Elizabeth Taylor remains one of the most captivating figures ever to grace the screen — an actress whose life shimmered with fame, glamour, heartbreak, and reinvention. Though decades have passed since her first appearance as a child star, her legacy continues to command fascination — not only for her legendary beauty and Oscar-winning talent but for her fierce independence and unapologetically complicated heart.
Born on February 27, 1932, in London to American parents, Taylor’s life began amidst privilege and culture. Her father, an art dealer, and her mother, a former actress, had settled in England before World War II forced the family to relocate to Los Angeles. It was there, amid the growing power of Hollywood’s studio system, that Elizabeth’s extraordinary destiny began to take shape.
At just ten years old, she made her film debut in There’s One Born Every Minute (1942), quickly followed by roles in Lassie Come Home and The White Cliffs of Dover. But it was National Velvet (1944), the story of a young girl and her racehorse, that made her a star. The film grossed over $4 million and introduced the world to the girl with violet eyes and a strength far beyond her years.
Yet behind the child prodigy’s dazzling smile was a girl who felt the weight of studio exploitation early. “I was promoted for their pockets,” Taylor once said. “I never felt they were a haven. I was always my own person.”
By her late teens, she had outgrown the ingénue roles and transitioned into one of MGM’s biggest adult stars — a feat few child actors ever managed. But her path was not without turbulence. At just fifteen, she famously clashed with studio boss Louis B. Mayer after he insulted her mother. “I told him he didn’t dare speak to her that way,” Taylor recalled. “I swore at him and told him to go to hell.” From that moment, Hollywood learned she was no one’s puppet.
Over the next two decades, Elizabeth Taylor defined screen glamour. Her performances in A Place in the Sun, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, and Cleopatra made her one of the most bankable stars in the world. She won two Academy Awards — for Butterfield 8 (1960) and Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966) — and was honored with the Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award for her tireless advocacy in the fight against AIDS.
But just as much as her talent, her personal life kept her in the headlines. Taylor was married eight times — twice to the same man, the tempestuous actor Richard Burton — and had four children: Michael Wilding Jr., Chris Wilding, Liza Todd, and Maria Burton. Her marriages, often turbulent and heavily publicized, became part of her legend.
Her eighth and final marriage, however, was something different — quieter, more surprising, and deeply human.
In 1988, at age 56, Elizabeth checked herself into the Betty Ford Clinic for painkiller dependency. There, amid therapy sessions and group meetings, she met a man who couldn’t have been further from her Hollywood circle: Larry Fortensky, a 36-year-old construction worker from California.
“She was there for pills, I was there for beer,” Fortensky later said. “I knew who she was, of course. She was sweet and funny. We had an instant connection.”
What began as friendship blossomed into romance. Against all odds — and with tabloids watching every move — they fell in love.
Three years later, in 1991, they married in a lavish ceremony at Michael Jackson’s Neverland Ranch. The guest list included some of the biggest names in entertainment. The event reportedly cost over $1.5 million, complete with flower arrangements, helicopters, and paparazzi swarming from the skies.
But beyond the spectacle was something genuine. Larry, by all accounts, grounded her. Elizabeth, for her part, gave him a glimpse into a world of opulence — and tenderness — few could imagine.
“She had this childish joy about her,” Larry remembered years later. “She could be glamorous one moment, and the next, she’d be out in the snow making angels and giggling like a girl.” He recalled one trip to Switzerland where Taylor spontaneously ran outside to fall into the snow, laughing until tears ran down her cheeks. “That’s how I remember her — full of life, never too proud to play.”
Taylor loved surprising him with gifts — a Harley-Davidson one Christmas, a BMW for his birthday. “She spoiled me,” he admitted. “I knew I couldn’t compete with her, so I didn’t try. One year I gave her chocolate-covered roses. Another year, a bunny. She loved that bunny.”
For Fortensky, the hardest part wasn’t living with Elizabeth — it was living under the glare that followed her everywhere. “There were cameras all the time,” he said. “She’d keep lipstick in her pocket because she never knew when someone would take her picture. I never got used to it. She was used to it.”
By 1996, their marriage had come to a natural end. Taylor, then 64, wanted freedom from the constant tension between her private and public life. But their split was not bitter. “She wanted the divorce, but she didn’t want us to hate each other,” Larry said. And they didn’t. They remained close, speaking often by phone — sometimes for hours — long after their divorce papers were signed.
When Taylor died in 2011, after years of heart problems, Larry was among those who grieved quietly, away from cameras. Their last phone call had taken place just a day before she entered Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles. “She sounded tired,” he said. “But she told me she loved me. That was the last thing I heard from her.”
In her will, Taylor left him $500,000 — a gesture that reflected her loyalty and compassion. The bulk of her $600 million estate went to her four children and grandchildren, as well as to the Elizabeth Taylor AIDS Foundation, which continues to fund HIV/AIDS research and outreach around the world.
After their split, Fortensky retreated from public life, buying a modest home in Temecula, California. His health declined following a serious fall in 1999 that left him disabled and deeply in debt. But through it all, he kept one cherished photograph on his nightstand: Elizabeth, lying in the snow, laughing up at the sky.
“She was 20 years older than me, but I never saw her as old,” he said softly in one of his last interviews. “She was beautiful, funny, and kind. I’ll always love her. And I know she loved me, too.”
For all her diamonds, fame, and tabloid headlines, that simple truth — two unlikely people finding each other amid chaos — may be the most human part of Elizabeth Taylor’s dazzling, complicated life.