her house, to her romances and married life, to
her generous charitable donations and her frequent political forays
is news. But Streisand is also a phenomenon and one that says something
about our culture and entertainment industry.
Streisand's achievement is not only her success, but her major contribution
to helping rid our consciousness of the "preferred" appearance,
carefully and consistently cultivated by the moguls of the entertainment
industry since its inception: the requirement that a star be beautiful,
or handsome, in the stereotypical sense – light-skinned and
light-haired, with no tangible ethnicity. It was an image Broadway
and, especially Hollywood, with its much larger, less sophisticated
audiences and its facial closeups, developed and catered to for
decades. Its source was a widespread ethnic and racial bias that
masqueraded as taste and which, though considerably diminished,
still exists.
Almost from its beginning, American mass entertainment counted Jews
among its most important entrepreneurs. They helped develop the
stereotype, not only because they assumed it would be good for business,
but because, at that time, many Jews themselves weren't keen about
"looking Jewish." Their romantic fantasies involved women
quite unlike their wives, sisters or mothers. In this hierarchy
of stereotypes, looking Jewish was only a level above looking black.
Streisand, who described herself as "mieskeit"
("ugliness"), ignored frequent advice to get "a nose
job" – she still has an "imperfect" nose, a
cast to her right eye, a wide mouth with prominent lips and a body
not voluptuous by "standard" feminine beauty criteria.
Have we vanquished stereotyped beauty yet? Not by a long shot. Cosmetic
surgery is booming. Women (and men) spend time, effort and money
in prodigious amounts for makeovers, makeup, hair products and a
plethora of rejuvenation nostrums in an attempt to approximate being
thin, young and Anglo-Saxon looking.
It's no accident that the first appearance of a black romantic star,
Sidney Poitier, in a Hollywood movie about interracial love, happened
around the same time that Streisand was able to break into show
business, starring as comedienne Fanny Brice in Funny Girl.
It was 1964, near the height of the civil rights movement, when
stereotypes were breaking down and it was in New York City, with
its large Jewish population. She won the part over two major contenders:
Anne Bancroft and Mary Martin, both famous, "good-looking,"
highly competent stars. Brice was not your typical ingenue –
she was a comic; nonetheless, casting Streisand was a major breakthrough,
not only for her, but for all non-"standard"-looking people.
Many of Streisand's film roles were Jewish, even when they didn't
have to be: Susan Lowenstein in The Prince of Tides and Katie
Morosky, the perennial radical, in The Way We Were, for example.
One can't be sure, but it seems that it was her idea to have the
characters be Jewish.
Streisand hasn't please everyone. Notably, Isaac B. Singer, who
wrote the story on which Yentl was based, didn't like her
singing in the movie, but the public did; it was a huge success.
Streisand unquestionably has a superlative and unique talent. However,
if you have observed the world for some time, you have probably
realized that the world is up to its proverbial hind quarters in
talent. You may also have noticed that the way our culture and entertainment
industries are structured allows only a small part of this gigantic,
and growing, pool of talent to be expressed and an even smaller
part to be acclaimed. In order for talent to be transmuted to success
(fame, fortune), there has to be opportunity, but the ratio of talent
to opportunity is so huge that, except for rare circumstances, the
only way talent can be recognized and rewarded is by determination
and/or luck.
Luck is, by definition, rare. To be effective, determination needs
large measures of health and stamina. Streisand excelled in both.
Gifted she was, in variety and in abundance, but, as essential as
this was to her success, determination was the key. In spite of
starkly difficult circumstances and little formal training, she
simply seized or created what miniscule opportunities were initially
available to her and elbowed her way to the top.
Streisand's circumstances strongly disfavored her. Her mother, who
consistently discouraged Streisand's decision to be in show business,
was poor, widowed after a short marriage, with two children, the
second from a disastrous second marriage that ended in a bitter
divorce. Through all of this, Streisand, starting in early childhood,
persisted and persisted with something approaching a maniacal belief
in her objective, perhaps even her destiny.
The ecology of art, music, literature, entertainment and sports
is similar to that of industry. Indeed, they are industry. And,
just as top executives command fabulous rewards in business, so
do members of the upper echelon of the "star system."
The consequence is that much – perhaps most – talent is
left to wither and die in the cold, while only a small part is cultivated,
watered and, most of all, nurtured with publicity until it develops
strong roots and impressive foliage. It pays to promote stars. After
they reach a certain level of fame, their publicity becomes self-generating
and they have been transformed into a good "properties."
So intent was Streisand to act that she didn't realize that her
singing voice was her really distinct talent. Desperate for money,
she entered and won a singing contest at a New York City Greenwich
Village gin joint. She couldn't read music but had a remarkable
memory and a unique and impressive style. Only after sustained effort
by her agent was she eventually able to get a contract with the
hesitant executives at Columbia Records. If you want to experience
the full intensity of the inimitable passion and power Streisand
brings to her music, try her 1972 release, Higher Ground,
especially "Avinu Malkeinu," part of the Rosh Hashanah
service, sung in Hebrew.
Streisand is also often unintentionally funny; an irrepressible
and impish comic muse emerging unexpectedly from her usually concealed
naïveté and insecurity. In almost any circumstance,
she seems to be on the edge of mirth.
As "unfair" as our current enterprise system of entertainment
and culture is, it is an improvement on what it replaced: the patronage
and indulgence of powerful men, sacred or profane, who controlled
their beneficiaries. The Streisand story is a microcosm of our contemporary
system of discovering talent and rewarding it. It works for some,
and for their success we are grateful, because they provide us with
satisfying, and sometimes even elevating, means by which to enjoy
our leisure time. The others we will never hear about.
Eugene Kaellis is a retired academic living in New Westminster.
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