Call her Dame. Call her Jules. Call her by her pen name, Julie Edwards. Whatever you do, steer clear of calling Julie Andrews wholesome. Candidly conflicted about her spotless public image, actress and singer Julie Andrews—born 80 years ago today, on October 1, 1935—has more than a few spoonfuls of spice to complement her sugary demeanor. It often seems that even Andrews is uncertain of her own character. Catch her in one interview lamenting, “I hate the word wholesome. I don’t want to be thought of as wholesome,” while in another, admitting, “Sometimes I’m so sweet even I can’t stand it!” It’s hardly irrational for a star of her immense talent and caliber to grapple with soul-searching. After a lifetime in the spotlight, how do you solve a problem like a crisis of identity? A better question, perhaps, is how has Andrews’ silver-screen sweetness reigned over a complicated—and sometimes difficult—personality throughout her seventy years in the public eye?
Born to Ted and Barbara Wells in an English village south of London, Andrews’ early life had its own dramatic flair. In everything from her schoolwork to her artistic training, she was a notorious perfectionist with a drive that would eventually inspire two Hollywood-given nicknames: “The Iron Butterfly” and “The Nun With a Switchblade.” This personal discipline developed in large part to combat a chaotic childhood. Her mother sank into alcoholism, and revealed to a fourteen-year-old Andrews that she was not, in fact, the daughter of Ted Wells. It was an inebriated affair with an unnamed family friend that led to Andrews’ conception. Hiding her true parentage from even her biological siblings, Andrews kept this relatively scandalous secret from the public until the release of her autobiography in 2008.
Her parents’ marriage ended in divorce, and Andrews took the name of her vaudevillian stepfather, Ted Andrews. Thanks to his show-business connections, Andrews found her big break on the stage in 1948. At thirteen years old, she became the youngest soloist to ever perform at the London Palladium, flaunting her four-octave vocal range alongside Danny Kaye for King George VI. After that illustrious evening, to quote lyrics from what would prove to be one of her most remarkable films, there were “winds in the east, mist comin’ in, Something [was] brewin’, about to begin.”
By 1956, Andrews was charming audiences as Cinderella in Rodgers and Hammerstein’s television musical, and in the original Broadway cast of My Fair Lady as Eliza Doolittle. My Fair Lady was an unparalleled success. Lauded by critics as the greatest musical ever staged, My Fair Lady garnered Andrews universal acclaim for her Broadway debut. When it came time to cast Jack Warner’s 1964 film adaptation, however, Andrews was overlooked. The role of Eliza Doolittle instead went to Audrey Hepburn, who was chosen to guarantee box office success. To be ousted by an actress with no singing capabilities was an enormous blow—the first of numerous in Andrews’ long career.
Within the same year, however, the Dame found sweet vindication. Andrews took on the title role in Mary Poppins (1964), effortlessly singing the film’s hit songs as if she had written them herself. Her performance, “practically perfect in every way,” won the Oscar for Best Actress. Hepburn was controversially not even nominated. As what could be considered the loveliest measure of revenge in acceptance-speech history, Andrews made sure to thank Jack Warner for “[making] this all this possible in the first place.” Just her style—the nice way of being right.
Andrews would eventually look to shed this always-agreeable image, however. Fearing typecasting after her much-deserved success as the iconic, Maria Von Trapp in The Sound of Music (1965) and the naïve, Millie Dillmount in Thoroughly Modern Millie (1967), she embodied lyrics from the latter film: “Goodbye, good goody girl, I’m changing and how!” Andrews generated a great deal of controversy in S.O.B. (1981), not only for the film’s biting satire of Hollywood’s elite, but also for her topless scenes and erotic dances performed in thrilling, R-rated fashion. Andrews then challenged gender roles in the risqué musical Victor/Victoria (1982), playing a down-and-out singer who dresses as a male female impersonator to find work. After losing her singing voice to a botched throat surgery in 1997, it would not be until her relative comeback roles in Princess Diaries (2001) and Shrek 2 (2004) that Andrews associated with “goody goody” productions again.
Despite a tumultuous career trajectory and plenty of on-set rumors regarding her passive-aggressive professionalism, Andrews remains an untouched celebrity darling. And why should she not? Granted, her warm English accent and motherly smile may have certainly helped in maintaining a pristine image. But the fact at hand is this: Julie Andrews is admired not solely for her talent, but for her authenticity. What could be more genuine than owning up to the intrinsically human dilemma of forming an identity? Like her mother, co-stars, and fans alike, she exists within contradictions. She’s brought years of cinematic wonder and music to generations, and has worked damn hard for it. Hats off.
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