The Walton-on-Thames singer born Julia Elizabeth Wells who had the four-octave soprano voice, the precision, and the warmth to make Mary Poppins and Maria von Trapp the two most beloved female characters in mid-century cinema — and who kept working when the surgically damaged voice could no longer hit the notes that had made her famous, which was itself a form of courage distinct from and equal to the singing.
Portrait · Julie Andrews
Born Julia Elizabeth Wells on October 1, 1935, in Walton-on-Thames, Surrey — the daughter of a schoolteacher mother and a stepfather who was a music hall performer, and who discovered at nine that she possessed an extraordinary soprano voice with a range that her stepfather's vocal coach described as the finest natural instrument he had encountered. She made her West End debut at twelve and her Broadway debut in 1954 in The Boy Friend, following it with Eliza Doolittle in the original 1956 Broadway production of My Fair Lady — the role she originated alongside Rex Harrison, spent six years performing, and was then denied when the film adaptation went to Audrey Hepburn.
Jack Warner's decision to give the My Fair Lady film role to Hepburn rather than to the woman who had created it on Broadway was explained as a lack of "marquee value" — which is the industry's way of saying it preferred a known film star to the person who had actually invented the performance. Walt Disney had no such hesitation. He cast Andrews in Mary Poppins (1964), her film debut, and she won the Academy Award for it, which she accepted with the specific graciousness of a woman who understood the context exactly.
Robert Wise's The Sound of Music (1965) — Andrews as Maria von Trapp, the aspiring novice nun who becomes governess to the seven von Trapp children and marries their father — became the highest-grossing film in history at the time of its release and one of the most beloved films ever made. Blake Edwards's Victor/Victoria (1982) — Andrews playing a woman playing a man playing a woman, the gender-bending comedy that demonstrated she had comedic range the musical films had not fully explored — gave her a fourth Oscar nomination.
A 1997 throat surgery intended to remove nodules left her voice permanently damaged — the soprano range that had defined her career largely gone. She continued to work in film, television, and narration, directing productions and writing children's books, and in 2004 won a lawsuit against the surgeons. She was given her voice back to some degree; the four-octave range was not recovered. She has not stopped working.
Mary Poppins is practically perfect in every way, as she says herself, and Andrews plays the perfection not as warmth but as precision — the nanny whose standards are absolute and whose affection for the children is expressed through the application of those standards, which is the more truthful portrait of the type. The film's famous response to the My Fair Lady snub — Andrews thanked Jack Warner in her acceptance speech with the specific warmth of a woman who had just made her point more eloquently than any direct statement could have — is one of Hollywood's most elegant pieces of irony.
Maria's quality — the guilelessness that is also a form of intelligence, the directness that can read as naivety but is actually confidence — is played by Andrews with the vocal and physical precision that the stage had trained and the camera had learned to find. The opening shot — Andrews spinning on the Salzburg hillside, the helicopter pulling back to reveal the landscape — is the most famous entrance in musical film history and the most complete single image of what the Andrews persona promised and delivered.
Victor/Victoria works because Andrews understands that the joke is the persona — that the audience's belief in her precision and control is the thing the film is playing with, and that the precision deployed in service of the comedy is funnier than the comedy deployed against the precision. The film's most satisfying quality is Andrews' willingness to be physically and vocally comedic with the same commitment she brought to the spoonful of sugar, which is the evidence that the instrument's range was always wider than the musicals required.
The original cast recording of My Fair Lady — Andrews and Harrison, before the film that replaced her — is the record of a performance the cinema never captured, which is the most complete form of loss: the thing was real, the evidence exists, and the version that survives is not the one that was given the larger audience. What the original cast recording confirms is that the soprano voice and the comedic intelligence and the dramatic precision were all fully present in 1956, eight years before Mary Poppins established her for the people who hadn't been at the theatre.
Some people regard discipline as a chore. For me, it is a kind of order that sets me free to fly.
Julie Andrews' legacy is the two openings: Mary Poppins descending from the sky, umbrella-first, over the Banks household; Maria spinning on the Salzburg hillside, the helicopter pulling back to reveal everything. Two of the most beloved musical films ever made, one Oscar, three nominations, the soprano voice that defined her career and the work that continued after it was taken from her: a complete life in the performing arts, longer and more various than the "practically perfect" image suggested.
The My Fair Lady story — the role created and denied and corrected by the Oscar — is the most famous narrative in her career and the least important part of it. The important parts are the Carnegie Hall-equivalent moments: Mary Poppins spinning an umbrella at the camera, Maria singing on a hillside, Victoria playing Victor playing Victoria — three complete uses of a complete instrument, each making the other more convincing.