Before she was an acclaimed actress, comic, and vocalist, Midler was a young teen living in Hawaii and dreaming of the stage. At 14, she had a short-lived career in community theater. It involved being hired and then immediately fired for “hamming it up”
so much that she drew attention away from the lead actress. The lesson was a swift one: You can’t upstage the star. So, Midler decided to become one.
Now 80, Midler has three Grammys, two Tonys, three Emmys, four Golden Globes, and a history in the entertainment industry so storied that she genuinely can’t remember it all. But she tells Rolling Stone that even at this point in her career, there’s still a direct line between who she is now and that young girl desperate to be a star. “I fell in love with film. I love Technicolor more than life. Now, everything’s pink. Don’t get me started,” she says. “But [film], it was otherworldly. It was like having died and gone to heaven to see this lighting. I was captured by it. I was taken hostage by it. I was stage-struck.”
For Rolling Stone’s Last Word column, Midler talked about the gigs, auditions, and storied feuds that took her from dreamer to entertainment legend.
What was the moment you thought acting might be for you?
The first time I ever saw a show, I was about 14 years old. I was helping the librarian of my school collate books. She didn’t pay us, but she gave us two tickets to see a show. It was [Rodgers and Hammerstein’s] Carousel. The curtain went up, and the lights went on, and I just couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I never forgot it. I wanted to be up there in the light.
When did you have an inkling you could make a living at it?
I went to college as a drama major, but only lasted about a year. I was cast in [the 1966 film] Hawaii, with Max von Sydow and Julie Andrews, and they brought me to L.A. along with a bunch of other locals. And I thought, “Oh, I can manage this.” I earned enough money on that movie to move to New York. I started going to auditions on Broadway, and I got into Fiddler on the Roof.
In the early Seventies, you started performing at the Continental Baths, a gay bathhouse in New York. How did that come about?
One day, I got a call from my old acting teacher. He asked me if I wanted to sing at the baths. And I said, “What’s the baths?” When I was in Fiddler, I was working for $200 a week and I had asked them for a $25 raise, and they said, “Never.” He told me what [the baths] paid, and I dropped everything. I put the show on in the gay bathhouse. I would be my most outrageous self. When I went on the stage in front of all those gays, they threw their hands up and screamed. And it was great fun. We went from 30 people in the house to hundreds. Because it was such an odd venue, and transgressive in those days, we were a huge hit.
I had a very small band. And then the guy that played at the baths, he went on the road with someone else. I was terrified, because I didn’t know what I was going to get. And the owner of the baths said, “I have someone else for you.” And it turned out to be Barry Manilow. He became my band leader. He was brilliant, he knew every song ever written. He got all the jokes, he got all the serious songs. He understood every single thing that I was trying to do, every note.
As a young woman in show business, how did you look out for yourself?
I got a very aggressive manager named Aaron Russo. He thought I was the greatest thing, and he just pushed, pushed, pushed on my behalf. I never met anybody like him, and I was so grateful. We were a team. I was really not a schmoozer. I was a reader. So he did all that socializing — and he knew his drugs, which I actually couldn’t do. My body was too sensitive. That went very well until it didn’t go very well. Things between us got very feisty because he wanted 50 percent. I’m dumb, but I’m not that dumb. I know 50 percent means half, and I didn’t think that was fair. Sure, he was doing the schmoozing, but I was doing the sweating in high heels. So I said, “Absolutely not. You’re fired.”
How did the gay community influence your later albums, like 1998’s Bathhouse Betty?
I’ll tell you something, [gay people] are some of the most fun people in the whole world — aside from the Australians, of course. After I started doing community theater, the chorus would go out afterwards, and they would take me with them to see these drag acts. It was completely wholesome and joyous. So I have never had any terror or fear or aversion to gay people. They’re part of my family.
How did it feel, then, to witness that community ravaged by the AIDS epidemic?
That was one of the worst things that ever happened to me. I must have lost 200 people that I knew, many close friends I’d have drinks with, or I’d share jokes with. I’m talking about all levels of intimacy, and they’re just gone. It’s funny, the older I am, the angrier I get — the cruelty of it, that the government didn’t do anything. Five hundred thousand people were dead before they did anything. It’s unconscionable.
Do you think that experience is why you’re so direct about calling out the government now — including President Trump?
I lived in New York during Donald Trump’s [rise], and everyone in the city felt the same way about him. Everybody knew his game, and everybody thought he was hilariously dubious. Everybody just thought he was a joke. The jealousy that emanates from every pore of this guy is uncontrollable. Part of growing up is learning to control yourself. And [Trump] has never learned to control himself. Now we’re reaping the horror of a person who is out of control. So why do I feel like it’s my duty? Because I know what the truth is. When I see someone who’s not just undeserving, but incompetent, it infuriates me.
What are some roles that you wish you hadn’t turned down?
I turned down Misery. I [didn’t] think I wanted to have it on film that I cut off someone’s foot, because audiences identify the actor with the event. My husband still says I’m a damn fool. And I turned down Sister Act because I said, “My fans don’t want to see me in a wimple.” And Whoopi [Goldberg] said, “Bring on the goddamn wimple.”
What’s the first lavish purchase you made with showbiz money?
It must have been shoes. When I was a kid, I had one pair of saddle shoes I wore year after year after year until my feet got too big for them, and then I got another pair. So, I coveted high heels. I started collecting heels and vintage clothes. As far as a huge purchase, I think it was my house. I bought it in 1980, and I’m still there.
The entertainment world was devastated when Diane Keaton died last year. What are some memories of filming The First Wives Club that you come back to?
I loved her with all my heart. Toward the end, about a year before she died, I was part of a circle of friends who had dinner every Saturday night and would watch a movie together. I was always an admirer for so many reasons, not just because she was completely and utterly unique, but because she was a great singer who never sang a false note. Her range was incredibly wide. As good as her reputation is in the entertainment world, I think her reputation as an artist, as a photographer, as a painter is going to increase by leaps and bounds as the years go on. She could play ditzy, comedy, or tragedy with her hands tied behind her back. It was a pleasure, it was a joy, it was one of the happiest times in my life to be on that [film]. I loved her.
Who’s inspired you?
Female comics! Phyllis Diller and Joan Rivers, who are not just inspirations, but who lifted me when I was in the doldrums. I love them with all my heart and I can’t wait to join them in that big comedy club in the sky.
What are some rules you live by?
Fairness. Be fair. Not just a day’s work for a day’s pay, but also don’t put yourself above anybody. And after that, kindness. My dad was a fucking house painter. My mom stayed in the house. I wore homemade clothes until she discovered the Salvation Army. That stuff imprints itself on you. I identify with the working-class, and I don’t intend to budge. I want there to be a middle class. I want people to thrive. I want people to be treated fairly. These assholes treat themselves really well, but treat everybody else like shit. What kind of a world is that?
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