Richard Burton Didn’t Love Lucy – The Life and Sad Ending of Dick – Liz and Lucy | HO!~

A Meeting of Icons — and an Inevitable Clash

In September 1970, two of Hollywood’s most potent stars converged for the opening episode of Here’s Lucy — a sitcom vehicle for Lucille Ball. The episode titled “Lucy Meets the Burtons” featured Burton and his wife, Elizabeth Taylor, as themselves: Burton disguising himself as a plumber to escape the paparazzi, Lucy’s character dragging him into the office to fix a sink, then discovering Taylor’s massive 69-carat diamond ring stuck on Lucy’s finger.

On the surface: a playful comedy crossover. But behind the scenes, something far darker brewed.

Two Worlds Collide

By 1970, Burton was firmly established as a brooding Shakespearean actor—epics like Cleopatra, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, and method-drama roles had made him a legend (and a tabloid fixture). Meanwhile, Lucille Ball was American television royalty—after I Love Lucy she had built a franchise, and now fronted Here’s Lucy, where she not only starred but produced.

For Burton, a sitcom seemed beneath his craft; for Ball, everyday physical comedy was the lifeblood of her legacy. And that difference in orbit was never going to remain invisible.

The On‐Screen Farce, Off‐Screen Friction

On‐screen the episode delivered: Lucy chasing Burton down with slapstick zeal, the diamond ring causing chaos, Taylor adding star wattage.

Off‐screen, Burton’s diary tells another story. According to his unpublished diaries (later edited and published), Burton hated the experience. In one famously harsh passage he wrote:

“Those who had told us that Lucille Ball was very wearing were not exaggerating. She is a monster of staggering charmlessness and a monumental lack of humour… I loathe her the first day. I loathe her the second day and the third. I loathe her today but now I also pity her…”

He described that the incessant retakes, her heavy insistence on mugging and laughs, and her constant rewriting and micromanaging made the job unbearable.

Egos, Styles and the Anatomy of a Collision

At the heart: two powerhouses with opposite creative instincts. Ball was in full control—producer-star, intimately involved in scripts, takes, performance. Burton was used to the weight of dramatic roles, subtlety, and respect for what he saw as craft. The clash of sitcom speed and serious actor discipline was inevitable.

Friends of Burton reportedly said he considered the episode a “contractual obligation” rather than an artistic opportunity. The toxic combination of his disdain, her perfectionism, and the mismatch of formats created a singular moment of Hollywood discomfort.

The Sad Endings

The chapter closes on melancholy.

Richard Burton died of a cerebral haemorrhage on August 5, 1984, aged only 58.

Elizabeth Taylor passed away on March 23, 2011, at age 79 from congestive heart failure.

Lucille Ball died on April 26, 1989, aged 77, from a ruptured abdominal aortic aneurysm.
They each left brilliant legacies—but also finished chapters marked by unrealised potential, creative forks unwalked, and in this case, a forced encounter that produced respect on-screen and resentment off.

Reflection: Was It Lucy or Burton Who Was at Fault?

Was Lucille Ball a controlling tyrant? Or was Richard Burton too high-and-mighty for a sitcom spotlight? One can argue both.

Ball, by that stage, had built an empire and expected nothing but excellence (and ratings). Burton expected to be treated as serious—even in what he approached as a lighter job. The mismatch was not just personal—it was structural.

In the end, the episode remains a curious footnote: a rare moment where a comedic queen and a tragic actor shared screen time, but not spirit.

Legacy: The Smash Hit Episode That Hurt Inside

“Lucy Meets the Burtons” became one of Here’s Lucy’s most memorable instalments.

But the laughter masked a tension between worlds… and perhaps a warning: when legends collide without mutual ground, even stars can burn out.