BSB: Liza Minnelli's "Kids, Wait Till You Hear This"

How do you break free of one legacy to cement your own? 

We’re back with a bite-sized Babes in Bookland mini review of Liza Minnelli’s memoir “Kid, Wait Till You Hear This,” and it’s equal parts warm, jaw-dropping, and quietly devastating. I went in expecting old Hollywood stories and iconic name-drops. I got those... but I didn’t expect a brutally honest look at what fame can cost a family behind closed doors.

I talk about Liza Minnelli the performer and cultural force: an EGOT-winning star of stage and screen, a voice people instantly recognize, and a public figure who showed up as an advocate during the AIDS crisis when many stayed silent. But the heart of her memoir is the private Liza, the daughter trying to survive a mother’s addiction and mental health storms while other adults fail to step in. Her pages on caretaking as a child, living with dread, and trying to “protect” a parent will hit especially hard if you’re an adult child of an addict or you’ve carried responsibilities that were never yours.

Liza’s account of her own substance use disorder and recovery, including rehab at the Betty Ford Center and the long road to real sobriety, is the most powerful part of the story and one of the most human celebrity memoir moments I’ve read. If you’re looking for a memoir podcast that blends pop culture with real conversations about addiction recovery, denial, resilience, and choosing life, this one’s for you.

Subscribe for more women’s memoir reviews, share this episode with a friend, and leave a review so more readers can find the show. What’s one “yes” you need to tell yourself today?

SAMHSA’s National Helpline, 1-800-662-HELP (4357) (also known as the Treatment Referral Routing Service), or TTY: 1-800-487-4889 is a confidential, free, 24-hour-a-day, 365-day-a-year, information service, in English and Spanish, for individuals and family members facing mental and/or substance use disorders. This service provides referrals to local treatment facilities, support groups, and community-based organizations.

Also visit the online treatment locator, or send your zip code via text message: 435748 (HELP4U) to find help near you.

Purchase Liza Minnelli's "Kids, Wait Till You Hear This!"

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Xx, Alex

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Transcript

Mini Review Setup And Hook

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Welcome back to Babes in Bookland, your women's memoir podcast. I'm your host, Alex Franca. Today is a bite-sized episode. I'm giving a little mini review on Liza Minelli's Kids, wait till you hear this. She writes, Because of my mother, I came to believe I could handle anything that came to me. This seemed like strength on the surface, but it was a delusion that would come back to haunt me years later. So I chose this memoir because growing up, Judy Garland was the first actress to absolutely captivate me, especially as Dorothy Gale in The Wizard of Oz. I mean, come on, when the black and white gives way to color as Dorothy lands in Oz, her singing somewhere over the rainbow, it was magical. And it was everything little me thought being an actress and being a star could be. Magical, bright, happy. When I discovered that the enchanting Judy Garland had kids, I was so jealous. What would it be like to have Dorothy Gale as your mother? Life was probably filled with song and fantastical moments, beauty and love. And after reading Liza's memoir, it definitely was filled with that. But it was also rife with addiction, Judy's demons, Liza having to grow up way too quickly and take on her mother's emotions, mental state, and care. Fun fact, I did not know that the iconic Liza Manelli was Judy Garland's daughter until like probably about 10 years ago. I mean, they're practically twins, so I'm not really sure how I missed that, but I knew that I needed to read this memoir. What was life really like growing up with Judy Garland as your mother? An iconic, larger-than-life force that continues to intrigue generations decades after her death. And how did this person, the first Nepo baby, as she calls herself, outgrow her mother's substantial shadow and become an icon in her own right without cracking under an impossible legacy? And her memoir is full of jaw-dropping moments, especially involving her mother. Juicy tea, humor, warmth, and resilience. But I was not expecting what I think is the most important section of her memoir. And to me, it's this part that makes her memoir a must-read. So before we get any further into her memoir, who is Liz Minelli? Just in case you didn't know, she is the eldest daughter of Judy Garland, like I said, from her marriage to the acclaimed Hollywood director Vincent Minelli. She's an egot winner. That means she's won an Emmy, a Grammy, an Oscar for her role in cabaret, and a Tony. She's actually won multiple Tonys. During the AIDS crisis of the 1980s, she was one of Hollywood's most visible advocates, performing at benefits, visiting friends and hospitals, and refusing to look away when most of the world did. Some of you, younger people, may know her as Lucille 2 from Arrested Development, but Liza has always been shimmying, singing, and capturing hearts for decades. She is undeniably a moment. She's been working on sharing her story, her truth, the truth, for the past 12 years and has entrusted her best friend, Michael Feinstein, and journalist Josh Josh Gettlin and Heidi Evans with telling it. In the intro, Michael writes about Liza coming to this decision, which wasn't easy for her. After all, it's her life. We aren't owed anything. But she realized that if she didn't tell her story, what would remain would be everyone else's versions, with fantasy often trumping truth. I listened to part of her memoir on audiobook, and Liza narrates it herself. And let me tell you, it is fabulous. It's like sitting in the room with the warmest, kindest, and most joyful of Hollywood royalty. This book is her setting the record straight, but it's such a love letter to her fans. She doesn't hold back on unflattering anecdotes and hard moments. And it's through her strength, her constant documentation of her getting back up after she's knocked down time and time again, that maybe we can find our own. This memoir is a gift to herself, I think, and her legacy and her fans for her 80th birthday. It dropped right around her birthday. So happy birthday, Liza. All right, listen. There's lots of fascinating moments in her memoir, including her many marriages and affairs. I'm going to focus today on what I think are the two strongest, most human parts of her memoir. The first being the relationship with her mother. And I'm sure most of us will never even be able to imagine what it's like to be the daughter of one celebrity, let alone two. But there are, unfortunately, so many parts of her story that so many of us can resonate with. A few things we can't. Growing up calling Frank Sinatra Uncle Frank, having playdates with Mia Farrow, referring to Humphrey Bogart as Bogey. She writes, to outsiders, this was a fairy tale world. But we kids had no idea our lives were unique. There was nothing to compare it to. It was as if we all grew up in a company town, except our parents got up in the morning, called their agents, kissed us goodbye, and drove off to work at MGM. But her life wasn't all a technical or dream. She writes this about her mother. I'd never stop believing that I needed to protect her. Ask any adult child of an addict. They'll tell you once you learn this lesson, you never unlearn it. There's a dreadful anxiety to cope with, and it sets you up for all the other relationships in your life. It's no secret that Judy Garland was battling her own demons. Liza lovingly defends her mother time and time again throughout her memoir, reminding us that Judy's demons were created, orchestrated by the Hollywood studio system. She would be forced to work 16-hour days, then given sleeping pills to sleep, uppers for energy onset, appetite suppressants to keep her insanely thin. Liza writes about her mother's many suicide attempts and the effect that they had on her. She writes, This was hard for me to understand as a child. Today, at age 80, I know all about mama's substance use disorder and the damage it caused, but I still haven't wrapped my mind around the suicide attempts. I can't. They still frighten the hell out of me and break my heart. I wish I could hold Mama in my arms now, tell her how much I love her, and give her all the attention and help she deserved but never received. There's a lot to unpack in that quote. And it's clear in her memoir that Liza unconditionally loves her mother and approaches the memory of their relationship with compassion and grace and understanding. But it was really hard to read about. Like this, she writes, At 13, at 13, I was my mother's caretaker. A nurse, a doctor, a pharmacologist, and a psychiatrist rolled into one. It was a crazy balancing act. I'd give mama drugs every day so she could function. Then I'd watch to make sure she was okay. I lost count of the times I called doctors to say she'd run out of pills. They often told me they couldn't give her another prescription. It was too soon. I'd say, I'm a kid. Please fill my mama's prescription. She needs the pills so she can get through. Please help me. Liza writes that when she got older, she didn't feel she could escape this situation like she wanted to, because she knew, felt it was her responsibility to take care of her mother. No one else would. And it seemed that Judy Garland was incapable of taking care of herself. It was utterly heartbreaking to read this part. I felt like Liza was failed by all the other adults in her life. And I think her father. Though she'd never say that, I mean, she writes about Vincent Minelli with such love and reverence. And she does say that he was her safe place to land throughout the storm that was the rest of her life. But I couldn't help but wonder what is the thought process behind people leaving their partners whom they know have substance abuse? I know that this also kind of seemed like a way of life in the particular circles that they were all involved in. There is a lot of drinking and a lot of pills, but people must have known Liza's role in all of this. She talks about calling doctors, right? She's a child. She bore the emotional and mental burden of being her mother's keeper. I know the feeling of being left high and dry by other adults. I know the feeling of them being able to walk away while I've had to take on a burden that wasn't mine to bear. It's frustrating and it's exhausting. No child should have to be their parents' keeper. And shame on the adults in Liza's life who didn't step up. And sure, Judy's next husband Sid was a piece of crap, but I know that there were other people who saw what was going on and just let it be. Liza writes that there is one person that Judy trusted to protect her from herself, and it was Liza. And that just seems so unfair. Liza also writes about having to dodge Judy's wicked temper, and through the rest of Judy's life, their relationship would be tenuous. Full of love, sure, but also manipulation and competition. Her mother's love would continue to hurt her. And also at some points it did seem to buoy her, sure, I guess. Liza does write that during a particularly strange and strange duet performance in London, where Judy seemed to be surprised and jealous that Liza was performing so well, that the audience loved her so much, that Liza feels she finally earned her mother's approval. She called it a trial by fire. But should parents really be conducting those trials? No. And I know, I know that Judy Garland had her own issues. And yes, I can, I can agree that many of her problems were brought on by other people's actions toward her. I truly can't imagine living through what she lived through. But it was a devastating reminder of the hurt and pain that we can cause people we love. And I do think that Judy Garland loved her children the best she could if we don't face our demons. How do we stop trauma from being generational? And I do wonder how much Judy leaned into the victimhood in her own life offstage. Liza writes that sympathy was her mother's brand, that she liked playing the victim. She writes, audiences felt sorry for her. They'd show up and cheer her on. It became a part of her act, and she was determined to keep things that way. This is what they want to see, and that's what I give them, she explained. I once asked her why so many people thought she was unhappy. Because they need to, she said. Mama knew exactly what she was doing. This didn't make it any easier for me. I can understand Judy Garland's point. There is something gross but true about people liking when other people lose. I guess maybe it makes them feel better about themselves. And someone as high profile as Judy Garland, Dorothy Frickin' Gale. There's a seedy deliciousness that I can imagine people felt at seeing her struggles. And believe me, her struggles were well documented in the press. Poor little witch girl who actually went broke quite a few times. She and the children skipped out on quite a few hotel bills that Liza eventually settled up. But I do wonder when you play at being the victim for so long, how do you stop? Where do you draw that line? I don't know, there were times where it just didn't seem like an act anymore, especially when it came to Liza. And my heart does break for Judy Garland. It really does. But I think it breaks for Liza more. Not that this lady wants or needs my sympathy. Like I said, growing up with her mother, Liza decided that she was going to do the opposite. She was going to be strong. She was going to turn her personal pain into energy and power. But remember that quote I opened with? What seemed like strength would be delusion. Liza couldn't outperform the cycle of addiction. And Liza would hate to be called a victim, but she was. She was the child of an addict. She was betrayed by other adults in her life. And it made me think, why is victim a bad word? Why do we attach shame to it? We can't help what happens to us sometimes. We can't help the families we're born into, the way life unfolds despite our best efforts. We can be victims. We are victims. But it's what we do next, I think, whether we lean into the victimhood or we find strength and resilience to survive. But you have to be a victim of something to survive it. I think we also need to get the shame out of that word. And I hadn't ever really thought about that until I read Liza's memoir. And I wonder if Liza's own uncomfortable relationship with that word, victim, and the idea of sympathy, associating sympathy with an act that her mother put on, a weakness, affected the way that she struggled with treatment for her own substance use disorder. It's Liza's vulnerable and exceptionally honest, detailed account of her battle with addiction that I think is the most powerful part of her memoir. She writes, Growing up, I met a lot of people who popped too many pills, drank too much, and played games with dangerous drugs. They eventually stumbled and fell. I'd had a front row seat to mama's demons, but I was convinced I was different. I was too smart for that. I wasn't a heavy drinker. I just liked wine. If phallium calmed me down by day, why couldn't a pill help me sleep at night? I used cocaine, but so did everybody else. Baby, I had it all under control. I was a survivor. You're too smart to ruin your life, Liza, I told myself. You're not that stupid. What bullshit. She tied in so much of her self-worth to not playing the victim, like she saw her mother her mother do, that she almost couldn't allow herself to need help. She had to be strong for so long for her mother, in a brutal industry, in a harsh town. Maybe she couldn't face the truth. She is convinced and really credits her sister Lorna with this to go to the Betty Ford Center. She writes, The first thing I learned at the Betty Ford Center was that we are all, quote, accomplished liars. None of us told the truth about our addictions. We were lying to ourselves and the people we loved. And we weren't just liars. We were all accomplished performers, each of us putting on an act. Now maybe we'd learn to face ourselves. But one trip to rehab wasn't enough for Liza to break free. She continued battling her addiction for decades, including glow lows when she passed out on the streets of New York, before finally getting sober in her late 60s. Her story and her message are so powerful for anyone who is facing their own addictions. She is open and honest about the wool she was pulling over her eyes, but she also has so much compassion for herself, which extends to any of her readers dealing with the same thing. She reminds us all, quote, luck and brains have nothing to do with addiction. You're dealing with chemicals that are baffling, cunning, and powerful. Keep it up, keep denying it, and you'll become dependent on them sooner than you think. You'll fool yourself for years, even decades. It's a scary and hard thing to acknowledge. But Liza encourages us all to face our truths about ourselves. You might be your own worst enemy in this way, using substances for whatever reason to numb the pain or ignore the trauma. But there is a way out, and you deserve to find that way out. Liza writes, you, we, are not alone. No matter where you come from or who you are, substance use disorder afflicts millions of people around the world. There will always be folks who know what you're going through, cheering you on. I'm with you all the way. There are people ready to help you. Please reach out to them and be strong for you and those who love you. Real strength is admitting you're weak, that you have weaknesses, that you need help. There is no shame in admitting you have an addiction and need help. And I sincerely hope that Liza's memoir provides that buoy of strength for those who need it. And for those of us who aren't battling substance abuse, she has this plea. Please do not judge us. Please understand that we're often smart, talented, kind, loving people whose brain wiring takes us to the brink. When you find us to be impossible, it's because we've found ways to break the promises we've made to you, our dearest loved ones. But before we break our promises to you, we've already broken them to ourselves. The bottom line is we're not a lost cause. We can get better. I'm living proof of that. And she is. It's never too late. Liza Manelli's kids, wait till you hear this is one heck of a read. Full of Hollywood tea, like I said, including a very disappointing interaction with Lady Gaga, which I will just let you read about. She had lots of husbands, lots of beautiful friendships. There's charm, there's wit, there's vulnerability, there's strength, and there's joy. Her book is so joyful. It's truly the story of a woman who has lived a life, loved her fans, loves her fans, and was ready to set the record straight and help anyone, however, she could with her own story. This memoir is for anyone who's curious about a life in showbiz, especially in the theater, lovers of old Hollywood, and strong women. It's for anyone looking for a scrappy story, one where our main heroine gets knocked down but is never out. It's a memoir that's a celebration of facing yourself, forgiving yourself, and choosing life. She writes, We know how difficult, beautiful, and complicated life is for all of us. So how do we get through? As I've sung so many times over the years, life keeps happening every day. Say yes. And that's from her, Liza with the Z Show. Liza has said yes to life over and over again, but she's also said yes to herself. Yes, you are good. Yes, you are worthy. Yes, you deserve help. Yes, you are strong. Yes, you should tell your story. What yeses can you tell yourself? Thank you, Liza, for setting the record straight, telling us your story in your terms. And thank you all for listening. If you love this quick little episode today, please review the show however you listened and send it to a friend. I really love doing these quick little reviews. But if you have any feedback, please slide into my DMs at Babes and Bookland Pod on Instagram. We can continue shaping this show together. And if you'd like to further support the show, you can subscribe on Apple Podcasts or find us on Patreon for exclusive content and extended episodes. Next week, author Katya Dunko joins the show to discuss her riveting memoir, I Drank from the Nile. Spanning four years in four countries, I Drink from the Nile is a haunting and courageous memoir about addiction, motherhood, and the unrelenting will to survive. It's a story of resilience carved from pain, defined by endurance, and bound by one unbreakable truth. The cycle ends with her. Sound a little familiar? It's a good one. We'll see you here next week.