Damien Rice is an Irish singer-songwriter, a former busker with three commercially successful, aesthetically appealing albums under is belt featuring close-miked, acoustic, naked songs, including ‘The Blower’s Daughter’, the haunting theme song for Mike Nichols’ 2004 film ‘Closer’.
Mike Nichols (ne Mikhail Igor Peschkowsky) was sent alone to America at seven with his three-year old brother to escape the Nazis. He’s the auteur not only of “Virginia Woolf”, “The Graduate”, but also of the disquieting film “Closer” starring (and they really are all stellar) Julia Roberts, Jude Law, Clive Owens and Natalie Portman, the latter two nominated for Oscars for their roles.
It’s an elegant, unsettling film I found more even more evocative, distasteful, and memorable in the second viewing (Law: “You kissed me!” Roberts: “What are you, twelve?”). Four beautiful actors portraying serially shifting couples, a morally repugnant ménage à quatre driven by three self-satisfied professionals and one enigmatic waif of a stripper. I just might suffer through the film a third time.
And that, ladies and gentlemen and others, is all we have to say about music this week.
Full disclosure: The song was nothing more than a tenuous (at best) excuse to talk about Natalie Portman’s aunt.
I went through high school with Leslie Stevens.
That’s a misrepresentation.
Leslie Stevens graced Woodward HS with her regal presence during the years I happened to be there.
Leslie will be remembered till eternity by everyone who was there as the epitome of beauty and grace.
(For the record, if anyone remembers me, it’s as “that loud kid who was always making bad jokes, all the teachers’ most unfavorite burden.”)
I don’t remember ever speaking to Leslie, even though we participated in a goodly number of stage productions together. Or rather, I somehow got onto the stage which existed solely for her to stand spotlighted in its center. I suppose we also took classes together, but those data cells have long since faded. Not so her face, her smile, her body in mid-dance, her aura. Those memories I’ll take to the grave.
What could a mere commoner (a coarse one at that) have said to such an aristocratic presence?
“Did you do your geometry homework?”
“Your scene was stunning”?
“Your dance was breathtaking”?
“Your beauty is proof of God’s existence”?
Aaron sent me some clippings from the Bulldog Barks, including my review of “Rubber Soul” the month it was released, my first venture into the non-existent (1965) field of rock journalism. That means I’ve been writing about music for 52 years. I suppose I deserve some points at least for stamina.
In one of the pictures, I’m standing next to Leslie Stevens. If asked, I would deny ever having stood next to her. I suppose I went catatonic, so the event was never recorded in my adolescent ‘brain’. But the picture is there, proof of just how reliable my memory is.
Aaron played George to Leslie’s Emily in Thornton Wilder’s masterpiece “Our Town”. I played George’s father, Dr. Gibbs. I of course had no scenes with Leslie. Fathers-in-law in Grover’s Corner didn’t talk to their perspective DiL. (I’m fortunate enough to have a lovely one with whom I speak frequently and warmly.) Of course, Mr Webb has that great scene with his son-in-law-to-be; but, alas, such was not the fate of the lad that was me.
In the play, George kisses Emily. In other words, Aaron kissed Leslie. Aaron, full disclosure: I’ve never really gotten over that.
Skip forward some 15 years, to the early 1980s. I’m doing reserve duty as a medic in the Israeli Defense Forces in a clinic in an old British Mandate army camp in Jerusalem, right in the middle of Mea Shearim, the ultra-Orthodox bastion. It’s late, it’s boring, and I’m playing Jewish Geography with the army physician on duty, a Dr Hershlag.
“Do you have kids?” he asks.
“Yeah, a daughter and a son. You?”
“A baby daughter, Neta-Li (נטע-לי). So where are you from originally?”
“Ah, Cincinnati.”
“Cincinnati? My wife’s from Cincinnati!”
“Really? What’s her name?”
“Shelley. Shelley Stevens.”
“Nope, didn’t know her. I knew a Leslie Stevens in high school.”
“That’s her sister! Hey, soldier, are you okay?”
Skip forward another dozen or so years, still BI (Before Internet). My high school friend Marc is sitting in my living room in Israel.
“Did you know that Leslie Stevens’ daughter got into the movies?” he asks.
“Not too shocking,” I reply. If she’s anything like her mother, it’s no surprise, we concurred.
“Her name is Natalie something.”
I guess I had read about the child star of “Léon”, that she was Israeli-born. I processed this for a moment and responded:
“Not her daughter. Her niece.”
I’ve been probably more enthralled by Natalie Portman over the years than most humans, and that’s saying a lot.
It’s not just because I find her to be Beauty Incarnate. Everyone knows that.
It’s because she’s a dead ringer for Aunt Leslie. Not just those cheekbones. Not just the shape of her smile.
It’s the deportment. The regality. The perfection.
I’ve seen pictures of her parents. I’m sure they’re both very nice people, but her genes are those of her aunt.
This I know.
I was recently watching the opening shot of “Jackie”. I see that face and I say to myself, “Oh, there’s Leslie! My God, she’s beautiful.” And then I catch myself. It’s not Leslie, it’s the niece.
“They” say that a man often resembles his maternal uncle. I know it’s true in my case. I saw him rarely during my life, but I always felt an mystic genetic bond with him. The coloring, the posture, the teeth, the penchant for telling shaggy dog stories. How often I would make some remark or gesture, and my mother would turn to my father and say “It’s Shim.”
That uncle-aunt/nephew-niece relationship can be a landmine. Almost Parents, but who really cares? I know I always expected my uncle to understand me and care about me a lot more than he did, and it caused me no little disappointment at various crossroads throughout my life. But at least our relationship wasn’t as pathological as that of Uncle Charlie and Niece Charlie in Hitchcock’s masterful “Shadow of a Doubt”.
I have no idea what the relationship is between Leslie and Neta-Li, if there is one. I have no idea if the rest of the family is as acutely aware of the dopplegangery going on there as I am.
I do know one thing. That no matter how much the entire world thinks that Natalie Portman is The Most Beautiful Woman in the Universe – and I don’t disagree – I know she’s a copy. A divine copy.
But I know that you, Leslie, wherever you are, however you are, even if you weigh 350 pounds, have more wrinkles than a sea anemone, are drying out from multiple addictions and personality disorders, whatever ravages Father Time has wrought upon you—for me you will always be the most beautiful girl in the world.
And that’s me standing next to you, admiring the, um, sweater on the blonde next to me. On Leslie’s other side is Don Huff, who appears to be trying to remember his name. She was breath-taking. Further proof of God’s existence is that, during that year, she and I did announcements together every Friday morning. Although she was actually very nice and friendly, standing so close was quite unnerving. And I’m with you–whenever I see Natalie, all i can think about is her aunt.
Of course you’re not the only smitten soul. I’ve had Leslie-centric ruminations with at least a Dr. R. Greenberg and a certain David D. I’ll limit my comments to a positive one and will avoid the update I’ve heard about. DD was the yearbook editor who risked his reputation by adding me to the staff. My contributions were as meager as I had known they’d be– especially once they were prematurely curtailed thanks to a horribly timed case of pneumonia. The highlight of that whole experience was the trip most of the staff had taken to Hannibal, MO– the site of the yearbook manufacturer. Guess who was also in that group? My main memory is of a single, mostly visual moment during a (sober) staff get-together in a motel room. I remember LS being so. . . human. She was like a giddy child, thrilled to be off the pedestal, just giggling along with the rest of us. Bright eyes!
P.S.: Hello Mike . . .
Some things just don’t pass, right?
I just found this article. It is great to see some memories from Woodward days. Andy – great to see your comments – hope you are well. I am blown away to learn that Leslie Stevens is Natalie Portman’s aunt. They do indeed look so much alike. I agree with Jeff’s comment that Leslie’s presence at Woodward was regal – so beautiful and charming.
Hi, Andy-
Working on WHS yearbook staff was a blast-especially that trip to Hannibal, MO. I have many memories of Leslie in high school. We’d quiz each other in AP English class minutes before the weekly vocab tests. Believe it or not, she was self-conscience about her size 9 shoes; she confided this to me. It’s Leslie’s beautiful face I see whenever Natalie Portman is pictured. The resemblance is beyond remarkable.
P.S. The blond in the V-necked sweater in the picture is Tina Sheve.
I think the girl at the lower right corner is Marcha Hunley, but she was ’65. Is that possible? Ran in to her at the 1965 50th reunion a few years ago. She was involved in theatre in Anderson Township (Cincinnati suburb).
Remember “The Last Prom?” Leslie was spectacular…. I believe you can still find it on YouTube…. Those were great times..
Even me, not knowing Leslie, not knowing Closer, and what not, must say I appreciate beauty, your rock journalistic stamina and your writing including today’s SotW
The Aaron referred to in the post writes:
Leslie asked me if I would like to go to the “makeup” room and rehearse our kiss. I responded “no” we should be okay.
At that time you slapped me and told me how stupid I was. [Ed: Good for you, Jeff!] You were right but my reasoning was sound to me. BTW, Shelley Stevens was really cute I just thought she was too young to date at the time.
Loved this post! While, I never knew Leslie and regrettably will likely never know Natalie ; I will never look at Natalie without thinking of this post. Thanks for sharing and looking forward to connecting when we get back to the “homeland” c