After recently watching the Michael Douglas / Matt Damon TV movie "Behind The Candleabra" which took a lurid look behind the scenes of the flamboyant piano-entertainer's life and public image, I was intrigued to watch this original 1972 documentary on the real Liberace, by the celebrated producer of music-related films, Tony Palmer. Given Palmer's credentials, I was hopeful of something with just a bit of an edge and insight but instead all I got was a glorified tour, by the man himself, of his fabulous house, furniture, musical instruments and cars, all done in the best possible taste. These are interspersed with in concert pieces before his adoring, predominately elderly female fans, where his predilection for showmanship reaches a nadir when he struts about the stage high-kicking for all he's worth in a Stars and Stripes costume with shorts and knee-high socks.
Yes, Li is a genial host but he gushes more than Old Yeller as he takes us from room to room, talking us through every item on display, dropping names here and there, stopping only occasionally to play with his group of pet dogs or cook his very own recipe for lasagne. If you're one of those people who if they visited Hollywood would go on a tour of celebrity houses, you'll love this, but only a couple of times did we get a little glimpse at the truth, firstly when he talks with supposed horror of the defamatory criticism of his fey mannerisms in a London newspaper which he sued for libel and secondly when he shows us his bedroom with two beds (one for the dogs he'd have the viewer believe) and bathroom with his and hers sinks, all the time playing up his heterosexual bachelor boy image in the name of good old fashioned family entertainment.
Of course the law was different then and it would take a braver man than Liberace at that time to confront the truth about his sexuality, especially when he was coining in such fabulous riches as he wallows in here. I can't hate him for it, but his hypocrisy is as false as his ludicrous wigs, although I do consider that Palmer tiptoes too fawningly around his subject, apparently blinded by the lights from his numerous chandeliers.
In fact if the director credit had read "By Liberace", like almost everything else in his life, I wouldn't have been a bit surprised.
Yes, Li is a genial host but he gushes more than Old Yeller as he takes us from room to room, talking us through every item on display, dropping names here and there, stopping only occasionally to play with his group of pet dogs or cook his very own recipe for lasagne. If you're one of those people who if they visited Hollywood would go on a tour of celebrity houses, you'll love this, but only a couple of times did we get a little glimpse at the truth, firstly when he talks with supposed horror of the defamatory criticism of his fey mannerisms in a London newspaper which he sued for libel and secondly when he shows us his bedroom with two beds (one for the dogs he'd have the viewer believe) and bathroom with his and hers sinks, all the time playing up his heterosexual bachelor boy image in the name of good old fashioned family entertainment.
Of course the law was different then and it would take a braver man than Liberace at that time to confront the truth about his sexuality, especially when he was coining in such fabulous riches as he wallows in here. I can't hate him for it, but his hypocrisy is as false as his ludicrous wigs, although I do consider that Palmer tiptoes too fawningly around his subject, apparently blinded by the lights from his numerous chandeliers.
In fact if the director credit had read "By Liberace", like almost everything else in his life, I wouldn't have been a bit surprised.
