The adored is mightier than Sean Penn
William Mount
MADONNA — UNAUTHORISED by Christopher Andersen Michael Joseph, £14.99, pp. 279 One assumes that Madonna needs no introduction. She is, after all, according to Christopher Andersen's new biography, `the most famous woman in the world' and `one of history's two most famous women' (the other being Marilyn Monroe).
Madonna — Unauthorised has the virtue of being both 'the first serious biography of Madonna' and the biography Madonna does not want us to read. In these two respects it is supposed to differ from the adulatory promotional picture books that are sold to 12-year-olds at concerts.
Differ it does not. Beneath the veneer of its seriousness and behind the modest veil of its fair criticism lies its great draw — a profusion of gossip, much of which is carp- ing and resentful. Madonna, as a conse- quence of this, comes out looking ennobled and impressive.
As in any good school project, the story begins with a momentous event, in this case Madonna's wedding to actor Sean Penn, and then works back to her origins and childhood in small-town Pontiac, Michigan. As an attention-grabber the first chapter does not disappoint. The description of the helicopters full of pressmen buzzing around the Malibu cliff-top ceremony is reassuringly cinematic, and the language is
quick-fire: the temperamental groom, demanding to know 'who screwed up', runs down to the beach with a gun and attempts to shoot the choppers down. 'He went,' in the words of one guest, 'complete- ly nuts'.
This was 'one of the most publicised showbusiness romances in history', a strange thing considering that when they married, Sean Penn was just a Robert de Niro wannabe and Madonna a 'dime-store' Monroe. Casting them as a modern-day Fairbanks and Pickford was rather like pretending that the recent Enfield- Barnet football tie was a North London derby to rival the Arsenal-Spurs fixture.
It was not until later that Madonna metamorphosised into the goddess whose charms made Yves Montand wish he was 30 years younger. The book charts this metamorphosis well — she does not undergo a sudden change, she just seems to cast her spell over larger numbers of influential and powerful people. Directors kiss her feet, fellow pop stars seek audiences (Prince helps her plaster a wall in her house) and associates burst into tears when she gets angry.
All around her people make fools of themselves. Without doubt, the first prize goes to Sean Penn: 'Penn brought the same fanatical approach to his crafts that he did to his relationships,' said a friend. On a police raid in Chicago to research his role as a teen gangster in Colors, Penn turned to a cop
who was the size of an apartment-block and said, 'Fuck you!' The cop picked up Sean and threw him into a wall. His nose was almost broken, but later he told me that it was at that moment he finally became the character in the film.
Madonna's attempts to win back some of the ground lost to this scene-stealer consist in very deliberate sexual indiscretions with Latinos in limousines on the Lower East Side and provocative televised interviews (she raised the hackles of Arsenio Hall, America's premier right-on talk-show host, by describing his hairstyle as 'a little tired').
There is nothing Andersen can tell us that Madonna herself would not tell us. The only thing she likes to do behind closed doors is business. The closest Andersen gets to her Headington invest- ments are the contents of her wedding list at Tiffany.
For the rest, it is unlikely that Madonna could have herself commissioned a more favourable testament to her genius. She never pretends to be anything less than clever, calculating, powerful and ambitious in public and this is exactly the impression this book gives of her in private.
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