The left-out crucial line
Barbra Streisand likes to rewrite the past. This has been obvious for years, and with my having followed her career to varying degrees since 1971, it's become inescapable.
I was forcibly reminded of this when I happened across "Mirror" while channel-surfing, for the first time in at least five years. It was the pivotal scene of the movie, where Rose (Streisand), having left her husband, gets reassurance from her mother (Lauren Bacall) over an early-morning cup of coffee.
Rose (staring at a picture of herself at age five): She was very pretty.
Mother: You were very pretty. You are very pretty. Remember that.
Does that sound like what you heard? No? The reason is: In every version of this film, on tape, disc, or cable, since its initial theatrical release, Bacall's line "You are very pretty" is left out. Only silence remains.
It's impossible to ignore how this omission ends up making Rose into a shallow, manipulative, emotionally immature woman of 50 ... er, 40something ... er, whatever the hell the 55-year-old Streisand was at the moment.
Rose, after this scene, starts on a makeover path, accompanied by remarkable cruelty toward her husband, including not talking to him for months, lying to him about her still loving him, and engaging in flings she doesn't believe in.
Yet leaving out "You are very pretty" on the mother's part gives the distinct feeling that Rose is doing her makeover to compensate for what she doesn't have, doing it "by any means necessary." Not that she's reaffirming and discovering parts of herself, through making regrettable mistakes. She becomes far more unsympathetic.
When she confronts her husband, glammed up, her confidence rings false about what she'd been doing. It becomes failed manipulation — he's flummoxed, not impressed — and not a sign of her achievements.
The heart of Rose's self-assessment is kicked away, and she becomes someone using newly-found beauty (or an attempt at it) as a tool to get her man back — not a growing and advancing human being who adds to her existing substance.
I cannot fathom why Streisand removed that line. It made a marginally well-plotted, beautifully filmed, capably cast film into a manipulative exercise. It made the ending into nonsense: Her husband doesn't know who she is any more, he confesses it, and she doesn't admit to any self-knowledge.
Damn it, lady, stop twiddling. ... Oh, I forgot, you haven't shown your undeniable directing skills in a decade, and probably never will again. Your weakness and our loss.
PS. As I type this, the ending uses a portion of Puccini's aria "Nessun dorma." Except that she loops Pavarotti's singing and creates a second climax Puccini never wrote. Twiddle, twiddle, twiddle ... eh, maybe it's better that she's just an actor for hire these days.
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Yvaine: What do stars do best?
Captain: Well, certainly not the waltz!