A struggling actor auditioned for a part as a singer. The director didn’t choose her but did advise her to add “singer” to her resume, a tip that proved prescient.
Within a couple of years, the actor was a celebrated vocalist, headlining the ritziest nightclubs around, drawing ecstatic reviews and, whaddaya know, starring on Broadway.
All this led to a recording contract, which the singer-actor signed, after negotiating a rare concession from the label: She would choose the songs she recorded. That’s a huge deal. The label either trusted her instinct or wanted her so bad it crossed its fingers and hoped for the best.
Either way, it worked out pretty well. Her first 10 albums all went Gold (sales of 500,000+) or Platinum (sales of 1,000,000+).
The contract gave her control over album titles as well, which is why her debut release was called The Barbra Streisand Album instead of Sweet and Saucy Streisand.
And her dream of becoming an actor? A director caught her act in a nightclub and asked her to audition for his new play. She got the part and lit up the Broadway stage in I Can Get It For You Wholesale, which led to her winning the lead role in Funny Girl. Her portrayal of vaudevillian Fanny Brice remains one of Streisand’s defining roles. It’s the role that made her a superstar. (The hit revival of Funny Girl comes to The Straz Nov. 28-Dec. 3.)
Streisand may not have achieved fame the way she thought she would, but once she did, she leveraged it to ensure that she had control over what songs she sang, what roles she played and what projects she pursued.
Like assertive women in all career fields, Streisand received universal applause for her commitment to artistic integrity and dedication to her crafts.
Ha ha! No, she didn’t! That’s what would have happened if she were a man! Instead, the nicest thing she was called was “demanding.” That quickly became “difficult “ and then “diva” and on down the line.
Nevertheless, she persisted. And succeeded. Her recent memoir, My Name Is Barbra, recounts the resistance a female performer got for insisting she would do things her way.
She had wanted to bring Isaac Bashevis Singer’s short story “Yentl the Yeshiva Boy” to the big screen since reading it in 1968. Studios thought the story – a woman disguises herself as a man to study the Torah – wouldn’t appeal to a wide audience. When Streisand insisted on directing, most studios couldn’t say “no” fast enough. Yentl, which Streisand produced, starred in and co-wrote the script for as well as directing, was a critical and commercial hit.
It’s not as though everything Streisand touches turns to gold. Her 1974 album, ButterFly, with covers of tunes by David Bowie, Bob Marley and Buck Owens, has been roundly panned, even by Streisand.
She’s had, though, far more hits than misses. She’s an artist with a sharp commercial instinct. She’s an old-school performer who knows how to make the audience her own. She’s 81 years old and doesn’t appear to be close to retiring. And as Linda Richman would say, her voice, her acting and herself in general? Like buttah.
