Angelina: An Unauthorized Biography Read Online Free PDF Page B

thirty years later, the girl’s name could not be mentioned in her presence. She never forgot, nor could she ever forgive.
    On the set, she swatted aside the amorous attentions of Burt Reynolds as easily as she did the Georgia midges. Indeed, Reynolds’s increasing irritation with Jon Voight’s uncertainty, his desire to analyze every gesture, grunt, and groan in a scene, may have stemmed more from thwarted romantic desire than from the daily acting duel.
    As filming progressed in the treacherous rapids of the Chattooga River, Voight became more assured and confident. “He is the real thing: intelligent and intensely intuitive, skillful, yet with that mysterious something that great actors have, the ability to transcend acting, the ability to become, ” observes Boorman. The film, remembered as much for the dueling banjosrefrain and the powerful male rape scene as for the themes of man at odds with nature, resurrected Voight’s talent. It was his artistic deliverance. As Boorman recalls, “He says I saved his life by persuading him to do the picture, then did my best to kill him while making it.”
    Meanwhile, Marcheline was wrestling with her own romantic deliverance. At the time, she was in love with two men: Jon Voight and his friend Al Pacino. So when Jon asked her to marry him, she had to look deep into her heart. Shy and self-effacing, Pacino was not the type to try to steal a friend’s girlfriend, particularly as Voight had been so generous with money for his theater group. It is a sign of how deeply he had fallen for Marcheline that Pacino pleaded with her not to marry Voight unless she was sure. As she struggled with her emotions, the decisive voice was that of her mother, Lois, who encouraged her to marry the Oscar-nominated Jon, who was then much more successful than his rival. Marcheline followed her mother’s wishes and chose Jon Voight. But in her heart, Pacino would remain the great unrequited love of her life.
    Jon and Marcheline married just before Christmas, on December 12, at Jon’s home on Hanover Street in Brentwood, Los Angeles, which he was renting from TV director John Newland. John Boorman’s son Charley, who played Voight’s son in the movie, was ring bearer. Unlike the wedding of Marcheline’s parents, this was a modest affair, with only fifty guests in attendance. As he was marrying for the second time, Voight would not have been able to marry in a Catholic church even if he had wished to do so. In keeping with the relaxed, informal vibe, Marcheline, who was increasingly known as Marche (pronounced Marcia), made her wedding dress from one of her shawls, Elton John’s “Your Song” played, and the couple took their vows in the presence of Superior Court judge Marvin Freeman. Karen Ziff, an assistant TV producer, was one of the witnesses.
    Amid the confetti of congratulations, their age difference, their short courtship, Marcheline’s inner turmoil, and her husband’s easy sexual magnetism were all forgotten. The Bertrands were living the American dream, rubbing shoulders with Hollywood royalty. Certainly it was a fairy tale come to life for Marche’s mother, the fantasies she contemplated as she combed her hair in front of the mirror all those years ago becoming a glamorous reality. Any doubts Marche might have had about the match she kept to herself. As a close friend of hers commented later, “Her familyall believed in the fairy tale and pushed their daughter into a marriage she didn’t really want in her heart.”
    A couple of years later, one of Marche’s friends was in turmoil about her own wedding plans. She wanted to marry hippie style, in bare feet with flowers in her hair in the local park. Her mother-in-law craved a church wedding. Marche’s advice was clear and to the point. “You don’t marry for yourself but your family,” she told her friend.

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This has been my burden for thirty-three years. I saw what happened to Angelina Jolie, and it haunts me to this