The Actress and the President

Perhaps the last place Madonna’s fans would ever have expected to find her was crouched on the floor of an automobile racing down a bustling Buenos Aires street. Her destination: the home of the president of Argentina, Carlos Menem. It was Wednesday, February 7, 1996 — just another day in the extraordinary life of Madonna Louise Veronica Ciccone.

While huddling on the floor of a black Spanish-made automobile, Madonna was being smuggled to meet the president. Her own rented Mercedes-Benz — surrounded by police on motorcycles — had successfully been used as a decoy moments earlier, confusing the ever-stalking paparazzi who had followed it in hopes of capturing on film whatever they believed Madonna was going to be doing that day, probably shopping. If only they had known the true nature of her plans; that would have been a real story.

From the day she arrived in Buenos Aires, Madonna had not been pleased with what she found there: an orchestrated political campaign in opposition to her movie Evita. Much to her dismay, it seemed that everywhere she looked she saw graffiti sprayed on walls with sentiments such as: “Chau good-bye Madonna,” and “Evita Lives! Get Out, Madonna!” Many of those living in Argentina believed that Madonna would desecrate the memory of their beloved Santa Evita. They feared that Evita, as painted by the flagrant Madonna, would be an insult to her memory—and for no good reason other than the fact that Madonna would be the one essaying the role. Perhaps making matters worse for everyone on the Evita project was the fact that director Alan Parker’s cast and crew were comprised mostly of British workers; the 1982 war between Argentina and Britain over the Falkland Islands remained a sticking point for many Argentinians.

Though a replica of the balcony at Casa Rosada, the presidential residence in Argentina, was re-created for the movie at great expense in London, Madonna had longed to film the climax of the movie (when Evita sings “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina”) at the actual location. Standing on the exact site at which Evita gave some of her most dramatic appearances would, no doubt, fill Madonna with genuine emotion, thereby enhancing her performance immeasurably. Originally, Menem had granted the film company permission to film at public buildings such as the Casa Rosada. However, because of the public outcry and controversy, he abruptly changed his mind. He now decreed that locations originally scheduled to be used as sites for filming were off-limits.

President Menem, Madonna noted, “was setting the tone for everything” that was, in her view, ruining her movie. “He made statements indicating that he agreed the film was an outrage,” she said angrily. (“I don’t see Madonna in the role,” he had observed to Time magazine. “And I don’t think Argentina’s people, who see Evita as a true martyr, will tolerate it.”)

It seemed clear that no producer, director or studio executive would be able to change the president’s mind. This was a task that would have to be left to the lady herself, the movie’s star. It was another one of those times in Madonna’s career when a “handler” would not be able to do her bidding, when she would have to do something herself in order for it to be done to her satisfaction.

Madonna had met Constancio Vigil, a close friend of Menem’s, who attempted to arrange a meeting between the star and the president. Menem, however, said that he wasn’t interested in meeting Madonna; he refused to see her. Chagrined by his snub, she would not take no for an answer.

After much negotiating, the president relented and agreed to talk with Madonna, but only under the condition that the public not be made aware of the meeting — hence the clandestine manner of her journey on the floor of an automobile. “He didn’t want people to think he was speaking with the enemy,” explained one government official. When this stipulation was reported to Madonna, she was disappointed by it but also understood that it was the only way she would be able to meet the president. She would simply have to refrain from doing what she, a master public relations strategist, probably wanted to do: set up a press conference to announce that she and the president were about to engage in a face-to-face meeting.

Before she would sit down with Menem, it was only natural for Madonna to want to do a certain amount of research. A voracious reader, she asked for material about Menem which she would review prior to the meeting so that she could better understand his life and political career. As she put it to one of her associates, “I want to know who he is. He certainly knows who I am.”

Through her research, Madonna would learn that sixty-six-year-old Carlos Saul Menem was the first Peronist ever elected to national office in Argentina. He was elected governor of La Rioja in 1973, the year Juan Domingo Perón engineered his political comeback. Jailed in 1976 when his wife, Isabel, was forced from power, he was released in 1981. He was reelected governor in 1983 and again in 1987.

From his early career as provincial governor, Menem rose to the presidency by preaching Peronist politics, the nationalistic style of government formulated by Juan and Eva Perón, which sought to reconcile the interests of industry, business, labor and the poor. Menem’s personal charisma and dramatic oratorial style had won him the presidential election in 1989. That election also represented the first transfer of power from one constitutionally elected party to another since 1928. A Roman Catholic convert, Menem is divorced with two children, a son and a daughter. “Divorced, huh?” Madonna remarked. “Finally, something we have in common. We’re both sinners . . . divorced Catholics.”

When it was clear that they had evaded the press, Madonna and Constancio Vigil were driven to an airport and then flown by helicopter to an offshore island in the middle of the delta in El Tigre. They swooped low, flying directly over what was clearly a large estate in the direction of a nearby small airport. Madonna watched as rolling, green hills flattened out, making way for a concrete landing strip. The helicopter dropped gently.

As soon as Madonna and her friend disembarked, a dignified, elderly, casually dressed black man appeared before them. He bowed deeply. They were then escorted to a nearby Land Rover and driven to opulent grounds owned by a business associate of Menem’s. There, surrounded by pink flamingos, as if in some magical fairy tale, Madonna would find the president of Argentina waiting for her. It was six P.M.

According to some of his aides, President Carlos Menem had been determined not to be impressed by Madonna. However, like many men before him who had tried to resist Madonna, Menem’s cool reserve melted away almost immediately upon meeting her. According to a photograph of her taken that day, she was dressed in a thirties-style ensemble perfectly appropriate for the moment: a black crocheted cotton cardigan and a knee-length silk dress splashed with red, black and white. With black-and-white leather t-strap pumps on her feet, a sequined tulle clutch bag in one hand and what appeared to observers to be ruby antique French earrings, she looked as if she had just stepped out of a 1930s film. Because her hair was pulled into a chignon and covered by a thirties-style black horsehair hat with a gray lace overlay, it was difficult to tell if she was blonde or brunette.

As Madonna stood serenely before Menem, perhaps trying to maintain her composure (she would later admit she was nervous), the president began to compliment her profusely. First, he told her that he was amazed at how much she resembled Eva Perón, whom he had met as a young man. Madonna was flattered. She never expected such a compliment from the president of Argentina and, as she would later say, she couldn’t help but feel “ten feet tall.”

It was going well. They walked through a large courtyard. In the middle of a paved quadrant stood a huge carved fountain on which life-sized, bronze sea horses pranced among stone mermaids, octopuses and jellyfish. As they walked by it, Madonna couldn’t resist dangling her fingers in the cool water. “I need one of these in my backyard,” she joked.

As soon as they were seated in the center of a lovely brick patio, maids and butlers swarmed about, offering wine and cheese. Then, an attractive and formal-looking female interpreter walked over and introduced herself to Madonna. She indicated that she would be assisting in the event of any awkward communication between the actress and the president. While the interpreter spoke, Madonna noticed the president’s eyes going “over every inch of me,” as she would later recall, “looking right through me.” She found him to be “a very seductive man.”

Once relaxed in her wicker chair, Madonna quickly took stock of Menem, just as he had of her. She noted his tan, his small feet, the fact that he dyed his hair black. She also noted that he could not take his eyes off her.

As ravenous mosquitoes descended upon them, Madonna and the president — followed by his aides — retreated into a parlor furnished with expensive antiques; Madonna was unsure about their age and would later say she thought it “uncouth” to inquire. In the parlor, the owner of the estate in which the meeting was taking place suddenly appeared with a bottle of chilled champagne in one hand and a small tray of caviar and crackers in the other. After sampling the caviar, Madonna slipped a cassette tape into a player she had brought with her. The song on the tape was “You Must Love Me,” a new ballad from the Evita cast album, which Madonna, as Evita, sings when she learns that she is near death. It’s an emotionally involving performance, perhaps her best of recent years, and one of which she was most proud.

Fixing him with a stare to gauge his reaction, Madonna watched Menem rock back and forth, his eyes closed, as her voice filled the room. He then leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head as he continued to listen intently. When the song was over, he had tears in his eyes. As Madonna had hoped, the president had been moved. With the moment just right, Madonna then began what she would later refer to as her “spiel.”

“I so want to make this movie,” she told him, her tone passionate. Small television cameras, mounted on the walls and swiveling soundlessly, recorded her plea. The interpreter translated as Madonna continued: “I promise you that it will be fair. I want to be respectful to Eva’s memory. You must understand that my intention is good.” She seemed filled with emotion. “It’s all about intention, you know?” she continued. “And mine is a good one, I promise you.”

“Somehow, I think I believe you,” Menem said as he inched closer to his guest. He reached out and patted her hand, seeming happy to be in the company of an attractive and intelligent woman. Madonna smiled warmly, just a little seductively . . . but not too seductively. When she leaned forward, he did the same. While this flirtatious moment was an interesting turn of events, it was not unexpected.

According to one eyewitness — the two were never left alone but were always in the company of Menem’s aides — Madonna met Menem’s gaze with her own. “You know, you’re a very handsome man,” she told him. He didn’t need an interpretation to understand the compliment.

“I caught Menem looking at my bra strap, which was showing ever so slightly,” she would later recall. “He continued doing this throughout the evening with his piercing eyes. When I caught him staring, his eyes stayed with mine.”

Over dinner, Madonna and the president talked about their lives and careers and, as Madonna later recalled, “our passions.” They spoke of music, politics, mysticism and reincarnation. It must have been difficult for Madonna to come to terms with her circumstances, with how far she had come from her struggling days as a Detroit singer with a New York band called the Breakfast Club. Perhaps it would have been difficult for some observers to reconcile this woman who seemed to possess such a flare for diplomacy with the one who, when she finally did become famous, was often viewed as a temperamental and sex-starved pop star. Now, she was the perfect combination of sexuality and brains. But, of course, she had always been just that.

“One always has to have faith in things that cannot be explained,” the president told her as they discussed Catholicism. “Like God. And the fact that miracles can happen.”

Madonna seized the moment. “Yes,” she agreed. “And that’s why I believe that you will change your mind and allow us to film on the balcony of the Casa Rosada.”

He smiled warmly. “Anything is possible,” he said, nodding. “Anything is possible.”

Five hours passed. It was eleven o’clock. The president took Madonna’s face in his hands and kissed her on both cheeks. “I wish you great luck with your film,” he told her, speaking in English.

“But will you help me?” she asked.

“As I said,” he answered, smiling, “anything is possible.” With old-world courtesy, he helped her to her feet. Then he stood at the front door and waved good-bye as Madonna and Constancio were driven away.

Once at the airport, Constancio guided Madonna by the arm across the tarmac to a red-and-white helicopter whose rotor was already beginning to turn. Soon, they were heading back to the city.

Madonna later said she felt swollen with pride over her accomplishment. “We flew away,” she later said, “and I was floating inside the cabin the whole way home. He had worked his magic on me. I only hoped I did the same.”

Less than two weeks later, the Ministry of Culture contacted the film’s production company. A second meeting — this time formal and public — was organized and attended by President Menem, Madonna, Alan Parker and two other stars of the movie, Jonathan Pryce (the Tony award – winning actor from the musical Miss Saigon who had now been hired to portray Juan Perón) and Antonio Banderas (Ché, the film’s narrator). At that meeting, Menem gave his blessing to Evita by making available to the film all government buildings previously off limits — including Madonna’s cherished Casa Rosada.