In the upcoming Florence Foster Jenkins, Meryl Streep plays the real-life socialite who longed to be an opera singer despite a distinct lack of rhythm or talent. Simon Helberg—who plays Howard Wolowitz on The Big Bang Theory—is her accompanist, Cosme McMoon, who has no idea what he’s bargained for.

At a special screening and reception for the movie at Paramount last night, I told Helberg that the situation is a bit reminiscent of What Ever Happened To Baby Jane?, the old Grand Guignol thriller in which Victor Buono played the piano for demented Bette Davis, quickly realizing she was out of her element--and mind.

“But I’m old school,” I added, laughing. “Stephen Frears [who directed Florence] is an old school director,” replied Helberg. “He talked about Lubitsch and Billy Wilder.” Helberg has a scene where he breaks into giggles, so Frears told him to watch the 1939 classic Ninotchka, which was advertised with the line “Garbo laughs."“She’s great and the movie’s great,” said Helberg, “but the laughing scene doesn’t hold up in the same way. You’re watching a gorgeous lady get messy. Laughing is really hard.” I agreed—much as I worship the Garbo allure, I didn’t buy her momentary elation and am happy to finally find someone who agrees on that.

Just then, one of the Broadway performers in attendance was heard from across the room, trying to emulate the wacky sound of Florence Foster Jenkins, and I started doing a Garbo and cackling. “A Tony winner is trying to sound bad,” said Helberg, smiling, “and it’s not working.”

So how did he prepare for the laughing bit? “I asked Meryl—I didn’t ask her much about ‘How do you do what you do?’; she doesn’t want to hear that—but ‘How do you laugh?’ She’d had a laughing fit in Adaptation. Her answer to things is ‘I just thought it was funny’ or ‘I just did it’. She said, ‘Try to cry. That always makes me laugh.’ But it didn’t work. I wanted to cry anyway! I ended up surrendering to the moment and the exhaustion and the fear.

“Much of what you see in the film came naturally—gobsmacked, terror, flop sweat. I think threw up in the movie.” Nonsense; Variety called Helberg “deft”—and they’re always on key.

Big Bang Theory's Simon Helberg on Working with La Streep in Florence Foster Jenkins

Big Bang Theory's Simon Helberg on Working with La Streep in Florence Foster Jenkins

Way back in 1971, Wakefield Poole’s gay porn film Boys in the Sand did more than arouse people. It became a legit hit at New York’s 55^th Street Playhouse, attracted a mixed crowd, including some surprising glitterati, and paved the way for the acceptance of porn on a mainstream level. Starring the blonde, game Cal Culver (who dubbed himself Casey Donovan after appearing in a film called Casey), Boys in the Sand was nicely photographed on Fire Island (on a budget) and had pleasantly evocative music backing its explicit sex acts--a far cry from the raunchy stuff that was running in 42^nd Street porn theaters at the time. It was gay-positive, sex-positive, and cash-positive. Poole—who had been a Broadway dancer/choreographer—entered a blazing new realm, and to keep the theater connection going, money made from Boys in the Sand actually helped fund the workshops for the musical classic A Chorus Line! Poole was dubbed a naughty groundbreaker and went on to direct films like Bijou (1972), Bible! (1974), and the inevitable Boys in the Sand II (1984). And now, he’s the centerpiece of the documentary I Always Said Yes: The Many Lives of Wakefield Poole, directed by Jim Tushinski. Starting today, the doc will be available for digital rental on Amazon Instant, iTunes, Google Play and Vimeo on Demand, also streaming on Fandor, along with Poole’s famous films.

Before trekking to Fire Island for one more look at “boys in the sand” in the flesh, I talked to Poole, 80, about his throbbing achievement.

Hello, Wakefield. It seems like there’s no talking in Boys in the Sand.

None. No dialogue.

So you were all about the tableaux?

At that time, the visuals that were in pornography were so disgusting and degrading, to gay people even, so that’s why I made the movie. I made a movie that you can watch and get hot and feel sexual, but not feel disgusting and degrading. I did it as an experiment. I did it at the spur of the moment, and we shot in the Pines Meat Rack [the sandy area where gays have traditionally had open sex is the setting of the film’s first segment]. I shot Boys in the Sand II totally in the Grove Meat Rack.

For your cast, did you use any people who just happened to be there?

No. I used Casey Donovan. I originally had a guy named Dino, who worked at the Pines gift shop. When I said, “I’m gonna make it into a feature and put it in theaters,” he wanted $2000. I said, “I don’t have $2000, and I could make the whole film again for $2000.” A friend of mine, a Joffrey dancer, said, “I have this trick. I think he’d be great. He’s an exhibitionist.” Casey came up to my apartment and I showed him the first section I’d done with Dino. He said “I’m in”. I shot the first section all over again.

And Casey’s legit career ended, right?

He was with Wilhemina Models and was a model for Bloomingdale’s. Once the movie opened, he was spread all over the gay magazines and some straight magazines as well. That put a squelch on his career.

Back then, watching porn was a communal experience because you had to go out to a theater to see it. And people didn’t get embarrassed to be getting aroused together?

I succeeded in what I wanted to do. I wanted people to not be embarrassed and disgusted, and to sit down and watch it like a movie and not necessarily get up every three minutes and check out the men’s room. That was my way of knowing it was a success, if people didn’t get up and mill around that much.

How was Boys in the Sand received in the press?

We got good reviews from everybody. Even the New York Times tried to be snide, but they ended up giving us quotes to put in the ads. Variety said, “The casting seems as if it were done by Dial-A-Hustler.” What better tag line is there than that? We turned the negative ones into good ones. The best one was, “There are no more closets.”

The New York Times also ran an ad for the film. They had no problem printing an ad for a gay porn movie back then?

None. They took our ad—the first time an ad for that kind of gay movie was put in the Times. On Christmas Eve, our ad was right under the half page ad for the big Academy Awards film Nicholas and Alexandra. It was a quarter page, situated next to the quarter page for [the swingin’ Liz Taylor melodrama] X, Y And Zee.

X, Y and Zee was actually more trashy than your film.

I know. And mine was more successful.

What did the ad say?

It didn’t say anything. Just “Wakefield Poole’s Boys in the Sand. In color. All male cast.”

What if people came thinking this was just some nice family drama?

They found out real fast, once they came to the theater and saw the poster. And the 55^th Street Playhouse was way off the beaten track from other theaters. You actually went there on purpose, not because you just passed by and said “Let’s go in.”

So your mission to relieve the stigma surrounding porn was accomplished?

We treated it like a real movie. We took out ads, hired a press agent, had a press screening. Almost everyone showed up. Robert L. Green, who was the fashion director of Playboy and wrote for the New York Times, had a brunch for us and invited top models. They showed the movie and they were screaming how they loved it. Of course they were glad they weren’t in it. At one point, my manager [and the film’s producer] Marvin Shulman said he got a call from the famous British actor John Gielgud. Gielgud said, “Can I pick up a copy of the movie, because we have a mailing problem in England and I don’t want to take a chance?” He picked up two copies to show to friends!

I love it.  Tell me some other reactions that famous people had to Boys.

Jerry Robbins [legendary choreographer Jerome Robbins] came to see the movie. Leonard Bernstein’s manager told me Jerry went to see it, went home and got on the phone to Lenny and said, “You’ve got to see this movie. It’s wonderful. The photography’s great, the score’s terrific, and there’s even a story!” Rudolf Nureyev and his lover drove from Montreal to New York City just to see Boys in the Sand. It was infamous. For a good three or four weeks, I was a major star. [laughs]

One time, we [he and his lover, Peter Fisk, who was in Boys in the Sand] were at the baths, and in a room, resting after several encounters. We heard two guys in the room next door talking about Boysin the Sand. The other guy said he had it all wrong. “That’s not the way it was at all.” I wanted to knock and say, “Yes, it was”.

Your movie made it in the ‘70s, at the height of post-Stonewall sexual mania.

Stonewall totally influenced me to put me in the frame of mine to say, “Why are we so looked down on and why do we look down on ourselves and don’t ask for better quality?” I was a pothead and a hippie, and I was all for it.

The year after Boys in the Sand made a splash, the straights followed suit with Deep Throat.

Deep Throat followed us exactly. They did everything we did. They had press screenings, ads, a publicist, and they were not ashamed—of what they were doing or that they were copying a gay movie. But it really created porno chic.

Your thoughts on porn today?

It’s become everything I wanted it to become, and I don’t like it. I wanted it become clean and pleasant to watch and not cheap. But now it’s become formulaic and we have so many gay for play players. I had people who really wanted to make love with each other. They were not just fucking, they were making love. All the insecurities and fumbling around to try and read the other person--What do they want?--that’s in my film. It’s not just someone sticking a dick in a hole.

I bet you didn’t need a fluffer on set.

No. There was nobody on the set but me and the two actors. I had to change film every 50 feet. I told the actors to just keep going. “Keep doing what you’re doing and enjoy it.” I had to worry about the sand getting in the camera, I had to get back into it, and be focused. That’s when I learned to do cutaways. That’s why you see shots of the trees. I had no continuity. But every time I made a film, I put everything I learned into the next film. Bijou was 200% better technically than Boys in the Sand. I bought a camera with the profits. From that, I made Bible!. I spent $180,000—a financial disaster, but we got wonderful reviews.

Would you have rather stayed a dancer/choreographer than pursue the career you found in porn?

It just sort of happened. I didn’t really choose. I was doing some film work for a theater poster gallery, Triton gallery, in New York. I did some gallery shows and had all the Broadway stars coming and sitting on the floor watching it--Hal Prince, Michael Bennett, and Lenard Bernstein. Right after that, Alexis Smith—who was starring on Broadway in Follies at the time--wanted me to direct a film she was going to produce called Forever. A month later, Boys in the Sand opened. And suddenly I didn’t hear from Alexis ever again. All the phones stopped ringing. I got no interviews for Broadway shows. I had no choice in the matter. If I wanted to eat, I said…I’ll make another film.

In 1981, Joe Layton brought you back to Broadway to work on video sequences for the flop Bye Bye Birdie sequel Bring Back Birdie, with Donald O‘Connor and Chita Rivera.

And I was a drug addict and Joe was a drunk, so we didn’t do that well. He was gay. He and I had an affair. I wanted to settle down with him, but he was married and living a good life. I thought, “I can’t be the other woman. I can’t be Susan Hayward.” We became close friends. I was one of the first freebasers. I’m always the first! [laughs] After Birdie, I went back to San Francisco and continued freebasing again. I bottomed out. Shortly, I realized we had to leave San Francisco and get away from all our druggie pals and dealers if we were ever going to get clean. I packed my lover, Paul, off to stay with friends while I found a place to live. That's when I left with $25—I’d frittered away my entire savings on freebasing--and a plane trip with my Amex Rewards. I found a cold water flat on 28th and Tenth Ave. When Paul was able, he joined me and we got clean, cold turkey. It took about three months, after which Paul returned home to Minneapolis, and I started commuting, then moved there to be with him. Paul’s health continued its decline, leading to his death of cirrhosis of the liver. Paul was a beautiful soul. I went back to New York, gave up the film business, and attended the French Culinary Institute. I graduated and got my first job as a chef at La Caravelle. I never did drugs again, with the exception of an occasional joint.

Well, you got it together and have long been around to provide us with some great gay history. Congrats on the documentary.

I got Carole Bishop [who later became known as Kelly Bishop] her first job. She was so pretty and talented, but no good at auditions—she would literally freeze up. I called Ron Field, the choreographer of [the 1968 musical] Golden Rainbow, and recommended her highly, and he put her in the show without an audition, and then she eventually went on to win a Tony for A Chorus Line. But she wouldn’t do the documentary. She was afraid to, even though it contains nothing X-rated! Sondheim also refused, but for a different reason. He said, “I don’t ever want to talk about Do I Hear a Waltz? again.”

Hilarious.

THE WHOLE KITTEN CABOODLE

HE’S YOUR PRIVATE DANZA

At Feinstein’s/54 Below, Danza turned out to be an all-around song and dance guy, gamely singing standards, breaking into tap routines, strumming a ukulele, and telling stories and jokes with an eager yet relaxed quality that went down as easily as my sorbet medley. Danza can talk for days—he makes it seem effortless--and he also brings a likeable sincerity to his song stylings, which are sort of nouveau Rat Pack. He did the melanoma song too!

Several nights later at the same place, David Yazbek delivered a socko evening, backed by a sizzling seven-piece band. Yazbek wrote the scores for The Full Monty, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, and Women on the Verge of A Nervous Breakdown, making a stamp with  serious quirk and wit. He and his guest stars provided music from his albums and some of his shows (including the upcoming, set-in-Israel The Band’s Visit), with a brisk, jangly, neurotically fun edge that fused jazz, calypso, rock, pop, and just plain Yazbek. Playing piano, singing, and bantering, Yazbek is a sardonic dude who said the club “looks like a Byzantine, gothic brothel sarcophagus.” He made it rock, coming off like a Randy Newman I can stand, and his guests were up to par, including crystal-voiced Katrina Lenk and the intense Adam Kantor, who could well be the next Mandy Patinkin. After his two songs Kantor ran a few blocks to Fiddler on the Roof, where he portrays Motel the tailor to the Tevye played by Danny Burstein—who originated the Women on the Verge song Kantor had just done. Damn, Broadway is a tight little family—and I’m desperate to be part of it

NEXT STOP, GREENWICH VILLAGE

I set foot in the OutNYC Hotel complex again last week, but don’t worry; the old owners, who had weirdly encouraged Ted Cruz, were bye-bye and new, presumably more sensible people had taken over, without fears of any boycott. The adjacent nightclub was the setting for Midnight at The Never Get, a two-character musical set in the pre-Stonewall ‘60s, when being gay was dangerous, bittersweet, and more than a little exciting. Presented at The New York Musical Festival and conceived by Sam Bolen and Mark Sonnenblick, the latter of whom wrote the show, Midnight has singer Trevor Copeland (Bolen) hooking up with songwriter Arthur Brightman (Sonnenblick) and crowing about their love in an openly gay show at a Village bar called the Never Get, where audiences don’t initially know what to make of the same-sex crooning. The songs are enjoyably Cole Porter-lite (though there’s one quick melodic lift from “Makin’ Whoopee”), and Bolen does a great job of carrying them and the show. (A socko ending involves the older Trevor, played by Sidney Myer.) It’s by nature a narrated piece, done like a club act, but the narration tends to weaken the narrative drive. Still, this is a nifty glimpse of gays gone by.

MAC THE NICE

One more thing: New York drag star Dusty Ray Bottoms (a spunky lass who hails from Louisville, Kentucky) just posed for a Mac cosmetics ad with a bunch of women. The campaign aims to show that this stuff is for everyone. No argument here! And by the way, it’s not their first time at the drag rodeo; in the ‘90s, MAC did a Viva Glam campaign featuring RuPaul—who’s clearly indirectly behind this second drag boom too. Boom boom!

In 1962, at 15, Steven Gaines attempted suicide. As a boy in Brooklyn, New York, Gaines was distraught over being gay and desperately wanted to change that, so he sought help at the pricey Payne Whitney clinic, a stay his grandfather paid for because Steven craved it so badly. It’s where Marilyn Monroe had been, and it’s also where Broadway legend Mary Martin dropped by—to visit her husband, film critic and story editor Richard Halliday, whom Gaines became friend and “handmaiden” to.

Long after his years of conversion therapy, Gaines went on to eventually embrace his sexuality and to become the best selling author of Obsession: The Lives and Times of Calvin Klein, Simply Halston and Philistines at the Hedgerow. And now, he’s come up with a riveting memoir, One of These Things First, which details his fascinating efforts to change his sexuality back when “gay” didn’t connote “happy."

Hello, Steven. Why, as a kid, did you want to convert to straight?

I didn’t know anything about homosexuality. Nobody knew much about it in 1962. There’s a saying, “If you could go back and tell your 15-year-old self one thing, what would it be?” I’d say, “You can’t change.” But at the time, being homosexual was such a horrible, horrible thing that if somebody said “You can be straight, you don’t have to worry about this,” then “Sure. Oh, my God, of course.” I had tried to kill myself.

Aside from realizing you can’t change, did you also eventually realize you should be happy and proud?

That took a very long time because what the well meaning psychiatrist did was make me believe I was sick and the things I was feeling, which were absolutely normal and regular, were rooted in some terrible sickness. Even when I gave up trying to change, I walked around for many years thinking I was sick. My friends were furious with me. And I don’t blame them. If I had been born 10 years later, my whole life would be different. I’d have been married [to a man] and have children.

But you also write a lot of favorable things about that psychiatrist, Dr. Myers.

He was a kind, very smart man, a war hero. He was generous to me—he was loving, the father I never had. He taught me a lot about the world and how to behave. He saw that I wanted to destroy myself and he gave me hope that I didn’t have to do that.

But he also told you you had to change. Isn’t that a mixed message?

He was saying I didn’t have to kill myself, because I could be straight. He meant well. He was not one of the ogres. He was not a witch hunter. He saw this lost boy from Brooklyn who was tortured, and he said “You don’t have to kill yourself.”

Dr. Myers obviously read a lot of Freud. He had all these reasons for your gayness—like the fact that you’d undoubtedly heard your parents having sex.

And I did hear them having sex. I even saw them having sex, evidently. I slept in that little room with them for many, many years. I love what my mother said. “The Puerto Ricans sleep 10 in a room, and it didn’t hurt them.”

Hmm. I loved reading that you thought Payne Whitney was going to be basically a fancy hotel.

I was shocked because it turned out the first week you go there—this is why Marilyn Monroe signed herself out—you go on the seventh floor and there were 24 patients, and a lot of them were in shock therapy and very ill. They put me in a quiet room, and I was kicking the door, so they shot me up and put me in a padded cell the first night. But the third floor was entirely different, and I spent most of the time there. That was very much like a hotel.

But very regimented.

Yes. You had to have breakfast at a certain time, make your own bed, and have therapy every day.

When Marilyn died a year and a half after her release from Payne Whitney, how did you react?

When it happened, I was in the hospital. Everybody was so upset. We thought, “This isn’t gonna work.”

But maybe she was murdered.

Nobody even thought that at the time.

So you spent six months at Payne Whitney?

Five. They discharged me early because I went to Mary Martin’s house with her husband, Richard Halliday, and that was against the rules. He wasn’t supposed to come home. He and Mary knew that. He was having serious problems with barbiturates and amphetamines and alcohol. He was ruining her career and people didn’t want to work with him. I had no idea.

So you were allowed to walk out of the establishment, but not go home?

Right. When you got to the fourth floor, you were allowed walk privileges. On the fifth, some people even went to work and were allowed to go home for weekends. At my grandfather’s shop—a corset emporium that also sold a full line of women’s clothing—my grandmother would say, “She’s a Friday customer.” That would mean the mental home let you out for the weekend.

Tell me about your friendship with Halliday.

I was so taken with him and Mary Martin. Peter Pan was so important to me. I watched it on television—it was a big national event. He knew so much about theater. This man was so sophisticated. And I was the only one he’d have anything to do with, except for one woman, the Contessa. I listened to his stories and I told him my stories. But after the walking incident, I think he thought that I’d told them we went to the apartment, but I didn’t.

Wasn’t there also a crisis involving needlepoint?

When the doctors confiscated Mr. Halliday's puzzle because Mr. Kellogg complained that he had appropriated the card table and also the doctors also thought he was using the puzzle as a distraction, Mr. Halliday was at a loss for what to do, so he had "Mother" [Mary Martin] send him a needlepoint from Goldberg's needlepoint store on Lexington Avenue. Both Mr. Halliday and “Mother” needlepointed a lot. He got an asparagus design. I asked my mom and dad to buy me one so I could join him—mine was strawberries. Mr. Halliday was furious when I sat down next to him and took out my needlepoint. He got very cold to me. He didn’t want to be mocked.

Did you seek other therapy after Dr. Myers?

In the 1980s, I went to another shrink named Bernie Berkowitz. He and Mildred Newman gave therapy to a lot of people in the arts. They didn’t think gayness was an illness at all. They saved my life. It wasn’t even about accepting your gayness, it was about having a great life. He was about whatever was going to make you happy. Nothing was sick, nothing was bad. He and Mildred wrote a book called How to Be Your Own Best Friend that was very big at the time. He was all about loving yourself and being constructive and productive.

I know that as an adult, you slept with women, but you wrote that while it was fine, you didn’t quite feel the passion.

I was with a lot of women, and it’s not in the book, but I had a deep, loving affair with a woman. But no, I did not feel passion and lust—not the same way I felt with guys. And psychiatry could not make that happen. I like women a lot, and it was heartbreaking to me that I felt absolutely no lust.

Did you sleep around with guys?

The advent of gay liberation, there weren’t any goals. I always thought promiscuity is not liberation. Gay lib was really about getting laid. Yesterday was the anniversary of the blackout in NYC, and I remember having sex in doorways. A blackout gave us permission to have more sex. I went to sex clubs and bathhouses all over the place. I indulged like crazy, but it made me very depressed that that was what people thought liberation was. Slowly, people started to form—there were goals and objectives and the whole gay movement changed and I was able to be a part of it. It took me years to shed the notion that I was sick. I remember saying that deep into the 70s.

Are you in a relationship now?

Yes, for six years. He’s 31. I’ve been in other relationships as well. I think now I realize that having children was more important than I thought. I think I’m missing out on that.

It’s not too late.

I’m going to be 70 in November. I don’t think it would be fair to a child at this point.

How does what you went through reflect on the mood today?

What really strikes me today is that the Republican platform is trying to make it legal for parents to seek conversion therapy for children. I don’t understand in this day and age how they can try to legalize pure torture.

One more filmic item: In Florence Foster Jenkins, The Big Bang Theory’s Simon Helberg plays the alternately bemused and mortified accompanist for the off-key singer played by a three-time Oscar winner. At an event for the film, Helberg jokingly told the audience, “Arguably the greatest actor who ever lived got called…and told he’s been cast opposite Meryl Streep!”

“Guns don’t kill people, people kill people” goes the familiar saying. Yeah, people with guns. And if they couldn’t so easily get guns, there wouldn’t be as much violence—it’s as simple as that. Someone on my Facebook page suggested that if the Orlando shooter couldn’t get a gun, he might have just killed all those people with rocks. Really? Do you honestly picture the guy just blithely sauntering into a nightclub with a gigantic bag of 100 rocks, followed by him throwing them at people’s heads without interruption, felling them one by one? Spare me.

No wonder LGBTS have mobilized extra fiercely against the excesses of weaponry. In July, Gays Against Guns and other groups gathered a crowd to march outside Trump Tower in New York City, with signs saying “NRA Hate Kills” and “GOP Has Blood On Its Hands.” And yesterday, the DC division of Gays Against Guns was one of many groups cooperating with Disarm Hate, a rally in Washington D.C., which made a passionate statement on one of today’s most pressing issues. The mission was for the community to demand equal rights and realistic gun reform, “to make sure the Orlando 49 did not die in vain.” The point isn’t taking guns away from those who own them, mind you—only in protecting the rights of potential victims. Like Hillary Clinton, they don’t plan to mess with the Second Amendment, only to reform things so there’s some more regulation going on to make things more livable. In the process, Disarm Hate aims to create a nationwide registry of gun owners and to ascertain that people on the No-Fly list can’t have a gun. (“No Fly, No Buy”).

I was there for the rally, in West Potomac Park, near the Martin Luther King monument (which is white, by the way, but don’t let me start), across from the Washington Monument. A diverse crowd assembled in the scorching heat, grabbing at bottles of cold water being given out, to hear songs, call and repeats, hate crime statistics, and heady messages. One speaker demanded “the right to live free of fear for all people,” while another said she wanted criminal and mental background checks for anyone trying to purchase a gun. A woman who’d lost a child to a cop's gun declared, "It's got to stop." Someone else recited a prayer to God, which made me uncomfortable, until I realized this was the God who loves everyone equally, the God we all can learn from.

This kind of action manages to bring back my percolating ACT UP spirit, especially when you get a taste of the opposition you still face. Near the rally, a few stragglers stood, holding posters with allegedly antagonistic views, most notably "All Rights Matter." These are the same dim bulbs who think Black Lives Matter is somehow a threat to legally-behaving white people. By the way, a larger protest in DC will happen on August 27, making for two weeks of gunning for gun control.

On a lighter note, DC’s Town club—right off the extremely happening U Street—was buzzing the night before the rally, as I learned when manager Dougie Meyer (a friend from New York) welcomed me in. Downstairs, a crowd whooped and hollered for every move the drag performers made, while upstairs, some hot and wiry gogo boys (especially Olly) set the mood as the crowd danced around to upbeat music. This is the celebratory culture we need to preserve and keep safe.

NO MASTER CLASS FOR MERYL

One thing Meryl said she does want to do is come back to Broadway, but only in something original, not a revival. If she managed to appear in something this season, she would add even more luster to the most exhilarating group of potential Best Actress Tony nominees in ages: Nicole Kidman (Photograph 51), Sally Field (The Glass Menagerie), Cate Blanchett (The Present), Laura Linney and Cynthia Nixon (The LittleFoxes), Diane Lane (The Cherry Orchard), Janet McTeer (Les Liaisons Dangereuses), Angela Lansbury (The Chalk Garden), Judith Light (When God Looked Away), Jennifer Ehle (Oslo), Mary-Louise Parker (Heisenberg)…and that’s just for starters. To beat them all, Meryl should expand her hilarious Trump impersonation into a full-length show, and then she can win Best Actor too.

SEX AND THE SINGLE GIRL

Another gender straddler, NYC drag star Fiona (aka James Palacio), has lived quite an eye-popping life, and is here to tell about it in a new book, The Life & Crimes of Fiona St. James. The Bronx-born drag queen recounts lively tales of having been an escort, the Empress of the Imperial Court of New York, and a performer on TV shows from Oz to Orange is the New Black. Some of the most vivid passages in the book, naturally, involve sex acts. About losing his virginity at 18, Palacio writes, “He said he wanted to fuck me and knew that I had never been. I was so turned on that, while kissing me, he slowly penetrated me and I wasn’t even aware. It was like butter on toast how easily he slid in…He was very hung and thick. I had always fantasized about getting fucked, but experiencing the joy of it was mind blowing. My butt was so alive, and feeling this wonderful sensation solidified that I was a true bottom.” Yikes! “My butt was so alive” needs to embroidered on a line of pillows for drag queens immediately.

Here’s a much sadder story: A trans nightclub goddess, Dylan Monroe, died recently, and has been mourned by those who knew and loved her as a presence and a pal. A close friend of Dylan’s confirmed to me that the cause was a heroin overdose. I had been  concerned about a guy she’d been dating at some point, but the friend assured me that that person had nothing whatsoever to do with her death; “He was in jail when it happened.”

THANK YOU FOR BEING A PUPPET

Photo courtesy of Dogwoof.com

A new documentary is coming about J.T. LeRoy, the famed ex hustler LGBTQ writer who wasn’t an ex hustler LGBTQ writer at all; his celebrated books were actually written by author Laura Albert in a big scam on the media and public that I was among those victimized by. Strangely, I was almost onto the whole thing early on. In June 2001, I wrote that “author-prankster J.T. LeRoy [who’d said he wasn’t sure of his gender] may have pulled off his ultimate stunt.” I noted that J.T. did interviews by phone and hardly ever let himself be photographed, but Mary Ellen Mark had suddenly shot him for Vanity Fair. “The problem is,” I wrote, “LeRoy is telling folks that the person Mark shot is actually not him at all; it’s a female friend of his who purposely showed up for the session in a wig and mask. When contacted for comment, Mark said, ‘It was J.T. His saying it wasn’t is just his humor’.”

I didn’t know the full story—that Laura was doing the writing and a girl, Savannah Knoop, the fronting—but it was clear that there were some serious identity issues at play here. Still, I tried to believe Mark, and when I was asked by LeRoy’s publisher to MC a book event for him a year later, I agreed, shamelessly going along with the propaganda machine for this literary bright light, famous for a heroin addiction and for wearing—and giving out--raccoon penis necklaces (in addition to strong, supposedly heartfelt writing). The weirdness only started at that point. At the last minute, on the evening of the event, I was faxed dozens of pages of intros for the readers, with J.T.’s eccentric instruction that I must read every single word of these pages at the podium and not skip over a syllable. (And some of them were pretty lame, I must say.)

At the bookstore, J.T. was wearing a wig and a visor and frantically shaking her leg from nerves (by this point, I felt J.T maybe was a she) as her trans girlfriend Speedie screeched at me, “I’m Cockney, I’m Jewish, and I’m gonna be in your face!”. J.T. didn’t remotely seem like any kind of big author at all, but hey, I’ve known other people who hid their genius behind all sorts of quirks and neuroticism, so I kept on dreaming. Onstage, I read about 80% of the intros—racing through them, so I wouldn’t get booed--and did OK, bringing on a parade of notables who gushed out of control about the brilliance of J.T., then read some sparkling passages as if they had been touched by greatness. It was a gigantic celebrity lovefest for this nonexistent person, whom Albert later said she created because she could funnel a level of prose through J.T. that she couldn’t otherwise. I guess she could only be that honest through dishonesty. How Cyrano de Bergerac of her! Well, when the next reading came around and the LeRoy legend was even grander, I was replaced by a much bigger name, Winona Ryder. I was pissed to be glossed over, realizing the advanced level of mutual whoring that was going on here, and even more horrified to later learn that my misgivings were right on target and I’d been totally had. We’d all been had—and the full exposé didn’t come out till five years after my initial write-up! Albert had deftly proven what phonies we all can be when we jump on bandwagons, but she’d done so with elaborate trickery, so I was torn between “Touché!” and “How very dare you!” The Heart Is Deceitful Above All Things indeed. Perhaps Albert should have just written a novel, narrated by a fictional character named J.T. LeRoy. What’s definite is that, more than ever, we need our own, real voices to be heard.

Author: The JT LeRoy Story hits theaters September 9. Watch the trailer below:

 

AMERICA’S NEXT TOP DRAG STARS

Drag voices are heard everywhere these days—not always screeching, lol—and everyone’s always wondering who’ll be the next one to go national. The buzz starts whenever drag queens are missing from their NYC perch when a certain TV show happens to be filming. This time around, the murmurs have concerned Peppermint (a truly upbeat talent and a legend on the scene), Alexis Michelle (a theater gal who does a fabulous “Don’t Rain On My Parade”), and Aja (who’s uniquely interesting in her looks and performance). These are rumors I can live with.   

FASTER PUSSYCAT, KELLE, KELLE

Drag comic Markus Kelle is the most flamboyant doorperson of NYC clubs, dressing like Joan Crawford, telling Anne Frank jokes, and maybe even letting you in. The other night, Markus was roasted for his 27^th birthday at the “Bette Davis” party he and the Shitty Kitties throw at Hotel Americano, and the disses came faster than 911 in white neighborhoods. Roasters included nightlife regulars Leo Gugu, Daniel Logan, and Deryck Todd, and remarks included stuff like, “Markus was on a show called 3 AM on Showtime. He’s the first reality star who couldn’t afford the channel he was on” and “Markus got a call from his bank saying there had been suspicious activity in his account. Someone had made a deposit.” There was also the lacerating implication that Markus is one of the few people not allowed into the establishments he works at, not to mention the suggestion that Markus looks like a Zika baby all grown up. Eventually, Markus took center stage, and with that wonderful voice that sounds like he just gargled on razor blades, slayed even more people than the Second Amendment. He said the panelists “bombed more than Isis.” He added, “People haven’t taken so many shots at a gay man since Orlando.” And he pointed out promoter/singer Matthew Gagnon, one of the roasters, and said, “Matthew fucked so many black guys that his asshole built the White House! He fucked so many black guys that his asshole was not nominated for an Oscar this year!” Too soon? Nah, right on time.

 

SNAKES IN THE GRASS

We were urged to don Adam and Eve drag for Sir Ivan Wilzig’s annual party around his lavish Hamptons castle, so drunken straight people, Orange is the New Black featured players, and Lindsay Lohan’s uncle converged, all aiming for some kind of woozy return to Eden. Sir Ivan is a rich guy who makes music and likes to decree a fun costume theme for the throngs who come to his soiree. This time, the theme was complicated by the fact that VIPs were handed a Hawaiian lei and a fan, making for a garden full of mixed metaphors. At the peak hour, we were asked to sing “Happy Birthday” to Ivan three times, after which he emerged, dressed like Zeus, on a faraway balcony as we watched from the tennis court below. The birthday boy lipsynched to his dance version of “Imagine,” and then he was carried on a throne through the court, spouting Trump-like utterances at us like “Make the Hamptons great again” and “I’ve seen you naked!” But you had to “imagine” a full buffet. Last year, that existed, but this time there was a food station with delicious apples and apple tarts, though inside the mansion, we did manage to find plates of salad, and in the garage, there was fried chicken for the help, which we were allowed to partake of (after some serious begging). But no birthday cake! Those who never found out about the garage made the bus driver stop at a 7-Eleven on the way home. Another scam for poor little me? Nah. It was a good time—and someone had handed out free joints throughout the crowd, making everyone I ran into seem far more relaxed than an author with a raccoon penis and an identity crisis.

Texas-born Betty Buckley has long possessed great pipes and a lush way of approaching an assignment. A   star on TV’s Eight is Enough starting in 1977, Betty went on to win a Tony for her tattered Grizabella in Cats (which is currently being revived on Broadway), among many other Broadway credits she’s brought her indomitable spirit to. She recently played “Big Edie” in the revival of the Grey Gardens musical, in Sag Harbor and L.A., and next year, she’ll be seen in M. Night Shyamalan’s Split, about a schizophrenic kidnapper played by James McAvoy. But New Yorkers will more imminently get to see Buckley perform at Joe’s Pub in her show called Story Songs, happening September 22-25. As she prepared for that gig, I did some vocalizing with Betty in the form of a lovely conversation.

Hi, Betty. I heard you were great in Grey Gardens.

We had a great time and Michael Wilson’s production was genius. Multimedia, video, film footage and live video stream—and Rachel York was amazing.

What will you do at Joe’s Pub?

A new collection of music, which I do every year. The majority of songs are by contemporary Broadway composers, with a few standards thrown in. The centerpiece is a song Joe Iconis wrote for me in the spring. He invited me to be part of his Joe Iconis & Family concert at Feinstein’s/54 Below in May. He wrote it a week before. It’s called “Old Flame”, a wonderful character piece and so funny. I’ll also do a couple of songs by Stephen Schwartz and a couple by Jason Robert Brown.

Is there a connection between two of your famous roles—Grizabella and Norma Desmond [in Sunset Boulevard]—in that they both live in their memories?

Yes. And Edith Beale too. It’s a theme.

So you’re the go-to person for that type of thing?

I’m one of them. It’s in my bailiwick.

When you played Edie, did it bring back any of the other two roles for you?

Not in the moment, but when somebody asks me after the fact, I say, “Yes, it’s a theme.”

You also played Mama Rose in Gypsy (at Paper Mill Playhouse in 1998) and she at least is forward facing, though in some ways crippled by the past.

Yeah. I think they’re all women on the edge. Michael Wilson, one of my favorite directors in the world—I’ve worked with him five times—he sees them as outsiders, the disenfranchised. He calls it the fugitive kind. He wrote the cast of Grey Gardens the most wonderful email.

Ooh! Please send it to me! [Betty did send me the email, which I’ll share at the end of this interview.]

So you live on a Texas ranch?

A horse ranch. I like it a lot.

And it’s accessible for work?

It’s a short little flight to New York or L.A. I moved 14 years ago this November. I talked with my agents and managers and said, “Do you think this will seriously affect anything?” and they said “No.” It has affected my ability to do workshops where people aren’t able to fly me in and put me up. But in the case of Michael Wilson, when we did The Old Friends at the Signature Theatre, he said he had to have me do it, so he flew me in and put me up, and that was wonderful. Sometimes I don’t get to do things at their inception, which I miss. I come in later and everybody’s like, “We perceived it this way,” and I’m like, “I’m here now.” [laughs]

You’re coming up in an M. Night Shyamalan film.

It’s my second movie with him. He’s awesome.  He’s my other favorite director. She’s a psychologist [trying to help McAvoy’s character]. It’s a great part in a wonderful movie and he said he wrote it for me.

How do you work on a part—instinctively, or with lots of preparation?

In the case of the movie, I worked with a psychologist. I worked with her on Grey Gardens too, to get a psychological portrait.  I’d go through the script with her. I know a lot about psychology now because I‘ve been through therapy for years and years. I’d just go through the scenes and see how she would view them if they were a client or patient. How the psychologist would be feeling and how she’d handle it. I also worked with a lady I was in long-term analysis with on Sunset Boulevard.

Can you say something specific that you got from her about Norma?

No. You saw it onstage. There you have it.

I was just wondering what came from her and what from you?

It’s all a combination. It all comes from me, but with guidance from experienced, professional people. With Sunset Boulevard, I did a lot of research. Books and footage of silent film stars. I took a lot from Louise Brooks, Clara Bow, and from Gloria Swanson, of course—the original Norma Desmond [who had been a silent film star herself]. These girls were very, very young and had such wealth and were treated like these goddesses in this golden age of the silent movies. Many of them did not make the transition. Norma became like an adolescent who is trapped and is now a 50-year-old woman, but in her image is still this child who was indulged and spoiled. This young girl who was trapped in a gilded cage and could not understand how the world turned its back on her when in her mind she was exactly the same. With her ex husband fueling her fantasies, she didn’t know what reality was.

Many of us have thought, “Why does the world treat me differently than years ago?”

In my mind, I’m still 12.

In my mind, I’m turning 12 for the first time. You were great as the title character’s mother, Margaret White, in the legendary 1988 flop Carrie, but it went downhill in the high school scenes. Do you think it was fixable?

Yeah, I think it was. I think they proved that since. Terry Hands, the director, didn’t have a feeling for the Americana aspects of the story. For him, it resonated as a Jacobean drama. He tried to make it that in a classical way, and that was not really the story. [Choreographer] Debbie Allen was trying to educate him and they kind of lost their way. There was a lot of stuff that needed to be cut and a style of work that needed to brought. Songs that should have been cut, different shaping.

You have never been any kind of cookie cutter Broadway performer, that’s for sure. You march to your own drum.

Thank you. It’s all I can do.

Is there a price for that, though?

Sometimes. I’m from Texas, and Texas women are notoriously outspoken. I had to learn via this wonderful psychologist I was in analysis with how to tone that down. There’s a certain charm to that when you’re young. You can kind of get away with being brash. But as time went by, sometimes they didn’t get my sense of humor or sometimes I was telling the truth about something and they didn’t want to hear it. I had to learn to tone it back. Some of my collaborators don’t want to know what I think. [laughs] In some cases, it’s too bad that they didn’t. Just because somebody was a brilliant director or whatever, that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t have insecurities, and I wasn’t aware that they didn’t want to know what I had to say, or were insecure. Along the way, I had many terrific experiences with collaborators as well. With Trevor Nunn, I was very careful as to how I presented my approach to Norma Desmond, but he afforded me the opportunity to present that interpretation. In London, they closed the show down and started it again—we went into a rehearsal process. The creative team saw Norma as a specific way I didn’t wish to play. But I didn’t just say “I don’t want to do it that way”. I went in there carefully over a couple of weeks, presenting ideas.

We’re all always learning how to maximize our experiences through our behavior.

Yes. I had to have a teacher.

Thanks for educating me. And now, everyone, here’s Michael Wilson’s email about the fugitive kind:

“Greetings Kitties! There aren't sufficient words to express my GRATITUDE, LOVE and tremendous ADMIRATION for the LIFE and DIGNITY you have given your characters and their strange—yet because of your relentlessly truth telling work—all too familiar story of love, loss and dreams deferred. We are all of us now forever bound by this experience, your COURAGEOUS and ACCLAIMED journey through the darkly funny but ever moving 'dragon country' of the Beale ladies and friends. Being at such a loss of words, I offer the following prayer from Tennessee Williams, who knew better than anyone that Fugitive Kind like us, always follow their kind: ‘God bless all con men and hustlers and pitchmen who hawk their hearts on the street, all two-time losers who’re likely to lose once more, the courtesan who made the mistake of love, the greatest of lovers crowned with the longest horns, the poet who wandered far from his heart’s green country and possibly will and possibly won’t be able to find his way back, look down with a smile tonight on the last cavaliers, the ones with rusty armor and soiled white plumes, and visit with understanding and something that’s almost tender those fading legends that come and go in this plaza like songs not clearly remembered...’ Until our next rodeo together... En Avant! Love, Michael”

GLOVE STORY

Moving on to the pugilistic kind: Hands of Stone is a new film about Panamanian boxer Roberto Duran, who in the middle of a crucial match, said “No mas” and simply walked away. Edgar Ramirez plays the boxer, Usher Raymond is his opponent Sugar Ray Leonard, and Robert DeNiro does a Stallone and goes from fighter to trainer. At the premiere last week, the movie started late, but I didn’t say “No mas” and walk out, lol; that’s how premieres are, and in this case, there was red carpet and some huge names arriving, including Jay Z and Beyoncé, who had come to see the film for a second time. And the event became a delightful boxing match against Donald Trump. Producer Harvey Weinstein mentioned the New York Times and said, “The way they’re burying Trump, I’m going to take 10 subscriptions.” He introduced the Latin talent involved in the film and joked, “They’re all going to be deported if Trump wins.” Writer/director Jonathan Jakubowicz noted that this is the first film with a Latin as hero. “We’re always portrayed as drug dealers, criminals, and rapists,” he related. “That’s why you can say that’s who we are and have a shot at the Presidency!” But Duran might actually get a shot at a Presidential nominee. He recently live-chatted a challenge to Trump for a boxing match—and this time, he definitely wouldn’t say “No mas” and walk away. (I just hope he’s stopped calling people “maricon,” as he does in the movie. Por favor!)

NOT A BLANK PAIGE AT ALL

Photo via Twitter

Also aiming for Trump, drag star Paige Turner got in a few swipes at his orange oafness in her Make America Gay Again show at Laurie Beechman Theatre, but that wasn’t the gist of the evening. It was a smoothly packaged, hilarious romp through gay history, which a roomful of twinks and 30-somethings cheered, even though the references were way older than their favorite divas’ boyfriends. The delectably witty Turner used two ultra talented costars—Sutton Lee Seymour and Jackie Cox—for a mirthful revue of raunch, mayhem, and edu-gaytion. From a frisky “Keep It Gay,” they went on to a Ragtime-esque telling of drag history (“Dragtime”), a fiery “Teach Me How To Bottom” (complete with audience participation), and a wonderful sequence with the stars doing three different stages of Judy Garland’s career, ending with older Judy poignantly reaching out to touch Dorothy Gale. With harmonies, choreography, bitchery, lipsynch, and costume changes, the gals really delivered, with lots of highlights—Jackie scoring as Mary Poppins (“Trump/Pence, Trump/Pence, they don’t like the fags”), Sutton a scream on “Getting Married Today” from Company (she won’t get hitched, despite same-sex marriage), and Paige getting serious with “True Colors” as the screen showed reports of gay tragedies like Harvey Milk’s murder and the recent Orlando shooting. The Trump dumping? Well, for one thing, Sutton emerged as Melania to riotously sing “Springtime For Trump and America.” Heil to this show.

Actors should play roles! That’s why they do! Matthew McConaughey didn’t have to have HIV to star in The Dallas Buyers Club. Meryl Streep didn’t need to be a bad singer to appear in Florence Foster Jenkins. She could pretend!

So, ideally, it should be OK that Matt Bomer was cast by producer Mark Ruffalo to play a trans female sex worker in a film called Anything. But there was an uproar—particularly from the trans community—and I can understand the sensitive issues that underlie the anger.

For one thing, all actors don’t get to play all roles, as it turns out. Matt Bomer wouldn’t get cast as a cis woman, so you might conversely ask, “Why should he be cast as a trans woman? Both roles are female.” Furthermore, if you’re going to constantly have cis people like Bomer playing trans—as has happened with Felicity Huffman, Jared Leto, Eddie Redmayne and Jeffrey Tambor on down—the reverse should be the case and trans people should be cast as cis people. But that hardly happens! I don’t see Candis Cayne in The Cyd Charisse Story or Carmen Carrera playing Linda Evangelista. I rejoiced when Chaz Bono was cast as a cis man in a movie two years ago, because it makes sense for a man to play a man—I mean, women are women and men are men, right? And if cis people aren’t limited to cis characters, why should trans people be limited to trans characters? But most of the time, it seems like trans people can’t get to play cis roles and sometimes they can’t even get trans roles!  Various TV shows have shaken all that up, but not everyone’s followed suit in a way that opens up enough opportunity. Generally, trans actors gets shafted every which way but loose. And the familiar argument “Well, there isn’t a really bankable trans actor producers can use” is bull, especially because even if that were true, it would only be due to the same root problem—Hollywood has severely limited the chance for that to happen.

But is there hypocrisy within the hypocrisy? The wonderfulLaverne Cox is playing “a sweet transvestite” (and bisexual) in TV’s version of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, but how come the people who are so angered by Bomer haven’t expressed an avalanche of furor over that? After all, a 2010 movie called Ticked Off Tr**nies with Knives—which was fabulously pro-trans—was protested and banned, partly because some drag queens played the lead roles. So that’s horrible, but a trans female playing a transvestite is OK? Why are some LGBTs playing other LGBTs accepted, but not others? Ideally speaking, I think they’re ALL OK—and even Bomer’s casting could be considered more acceptable—but only if we strive for a show business in which actors are allowed to explore all sorts of options. (Interestingly, some actors of color are appearing in NYC productions of Shakespeare and Chekhov this season. Why the fuck not?)

Faced by the protest, Ruffalo said it’s wrenching to know the pain trans people are going through on this, and he’s glad to open up the debate. Let’s keep talking while greenlighting some real trans acting projects—maybe Tangerine II: This Time They’re Nice?

THEY LIVE FOR THE APPLAUSE, APPLAUSE, APPLAUSE

Lady Gaga fans span a healthy array of genders, but some of them are a bit mischievous, I must say. Someone on Twitter is apparently trying to manipulate Gaga’s new single, “Perfect Illusion,” into a perfect illusion of a number one song, and they actually want us to contribute cash to make that happen. (I’m surprised they didn’t just ask for graft money to give to DJs). The GoFundMe request for this project states that Gaga deserves so much because of what she’s done for gay rights. “We are here to repay Mother Monster,” it goes on, “and give her another number one hit. We know how to manipulate iTunes and Amazon accounts in order to buy several thousand copies of "Perfect Illusion" with just a couple accounts. Billboard and SoundScan will COUNT all these purchases. There is one problem, though. We don’t have a lot of money and are looking for you to donate.” Oy. I’ve been asked to donate to a lot of these things—from potato salad to a documentary about the history of paper clips—but this one might really take the gay cake. Perhaps Gaga’s fans should be a little more confident that their idol can hit number one without this shady shit. And if she only makes it to the edge of glory, just deal with it. Or maybe this is a big hilarious hoax and I’ve just been had? It could be, though last time I looked, the campaign said it had gotten a whopping $78 (with a goal of $10,000), so maybe they’ve been had.

Update: GoFundMe just took down that page, but the campaign’s organizers are threatening to post their request elsewhere.

Meanwhile, a whole other fundraising campaign was begun by a club promoter in NYC to try to create PR and education to lessen GHB use and also to develop a machine that will measure the volume of each dose and the time between doses. I bet the addicts contribute—and then take five doses!

ONE LESS BELL TO ANSWER

Other stuff to get annoyed about: A Taco Bell commercial that aired during the VMAs set my alerts clanging. In the ad, a guy named Alan in a flamboyantly patterned shirt with thin suspenders, a bowtie, and tinted glasses says, with a sort of lisp, “It’s all imported cheeses. This is a fondue party, Mike.” Alan is effete and has three hipster friends around him. Mike is a more “regular” dude who says he understands Alan’s point of view, but he prefers the plain old burrito with melted cheese at Taco Bell. “This is a gorgonzola gruyere medley,” interjects Alan, perturbed, about his fondue. “This is a three cheese blend plus nacho cheese sauce…medley,” says Mike, with a hint of mockery. And we’re supposed to applaud that choice over the more, shall we say, fruity stuff. Maybe this commercial simply aims to make fun of the pretensions of foodies and hipsters, but the laceration of a prissy aesthete comes off cheesy to me.

Oh, and on Unsung—the TV One show I usually love, about black music stars’ trajectories—Monifah’s lesbian life was addressed as a “choice.” I chose to change the channel.

SHAKES  THE CLOWN

The multiracial casting I alluded to earlier happens in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night at the Delacorte Theater—and the play, of course, spans fascinating gender issues too. In it, the shipwrecked Viola (Nikki M. James) disguises herself as a man named Cesario and enters the court of Duke Orsino (Jose Llana), who wants her to help him woo his big crush, Olivia. But Olivia instead falls for Cesario! And Viola has fallen for Orsino! And then Viola’s twin brother Sebastian resurfaces! As conceived by Kwame Kwei-Armah and Shaina Taub, with music and lyrics by Shaina Taub (who plays Feste), the Public Works production is a colorful, lively, and entertaining brew. The result might not please Shakespeare purists since this is an intermissionless 95-minute update with lots of music, but those songs are hypnotically good and the onstage talent keeps coming at you. Nikki M. James is immensely talented, Andrew Kober is funny as the humiliated snob Malvolio, and the stage eventually swirls with kids, New York Deaf Theater members, a brass marching band, Asian drummers, and even Pokemon. If music be the food of life, let this play go on.

Left to right: Brian Belovitch, Kathryn Hahn, Jill Soloway, Michael Musto, Eileen Myles

I was having a peaceful cup of East Village borscht with my friend Brian Belovitch outside the long-running Veselka the other night, when renowned poet Eileen Myles emerged from inside the restaurant and started catching up with Brian. Then came Myles’ girlfriend, Transparent creator Jill Soloway (who’s incorporated some of Myles’ poetry and persona into the show). Then comic legend Sandra Bernhard, a friend of theirs, who’d been dining with them. Then actor/producer/director Griffin Dunne, followed by hilarious movie actress Kathryn Hahn, and some others, too. This was a very special Love Boat indeed.

It was an impressive mass of creative types who’d all had pierogis together, and now, Brian and I were catching them in the afterglow. As we all hung together on the street, Soloway admitted that she thought the casting of Matt Bomer as a trans woman in a movie was a terrible idea because we’ve evolved so much that the concept of cis people playing trans just isn’t cool. “So you wouldn’t cast Jeffrey Tambor in Transparent?” I asked Soloway. She said “No,” but explained that things were different three years ago; “We wouldn’t have gotten the show made.” “Can you maybe get rid of him now?” I joked. “He’s terrific,” Soloway said, and she seemed pleased when I added that she does include trans actors on the show.

Brian then regaled Soloway with his own amazing story—that he’d been Brian, then was an army wife/party girl named Tish Gervais, and then he “de-transed” back into Brian, making him a rare two-time transgender person. Soloway was captivated by the photos Brian showed her of the voluptuous Tish, but I bet she wouldn’t cast Matt Bomer in the role.

“In the future,” said Soloway, “maybe everyone can be female for half of their lives and male for the other half.” “I already did that,” said Brian, laughing. “Well, people will probably live to be 120,” I offered, “so they should probably be female for 40 years, then male for 40, and genderqueer for the last 40. I’d love to come back as a young woman,” I declared, proudly.

At this point, I weakened at the sight of the female Sandra Bernhard looking luminously accessible, so I approached her to say, “I’m sorry for the things I wrote about you way back when.” I elegantly added, “I was a fag on a rampage.” [The ‘90s brought the first modern wave of sometimes excessive political correctness, and I must admit I was leading the brigade—though I also did a lot of good, I swear.] Sandra graciously accepted my apology and we hugged, which was a really lovely moment—not at all your typical happening in the New York moonlight.

Kathryn Hahn was wonderful too, listening to me carry on about how much I enjoyed her in Bad Moms (she plays a promiscuous mother with a heart of gold) and how I liked the plot resolution involving Mila Kunis and Christina Applegate. But Hahn was quickly taken away from me when a group of Marymount students a few feet away pounced on her to ask her to take a picture—of them! I told her this is like when people approach me, and I wet my lips and get ready for the intense flattery, only to have them say, “Excuse me, sir. Which way is 14^th Street?” Hahn was so adorable, she actually went and shot the photo for them. And after she came back to us, the students returned in wonderment to ask, “Wait a minute. Are you Kathryn Hahn?” That was an even more fulfilling plot resolution than the one in Bad Moms.

Left to our own devices again, Brian and I engaged in more trans talk, Brian saying that if a trans actress had gotten the Bomer role, there would have been a whole other wave of controversy from people shrieking, “Don’t stereotype us as sex workers.” “But that would have been followed by a counter-controversy,” I interjected, “with people screaming at the protestors, ‘Why are you shaming sex workers?’"

I also noted that Brian’s existence defuses some of the criticism that came after Bette Midler joked about whether Caitlyn Jenner would go back to being Bruce now that her show was canceled. “Trans isn’t a phase,” yelped the activists. But for Tish, it was. Trans people come in all types—and we should allow them room to develop and not fit cookie-cutter wisdoms and restrictions. End of sermon—and borscht.

SPARKLE, BLONDIE, SPARKLE!

But back to drag queens, lol. New York Fashion Week got exciting when the fab duo knows as the Blonds trotted out their most sophisticated line yet, awash in shimmery silvers and russet browns, against a backdrop of blowup winged horses. The crowd—which included dog-holding Kelly Osbourne and Tony winning Cynthia Erivo—was enthusiastic, especially when Phillipe Blond himself ended the show looking like a human-sized Swarovski crystal topped by a mountain of corkscrew blond hair. As I headed back to the VIP lounge afterwards, I noticed that manning the entrance was Marc Benecke, the doorman from the legendary 1970s disco Studio 54. And this time he let me in!

 

 @angelcandices in @theblondsny #FBF @phillipeblond @davidblond #TheBlonds10thanniversary #THEBLONDS 

A photo posted by THE BLONDS  (@theblondsny) on Sep 9, 2016 at 1:56pm PDT

I’d also been admitted to the show by Academy of Art University students, who turned it out with brash fabrics, patterns, textures, and influences you won’t find in the more commodified mainstream designers. The only unfashionable thing at that event was a gay publicist I knew whom I warmly greeted. “Thanks so much for saying hello,” he said later, looking pained. “Friends have been dropping me like crazy.” “Why?” I wondered, surprised. “I’m working on the Trump campaign” was his horrifying reply. Ugh. Another one to stick in the basket of deplorables.

 

The ladies #bushwig2016

A photo posted by BushwigBK@gmail.com (@bushwig) on Sep 11, 2016 at 4:13pm PDT

A much more liberal good time was Bushwig, the annual Brooklyn drag fest, which for the second year in a row took place in Queens. But since it was held at the sprawling event space/arts center Knockdown Center, this was close enough to the Brooklyn border to still reek of Bushwick moxie. Just like the Academy of Art U fashion show, the fest brims with percolating talent which has yet to get boringly slick and commercialized. And it’s not even limited to drag; women and even a guy in a Hassidic ensemble joined the lineup, all organized by Brooklyn faves Horrorchata and Babes Trust. Another plus was the on-site fashion emporium called Bushswag, which I hear may well spin off into its own annual fiesta. And after that, who knows? How about a pork festival called Bushpig?

BLUE IS THE NEW CIRQUE

Brooklyn, not Queens, was the site of Cirque de Soleil’s Toruk, which swung into the Barclays Center for a handful of performances filled with humanoids working out issues with flying dragons on the distant Pandora. In this prequel inspired by James Cameron’s 2009 sci-fi flick Avatar, there was even more makeup than Cats–and with all that blue body paint, the show truly dabbled in the Na’vi blues. While Cirque’s current Broadway endeavor, Paramour, has stunning theatrics, but lousy dialogue, this one mostly had spare narration linking the set pieces, which are grandly achieved, thanks to elaborate sets, projections, lights, creatures, and shadows. Dramatically, it’s not always riveting (and there are some cheap looking flames), but the pieces add up to a Pandora’s hot box of imagination.

Photo: Errisson Lawrence © 2015 Cirque du Soleil. Costumes: Kym Barrett.

Far more earthbound, the first NYC revival of the Pulitzer winning 1959 musical Fiorello! takes place in a landscape of old New York, on a set made of headlines and skyscrapers. The Berkshire Theatre Group production, directed by Bob Moss, doesn’t unearth a revelation, but instead a solid show about a frisky and likable politician who battles corruption as he ascends from law to Congress to the mayor’s seat. Except for a few songs, the Jerry Bock and Sheldon Harnick score is pretty efficient and charming, with the lovely “Till Tomorrow” and a song Fiorello delivers about the crookedness of the political organization Tammany Hall, which comes off a little like a nod to “(Ya Got) Trouble” from The Music Man. Surprisingly, Fiorello LaGuardia doesn’t really dominate the proceedings the way you’d think. (And the female characters are pretty well drawn, not ciphers.) In the title role, Austin Scott Lombardi doesn’t look like Fiorello—the actor is better looking and leaner—but he projects a wiry appeal, and it was nice to see something that in its time was so potent and meaningful. Consider it the opposite of the inevitable Trump The Musical. Yes, put that in your borscht, Mr. Putin.

Be careful what you wish for. Years ago, in the heyday of NYC clubbing, I became so enamored with drag performers—thanks to their wit, their nerve, and their gowns—that I secretly fantasized a world brimming with them. To me, drag queens have always been the court jesters of the scene—gleefully catty and incisive entertainers who got the party started and kept the show going. To be in a world with nothing but drag queens, I assumed, would be a glorious experience full of bantering, joyful noises, and makeup tips. Well, my wish has come true—and I’m afraid! There are now more drag queens per square foot than there are Chipotles and TD Banks!

Everywhere you go, there are guys shaving, tucking, teasing, frosting, and trying to be funny. They’re in bars, they’re at restaurants, they’re on the street, they’re on Facebook, they’re coming out of my ears. Mind you, I’m thrilled with the success of RuPaul’s Drag Race, which has prompted throngs of people to want to sew, lipsynch, and throw their arms in the air. They’ve given a voice to the disenfranchised, and that’s fabulous.

But the nightlife scene has reacted too narrowly to drag’s ascent. The way bars have evolved, drag has gotten so prevalent, it’s driven out other forms of entertainment. Once the big dance clubs started waning thanks to the Internet and the power of community boards, smaller boites faced their own challenge in the name of Grindr (and other apps), which make it completely unnecessary for people to go out to hook up. When that happened, the bars needed to amp up their relevance level to try and lure some people in for a drink and a giggle, and they did so by putting drag queens on stage. And then more drag queens. And then more drag queens, until you go home with sequins in your lungs and Aqua Net in your navel. Drag queens are self sufficient—they come with their wig, their music, and their moves down pat—so you just plant them on the stage and they keep the gays happy for a few minutes, and then they scream, “Go buy drinks! The drunker you are, the better I look!”

There are well over a dozen gay bars in Hell’s Kitchen, and practically all of them feature drag queens flouncing around and trying to amuse the crowd so they won’t leave. (I guess it’s better than just bolting the doors shut.) In the West Village, Boots & Saddle has a succession of drag queens performing virtually every night of the week. It’s a drag emporium—a showcase for all things gender bending—and as exhilarating as some of the gals can be, you might also stumble into an off night, which, naturally, is part of the game. But it doesn’t matter to the tipsy crowd in the least; as long as a guy in a dress is flapping his lips and doing some spins, they’re as happy as if they’ve just witnessed Meryl Streep playing Maria Callas.

Longtime promoter Brandon Voss has found that regular weeklies at dance clubs are not the way to attract the gays anymore, especially since clubs are no longer where people go for their new music. So he’s been throwing drag brunches at various locales, from NYC to Fire Island to Las Vegas, where the patrons get a reason to go out besides just some eggs. While they munch away on their meal, they get to see drag queens, something they haven’t experienced since a whole night ago, lol!

I’m not really that mad about this development. I still adore the drag aesthetic and am happy to see these eager, brave folks all over the place, including up in my grill every night. I just wish they weren‘t all trying so hard to be famous—or do another Rihanna song. And I wish so many of them weren’t following a formula, while assuming that wearing a dress automatically makes you brilliant and subversive. Once in a while, I’d like to see a comedian without accessories. Come on, make some noise!

THE BOLD AND THE BEAUTIFUL

Actor/writer Drew Droege has donned drag for lots of reasons—like his hilarious videos in which he plays a sort of American Psycho version of Chloe Sevigny, rhapsodizing about lists of arcane things that have recently come to her attention. (Everything from Gogurt Squirts and cardamom butter to Shannyn Sossamon and Da Brat.) He’s also a regular on the Logo movie show Cocktails & Classics, which I drop by on—and that’s hosted by award winning Michael Urie, who directed Drew’s new play, Bright Colors and Bold Patterns at the Barrow Street Theatre. So there I was, in a vintage half caftan by Vivienne Westwood Gold Label, thank you. Droege is Gerry, a one-man camp festival full of cocktails and joie de vivre, on the eve of going to a dreaded gay wedding in Palm Springs. His commentary to the other (unseen) party guests ranges from colorful to appalling, dotted with ‘90s references and witty repartee about Coachella patrons “with their feathered earrings and their intentional stench,” not to mention how we, as a people, celebrate and mock things at the same time—“That is called gay.” Gerry’s understandably infuriated that the wedding invite came with instructions to avoid wearing anything with the title features; he’s not of the self-loathing variety of screaming queen, mercifully enough. The upshot is a celebration of non cookie cutter gays who try to avoid the pricetag attached to assimilation, while never downplaying their gayness, and Droege performs the piece with brilliant verve and timing, Urie’s direction helping it come off syllable-perfect. The crowd of proud, single gays screamed with appreciation throughout. By the way, Urie is working with Frank Langella on Arthur Kopit’s 1962 absurdist mouthful of a comedy, Oh Dad, Poor Dad, Mamma’s Hung You In The Closet And I’m Feeling So Sad. The superb Langella will play Madame Rosepettle—yes, one more man in drag, but don’t worry, he’ll surely be wearing bright colors and bold patterns.

And Broadway rumors have it that Bernadette Peters might be the one to play Hello, Dolly! when star Bette Midler can’t make it. If so, their ad campaign should be “Feel The Bern.”

BUCK ANGEL HAS A NEW SEX TOY

Photo by Hans Rosemund

But back to the males: Trans men have a sexy new accessory to play with. Adult entertainment star Buck Angel and Perfect Fit Brand, have come out with the Buck-Off, described as “the first ever sex toy created specifically for FTM (Female-To-Male) trans men.”

I honestly can’t say it better than the press materials: “Engineered for FTMs who often see their clitorises grow in size as the result of testosterone therapy, the revolutionary Buck-Off was designed using Angel’s vision for how it should feel and fit. Made from ultra-soft SilaSkin (Perfect Fit’s proprietary blend of TPR and Silicone), its flat, flared base creates a suction cup-like effect and the inside is textured with soft ridges, designed to mimic the feel of a tongue. The Buck-Off can be stroked or just squeezed tightly, whichever the user prefers. The base also helps to stimulate the pubis, which can also lead to orgasm. ‘The way Perfect Fit engineered this is amazing! It really feels like you are getting a blowjob’, says Angel.” So come on, men. Join the clitterati and get to it.

WHITE, WHITE, WHITE IS THE COLOR OF OUR DIN-DIN!

Photo courtesy of Le Diner en Blanc

From FTM, we go to DIY. The Apothic wines sponsored Le Diner en Blanc is the ultimate “do it yourself” event for people willing to pay $40 to bring their own dinners, tables, and chairs, just for the experience of being in a beautiful outdoor location filled with revelers dressed in their best end-of-summer white. And it’s worth it. Watching the monochromatically bedecked people promenade onto the lawn of Robert F. Wagner, Jr. Park last Thursday evening was like something out of a lavish art house movie about the Hamptons. (I should know. I watched it from the media VIP balcony, which was free and came with food, lol.) The annual dinner event—which launched in France in 1988—is held in various cities, attendees finding out the secret location about 90 minutes before it starts, at which point they begin their pale pilgrimage. I love a well-played out theme, and we gays certainly know from White Parties. And though Le Diner en Blanc creates a sartorial vision that’s even whiter than a Republican intern meeting, the crowd is quite diverse, so it’s way more fun than a blanc page.

Also fancy, but for a more serious purpose: I was invited to a Le Cirque lunch featuring co-director/producers Ken Burns and Artemis Joukowsky, who did the documentary Defying The Nazis: The Sharps’ Story. It’s about a minister and his social worker wife who aided refugees in Europe in 1939. Joukowsky talked about how Burns helped shape the material, not to mention bringing his estimable friend Tom Hanks along for voiceovers. In other movie news, at my table, filmmaker Nina Rosenblum told me she's working on a documentary about late, great actress Maureen Stapleton, tentatively called Pedal Faster. (Nina is coproducing with her husband Daniel Allentuck, Stapleton's son, who's directing). She said Stapleton had several "loves of her life," including movie star Joel McCrea, though that was unrequited. And one of her closest friends was Marlon Brando, whom she lived in the same West 52^nd Street building as. (Another connection was that they worked together in the 1959 drama The Fugitive Kind.) "All Marlon's castoff girlfriends would be crying on Maureen's shoulder," related Rosenblum. I guess he really was the fugitive kind. Anyway, a great boxed set would be docs about great actresses Maureen, Geraldine Page, Sandy Dennis, and Kim Stanley—followed by the inevitable feature films, not starring drag queens, lol.

Hurricane Bianca swept into NYC last week for a gala premiere, and it proved to be just the jolt of wry insouciance we needed. In the Matt Kugelman-written and directed film, Drag Race winner Bianca Del Rio gets to play both ends of the gender spectrum, conveniently enough. As his birth persona, Roy Haylock, he’s a New York guy who sweeps into a teaching job in a small Texas town, only to lose it for being gay. Well, the guy comes back—as a vindictive, angry woman—to teach them a thing or two, Bianca-style. The crowd at the DGA Theater screamed with laughter at the cleverly devised film (which is available to be streamed), especially at exchanges like “Student: My parents are lawyers. Bianca: Your parents are siblings.”; and Bianca to her nemesis, played by Rachel Dratch: “Let me make one thing clear, Debbie. I’m fucking this cat. You just hold the legs!”

I hosted a Q&A after the first screening and an introductory discussion before the second one, and here are some of the naughty nuggets that popped out of them as I chatted with Bianca and cohorts (who included Bianca Leigh, Shangela, and Willam Belli):

*Matt Kugelman said the movie was born when he was drunk in a bar watching Bianca perform, and he found her so hilarious he wanted to write something for her. Bianca Del Rio added that she wasn’t 100% sure she would get the part—it could have been a “Patti LuPone/Glenn Close” situation.

*I asked Bianca if Violet Chachki was waiting in the wings, hoping for the part. Bianca said yes, Violet has plenty of available time to do that.

*Bianca said she doesn’t want to record a CD because there are enough drag queens out there doing bad music. When I humorously asked if any of the queens on Drag Race have made her skin crawl, she sardonically gestured to some of the people onstage.

*I asked Bianca if her she feels more comfortable doing her insult humor by hiding behind a drag character, “whereas if you were a gay guy being bitchy…” “I’d be you,” she replied without pause. “An old, bitter fag in a sequined blouse. I think you got that down pat.”

*When an African American man in the audience stood up to ask a question, Bianca introduced him as RuPaul. Some in the audience got excited, but Bianca said, “It was a joke. RuPaul isn’t that black.”

*Bianca got outspoken and political about the theme of the film—the horror that gays can be fired in 28 states for their sexuality. The movie shows the absurdity of that and provides a wonderful fictional recourse.

Backstage, I asked Kugelman what the budget for Hurricane Bianca was and he said, “more than Tangerine and less than Avatar.”

He also said there will be a sequel! The title? From Russia with Hate. The plot? “I’ve got some business to do there,” Bianca said, mischievously.

HURRICANE FAYE IS STILL MAD AT THE DIRT

There’s never been a sequel to that other campfest, the 1981 biodrama Mommie Dearest, but that’s OK, since the movie’s ability to affect people in various extreme ways has lasted for decades. Faye Dunaway (who played the complicated movie star Joan Crawford) recently went on record as saying the film destroyed her career, but at an event for the new movie Christine, I ran into Rutanya Alda—who played Crawford’s loyal assistant Carol Ann—and she said, “I think by being bitchy about how Mommie Dearest ruined her career, Faye doesn’t look at how she’s done like 80 movies since then, including the notoriously awful Supergirl and The Wicked Lady. She’s worked. It’s PR. She must need the PR.”

At the same event, I found out that Dennis Christopher (Breaking Away, DjangoUnchained) truly keeps working, and he doesn’t complain about it. Dennis is in an imminent Epix comedy called Graves, which he told me has Nick Nolte playing a fictional former President who was a bad boy, rose to power, became conservative, “and has a denouement and later realizes he’s fucked everything up,” quixotically trying to rectify things. Christopher didn’t want to say what part he plays, since it would be plot-revealing, but he did explain, “I stir things up.”

Paul Haggis (Crash) was there too, and Dennis went up to him to say he really appreciated his 2013 movie Third Person, a trio of love stories, which starred Liam Neeson.“You’re one of four people,” laughed Haggis.

And finally, I met Rebecca Hall, who very effectively plays suicidal TV reporter Christine Chubbuck in Christine, and had spoken eloquently about the woman’s strivings and disappointments in a Q&A earlier. She, I, and our mutual friend Rob Roth had a lighter time discussing the too casual way the world “legend” is thrown around these days, moving on to an even more hilarious discussion of the classic bad movie The Room. A sequel set in Russia (but filmed in Canada) might be just the ticket.

Remember the last Bye Bye Birdie revival? Well, one of the female stars was so bad they actually tried to add auto-correct to her voice, until that made the sound even more muddy for the other actors onstage. Tidbits like that abound in Show & Tell: The New Book of Broadway Anecdotes by Ken Bloom (Oxford University Press; October) and it definitely adds up to a three-act Eugene O’Neill drama, with songs mixed in. I’ve compiled some of the most flavorful nuggets into a more digestible snack, for the delectation of you Broadway queens:

*Jerome Robbins, the director of the original production of Gypsy, hated the song “Little Lamb” and desperately wanted it cut. But it was not to be a sacrificial “Lamb” after all. Composer Jule Styne happened to be dating Sandra Church, who played Gypsy and sang that sweet (if not exactly electrifying) number. It was sliced once, then immediately put back when Styne threw a Mama Rose-worthy fit. I’d actually be fine if they axed it forever (while leaving in Caroline the cow, of course).

*One of the newsboys in the 1970s revival of Gypsy was moaning to everyone in sight that he didn’t have a boyfriend. After one performance, star Angela Lansbury went to a gay bar, came back with a guy, threw him into the cast member’s hotel room and said, “Have a good time!” Angie sounds like a great person to know.

*Here’s more proof of that. During Sweeney Todd, whenever the audience wasn’t being responsive enough, Angela would play dirty, funny tricks on them. During her song “The Worst Pies in London,” she’d shape the dough she was playing with into a large cock and balls, stretching the penis on the cutting board until it eventually reached out and the head touched the floor. The gays in the crowd must have been drooling—and reaching.

*Gay actor Robert Horton tried to overcompensate for his effeminacy by being overly macho when he played a cowboy in 110 in the Shade. Noel Coward saw the musical and remarked, “The vagabond queen has to go.” He told Marlene Dietrich, “Robert Horton’s idea of acting the cowboy is to push his pelvis forward and swagger. I wanted to shout, ‘Show us your cock and get on with it!’ “

*On the opening night of Peter Pan, Mary Martin sent a telegram to her old South Pacific costar Ezio Pinza, who was opening in Fanny. It said, “Hope your Fanny is as big as my Peter.”

GLORIA ESTEFAN HAS NO AFFILIATION

Future Broadway stars—and some current ones—were on hand for Rosie O’Donnell’s annual Rosie’s Theater Kids gala at the Marriott Marquis last week. Sadly, Rosie wasn’t there, having come down with the flu, and no, she didn’t get sick after watching the debate, lol. The event was still a success, centered by Gloria Estefan getting an honor, as presented by Ana Villafane, who plays the Cuban-born singer in Broadway’s On Your Feet! Surveying Ana’s willowy height, Gloria cracked, “This is what I look like in my head.” She urged the crowd to help promote theater for kids, saying, “Open your wallet, baby, and do the conga!” And she talked about how music, art and theater are always the first subjects to get cut from school, though they’re actually the most important ones because they connect the left and right sides of the brain.

After the presentation wound down, I asked Gloria and hubby Emilio Estefan to pick both sides of their brains and tell me if they’re really Republicans, as I’d heard. “No,” said Emilio. “We have no affiliation. We believe in the person, not the party.” Gloria echoed that, saying, “I’m for the candidate that will do the best job, and I won’t have to worry about their finger on the button.” So that would be…? “Make your own conclusions,” she said, smiling. I think the fact that she was at an event created by her friend Rosie O’Donnell was a pretty strong clue.

LADY BUNNY WON’T DISH HILLARY’S FASHIONS

Meanwhile, drag star Lady Bunny has been outspoken in criticizing Hillary Clinton, but she wouldn’t take the bait when I asked for her opinion on Hillary’s style. (Lots of solid colored pant suits and tweedy jackets from European designers.) Said Bunny, “It’s sexist to criticize a female candidate on her wardrobe when you’d be less likely to criticize a man. There are valid critiques about Hillary—about her policy—so if I talk about her wardrobe, I’m playing into the hands of people who think her opponents must be sexist.” “Well men’s clothes are just so boring,” I moaned, meaning it’s hard to even critique them. “That’s why I’m a drag queen,” replied Bunny. “Caftans and sequins!”

Photo by Jeff Eason

In other drag news, fully sequined insult comic Bianca Del Rio hinted on Facebook last week that she’d shot a TV show, though details weren’t given. Elsewhere, a well known TV series star also murmured about her involvement. Maybe a guest-host/guest judge kind of thing? Or perhaps a flat-out comedy? I’ll update you asap.

FEEL THE MCBURNEY

On Broadway, Best Performance By A Sound Crew definitely goes to The Encounter, a remarkable experience at which the audience is given headphones that help create a sensory audiovisual trip to the Amazon. Inspired by the book Amazon Beaming by Petru Popescu, The Encounter is the creation of theater/movie actor Simon McBurney (Kirsty Housley is his co-director), who alternates between portraying himself and the person he’s storytelling about--National Geographic photographer Lore McIntyre, who became lost in Brazil’s remote Javari Valle in 1969 to dizzying effect.

The set initially seems like nothing much--a gray backdrop, some mics, a table, and bottles of water, but Paul Anderson’s lighting makes it come alive, and McBurney tirelessly works the entire stage with dexterity and range. As he narrates and enacts, there are also pre-recorded voices, music, and sounds including rain, a camera clicking, thirsty mosquitos, and a crinkling bag of Cheez Doodles, the noises sometimes layering in ways that are so intimate you feel like turning around and telling the person behind you to hush before realizing it’s actually being piped into your ears and part of the show. The intermissionless hour-and-50-minutes, with themes about natives and the power of nature, comes off like a long sit (I also thought the exchanges between McBurney and the voice of his daughter were a tad too cute), but generally, this is a hypnotic work that breathes new life into the one-man show genre. Loud kudos-in-the-headphones to McBurney and cohorts, who include Michael Levine (design), Gareth Fry and Pete Malkin (sound).

Another novel trip awaits with Cirque de Solei’s Kurios: Cabinet of Curiosities on Randall’s Island. After mixed-bag ventures into narrative with Paramour and Toruk, the Cirque is back to basics with a big tent show full of magically costumed creatures who seem out of Tim Burton, Harry Potter, and Lewis Carroll, and in one extraordinary sequence that involves an upside down dinner party, Bunuel. (Top that, Sondheim and Ives.) The contortionists, jugglers, aerialists and juggling aerialists are all top notch, making for a cabinet that’s even wackier than the Trump Cabinet would be, and way more fun. A too-long mime sketch in Act II is made up for by some wonderful “hand theater” full of dancing fingers, plus I got an extra thrill talking to Debra Messing, sitting behind me. She and her son were excited to spot one of the Impractical Jokers crew in the crowd. I personally was excited to spot her.

Gypsy's Worst Song, Angela Lansbury's Raunchy Shtick, A Gay Marx Brother & Other Broadway Tidbits 

They’ve been votive candles, drag shows, figurines…and now the cast of the immortal 1980s sitcom The Golden Girls are morphing into action figures!

Related | The Golden Girls Funko Dolls Are Almost Here!

On the heels of its Golden bobble heads, the Funko toy company is unveiling the dolls at New York Comic Con next week, where they’ll be exclusively available.

From the looks of them, Rose Nylund has a dopey (but happy) grin on her face, Dorothy sports a bit of a smirk and a blinding test pattern of a scarf, Blanche features some red stripes above her chesty zone, and Sophia is pint-sized and blue-clad, with the perfect granny handbag.

Related | Golden Girls-Themed Restaurant Coming to NYC

Take these gals out on the lanai and engage them in some witchy bitchery and familial support, Golden Girls-style. Damn, they’re good.

[h/t] LGBTQ Nation

Introducing Golden Girls Action Figures!

Introducing Golden Girls Action Figures!

Randy Rainbow—yes, his real name—has stuck himself in some videos lampooning Broadway and politics, and struck gold in the process. A theater queen with a taste for deftly mocking societal absurdities, Randy has scored with clips for Broadwayworld.com in which he has imaginary yet hilarious chats with Broadway stars, and for his YouTube channel and Facebook page, where he deflates political weirdnesses, most notably faux-moderating the first Trump/Clinton debate by asking Donald, “Do you need a tissue?” and wondering, “ ‘Braggadocious’—is that even a word?” That leads to a zippy new version of “Supercalifraglistic…,” which quickly went through the roof, clicks-wise. This guy is a hoot and a half, so I wanted to get him on the phone and see what makes his mind tick.

Hi, Randy. Were you always into politics?

Not always. I was always interested in hot topics—mostly celebrity stuff, and over the past two years I’ve caught up with the political thing. This last election cycle, I can’t stop following what’s going on, it’s like a circus. I make statements through humor. I’m doing it about politics right now because that’s the hot button issue, but I like to go to the thing everyone is going crazy over and getting worked up about and put a pin in it and deflate it a little bit. An equal part of my Facebook likes are left as they are right. They all say, “I don’t necessarily agree with you, but thanks for making me laugh.” That’s my intention. To calm the fuck down, take a step back, and laugh at it a little bit because if you don’t, you cry.

You don’t block Trump voters?

Unless they say horrible things, no. Everyone is welcome on my fan page, but they’ve got to stay in check. Out of 200,00 likes, I have a block list of only 11 or 12 people. The trolls are not as bad as you would think, volume-wise. I get a lot more positive than negative, considering the nature of my videos.

Your debate video got the most clicks ever, right?

Yes, it got 28 million views in two days. It was on a lot of websites, and all the Facebook shares. My numbers on Facebook are the most impressive as of late. All the political stuff, the last eight or so have broken a million. The Music Man parody broke five million. [It’s a funny spoof called “Ya Got Trump Trouble!”)

Do you start with the footage and then immerse yourself?

People always ask me how I come up with the song parody ideas. “What would make you think of The Music Man or Mary Poppins?” That’s how I think. I’m a true show queen. And I think in show tunes. When Trump said the word “braggadocious,” that was my lightbulb moment and I thought Mary Poppins. Then I watch the actual footage of the debate and listen to the rhythm of it and see how I can insert myself in the most absurd, obnoxious way.

I love the video you did of Patti LuPone reciting her memoir.

That’s one of my most popular things that I do. I’ve always been fascinated with lipsynching in general. When I was a kid…remember Barbra’s Just For The Record boxed set? It had a collection of all her stuff from the ‘60s, including award acceptance speeches. I’d sit in front of the mirror and lipsynch to Barbra Streisand’s Emmy speech.

Were you always a cutup growing up in south Florida?

You could say that. I was always putting on shows in the backyard. I’d always play the girl part. I did musical theater as a kid. For college, I went to Orlando for a hot minute, but dropped out to work on a cruiseship, singing and performing.

Did you aspire to be a Broadway actor?

That’s always been a part of me. I’ve always wanted to be a performer. But when I moved to New York, I put everything on hold and had to grow up a little bit. I worked in producers’ offices and p.r. I was always around it, but never participated. Once I was a receptionist, I was so bored, I started blogging. I was Richard Frankel’s receptionist for a couple of years.

What tickles you about Broadway that makes you want to lampoon it?

Everything. I’m old school with the Broadway stuff. I’m always talking about Patti or having fake conversations with Carol Channing. I like the old, grandiose fabulosity of Broadway that you don’t see so much of anymore. Merman, Stritch, LuPone, Streisand…those are my girls.

I enjoyed your Chick-fil-A video too. [He sings and camps up a storm as an untraditional worker at the homophobia palace.]

Thank you. You wrote it up. You called it “the gayest thing since spandex kneepads.” I‘ve been using that as a pull quote ever since.

Speaking of which: What’s happening in your love life?

Oh my God, nothing. Please direct people to my online profiles. I’m telling myself I’m focused on my career right now, which is what people say when they want to make something happen, but I’m available.

Have you had long term relationships?

I didn’t know we were going to go there, Michael.

You don’t have to answer.

Oh, I’ll answer. I’m really not a long relationship person.

Then you’re doing fine!

I’m good. I’m perfectly happy.

ALMODOVAR AND DEBBIE REYNOLDS HAVE NEW MOVIES

I’m happy too, since a spate of films with LGBT connections has been coming at us via the New York Film Festival, and even some others, so we can check out how the other half live, lol. Here are some of the arthouse-ready highlights I’ve witnessed so far:

*Gay Spanish director Pedro Alomodovar’s Julieta—based on Alice Munro stories—is a hypnotic journey into broken bonds, and it's great to see Rossy de Palma seep even more into her unique character mode in a supporting role. At the festival, Almodovar said about the film, "I wanted to be very austere, and that was a huge adventure for me as a storyteller." He added that the film deals with the mystery of the central daughter/mother abandonment, "and more broadly about how we come to abandon the people that we love." Well, Almodovar isn't abandoning his love of cinema—he said Neruda (about an investigation into the famed Chilean poet) is the best film he's seen this year—and by the way, he happens to be praying for Hillary to win.

At a party for Neruda the next night, I talked to that film’s director, Pablo Larrain, about Almodovar’s comments. He said, “Filmmakers don’t talk about other filmmakers very often. It was a very beautiful surprise. As a Latin American, I grew up with his movies. It’s more than a filmmaker—it’s a concept.” And he was planning to have lunch with that very concept a few days later.

Bright Lights: Starring Carrie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds, is one of the most pungently affecting show biz docs I've ever seen, not to mention a celebration of two gay icons, as directed by Alexis Bloom and Fisher Stevens. In the HBO film, caustically funny Carrie Fisher is shown basically becoming the parent to her mom, movie legend Debbie Reynolds, and even to her dad, singer Eddie Fisher, who's seen three months before his death, as Carrie opens up about how much she craved his validation and they share some belated love. "Age is horrible for all of us," notes Carrie, "but [Debbie] falls from a greater height." Debbie's own mom, Maxine Reynolds, is quoted contending that her daughter was only gifted with brains in her dancing ankles—though she does concede that Debbie loves what she does. Alas, Debbie has to finally face the reality that she's advanced in years to the point where she needs to put down the tiara. She retires, rallying to get a SAG honor and turning on her charm on command for the spotlight. Her son Todd Fisher also adds to the humor and wisdoms, and the net result has you adoring these funny, flawed, indomitable people.

Kenneth Lonergan’s Manchester By The Sea is a stately and moving portrait of a janitor (CaseyAffleck) who becomes guardian of his nephew (Lucas Hedges), both characters—and in fact, all the characters—engaging in a battle of wills that has them pushing each other away in their grief while awkwardly reaching out for comfort. At the Festival, Lonergan said Matt Damon was originally slated to direct and star, but he had to bow out because of scheduling, graciously agreeing to make way for Affleck (who’s great, as is Hedges and all the others). Particulary memorable are Hedges’ frozen chicken freakout and Michelle Williams’ attempted reconciliation with Affleck.

NYC DRAG RESTAURANT IS 20!

Photo of Gusty Winds at Lips by Gino Kuo

Every drag queen on earth reconciled with every other one at the gala 20^th anniversary bash at Lips restaurant, a drag haven that started in the Village and morphed up to the East Side. At the event, Ginger Snaps, Rajene, Frankie Cocktail, All Beef Patty, Jesse Volt, and so many others were in their finery; Porsche told me the burned-down Grove Hotel on Fire Island is en route to coming back, maybe by July; and when I asked Peppermint if she’s indeed transitioning, she laughed that it was an old rumor and said she wouldn’t confirm or deny. Lips’ owner, Yvonne Lame, did confirm that there are now Lips restaurants in New York, San Diego, Ft. Lauderdale, and Atlanta, and next year there will be one in Chicago too—this is apparently the new Chipotle! And performer Gusty Winds told me, “I’m the first Lips waitress ever to get a two-day suspension. For conduct unbecoming a drag queen.” Meaning good behavior, lol? “I think it included a patron, a bathroom, and a busboy,” she said. “Sort of like The Cook, The Thief, His Wife, and Her Lover. A hustler came in. I proceeded to take care of him in the bathroom. And a busboy followed me to the back of the bathroom and was ready to rat me out to the manager. As a pre-emptive strike, I went and confessed my sins. I was suspended for two days, but they said I could pick the shifts I’d miss. I picked the next two Mondays because Monday is the slowest night at a restaurant.” And that’s why drag queens run so long. They’re freakin’ intuitive.

GETTING STUFFED WTH LISA LAMPANELLI

I recently caught up with caustically funny comic Lisa Lampanelli on the set of the long running TV program Theater Talk, and she told me she loved Hamilton so much, she can’t bear to see any other show because she'd feel like she's cheating on Hamilton. She’s so enamored of the Tony winning hit, she's even wondered why there isn’t a lesbian version called Clamilton. One musical she loathes, though, is Rent. Smirked Lampanelli, "It made me hate struggling artists. Get a day job! I was glad some of them died."

Photo of Lisa Lampanelli & Michael Musto

Fortunately, Lampanelli has her own play—Stuffed, which is running off-Broadway—concerning food and body issues women have been forced to deal with their whole lives. Lampanelli, Ann Harada, Jessica Luck, and Zainab Jah star in the play, which started as a one-woman show, but Lampanelli developed it into a fuller play to include broader concerns. It’s a breezy, candid, insightful look at four women exchanging their feelings about food and weight, in between isolated monologues giving back stories. Lampanelli’s lines particularly zing—“Weight Watchers, as in ‘Wait, watch her gain it all back’ ”—but there’s also pathos and feeing to make this a full meal, smoothly directed by Jackson Gay. And by the way, Lampanelli has real acting chops. As far as Orifice Theater goes, Stuffed is much higher up than The Vagina Monologues. (And I loved The Vagina Monologues.)

IF WE TOOK A “HOLIDAY”

A bonafide showstopping number is upon us in Act One of Holiday Inn, when the cast explodes into an ebullient version of “Shakin’ The Blues Away,” complete with happy dancing and precision jumproping. (In Act Two, Corbin Bleu gets to do a pretty fun firecracker routine. Denis Jones did the choreography.) The 1942 Astaire/Crosby movie with Irving Berlin music has been reimagined with a new book (by director Gordon Greenberg and Chad Hodge), dealing with a song and dance man (Bryce Pinkham) who retreats to a farmhouse and ends up battling the familiar wisdom, “Do you know what happens in Connecticut? Nothing!” But in the ultimate “Let’s-put-on-a-show” tradition, the title spot becomes a home for holiday-based productions, which leads to “Easter Bonnet” and “Song of Freedom”—and the show naturally, incorporates “White Christmas,” which the movie famously introduced. Along the way, there are shifts in his romance with blonde showgirl (Megan Sikora) and an attraction for the very single teacher Linda (Lora Lee Gayer), all of its pretty synthetic. But even if this is basically a tourist-driven piece of fluff, it occasionally winks at the clichés rather than just embracing them, and I liked Sikora as the Betty Grable-like showgirl who wants to be normal, but not until she becomes famous first, and Megan Lawrence, who’s a riot as Louise, “the fix it man.” And since the show borrows from Hollywood, it makes sense that it climaxes there. The result isn’t exactly Hamilton; it’s sometimes blandish, if generally entertaining. And unlike White Christmas, it can play at any time of the year.

When I heard that Ryan Murphy’s upcoming FX series called Feud—about rivetingly bitter real-life rifts—would feature an entire first season devoted to warring movie stars Bette Davis and Joan Crawford, I got as excited as I did on reading that they’re remaking Godzilla vs. King Kong.

Bette and Joan’s feud was just so delicious—and so publicly played out—that it’s grist for a great dramedy, especially with Oscar winners Susan Sarandon and Jessica Lange cast as Bette and Joan.

As we prepare for those two to slug it out, let’s consider what made this such a great war of the withered roses. At the heart of it was Bette’s contention that she was a real actress, whereas Joan was a mere movie star. (Conversely, Joan dismissively noted that she herself was a person of respect whereas Bette had simply become a joke beloved by screaming gays.) Bette’s claim may be partly true—she did get to show more range in roles, largely because she battled the big guys and demanded good material—but I happen to like Joan’s acting, especially as she aged and projected a certain decency she apparently lacked offscreen. Besides, after they got together for the 1962 Granny Guignol classic What Ever Happened To Baby Jane?, they both followed that with a string of fabulous crap that pretty much put them on the same level.

And what about that film (so ably directed by Robert Aldrich)? It cannily played on their real-life rivalry by casting them as two has-been sisters, one dementedly holding the other captive and serving her a dead rat for lunch, among other offbeat treats (like the outlandish sound of her singing). The film is macabre, funny, and heart rending all at once, and I always said if it was in French with English subtitles, critics would have deemed it a towering achievement du cinema. Of course it wasn’t exactly ignored as is. In fact, it was a big hit, paved the way for older actresses to go grotesque, and got Oscar nominations, including one for Bette Davis as Best Actress. That drove Joan over the deep end, especially since Bette had called her after seeing the film and boasted about how great her own performance was, neglecting to utter a single syllable about Joan’s. (Joan had also complained about Bette’s physical abuse during the making of the movie; Bette acted out her Baby Jane role a little too literally for comfort.) That’s when Joan got less enthusiastic about promoting the film, and when Bette got nominated, Joan went on an even darker mission. She contacted the other nominees to say that if they couldn’t make the Oscar ceremony for some reason, she’d be absolutely tickled to accept for them. Sure enough, The Miracle Worker’s Anne Bancroft was busy on Broadway and said she’d be thrilled to have Joan accept for her if she won. And the winner was…Anne Bancroft. Poor Bette had to sit there, fuming, as Joan Crawford took the stage, triumphant.

After Baby Jane, the public was desperate for a Bette and Joan re-pairing, so two years later, Robert Aldrich was set to direct them in Hush…Hush Sweet Charlotte, another gothic thriller, with distinct similarities to Baby Jane. For one thing, Bette’s character is a wacky belle who seems demented and may have committed a horrible crime. For another, Joan’s character was nowhere near as juicy or rewarding as Bette’s. Possibly because she realized she was getting the short end of the stick again, Joan became ill and held up production while she recuperated. She might well have been thrilled when she was replaced by Olivia de Havilland (who was too busy feuding with her real-life sister, Joan Fontaine, to duke it out with the great Davis).

There are other parallels between the two battling divas, making their story even more morbidly fascinating. Both Bette and Joan suffered angry tell-alls written about them by their daughters (Bette when she was alive). Also, Bette worked with Faye Dunaway in the 1976 TV movie The Disappearance of Aimee and absolutely loathed her (which made Faye the perfect choice to play Joan in Mommie Dearest later on). Meanwhile, in the ‘70s, Joan had said that Faye was the best of the new breed of actresses (which again made Faye the perfect choice to play Joan—but not in a movie that must have had Joan rolling in her perfectly appointed coffin!) And by the way, that movie was originally going to star Anne Bancroft, who Joan so nobly accepted the Oscar for.

But maybe the strongest link of all were the rumors of sexual tension between the two, Joan supposedly longing for a roll in the hay with saucer-eyed Bette. I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s hard to have that level of animosity going on without some undercurrent of pure lust. Haven’t you ever hated someone so much you sort of wanted to fuck them? And whether they wanted to dive on each other or pull each other’s hair out, they make one of movieland’s great pairings—especially for squealing gays who love a good catfight.

By the way, one of the Feud production shots has Sarandon looking a bit like she’s channeling Hitchcock broad Ruth Roman in the camp classic The Baby. That works for me too.

WHEN STRANGERS MEET

Denis Arndt & Mary-Louise Parker in Heisenberg. Photo by Joan Marcus.

A different kind of danceoff happens on Broadway, where Heisenberg is an interesting matching of strangers in the night. Two actors, some spare furniture, and onstage seats for the audience to look down at the action are all you physically get in the play written by Simon Stephens (The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time) and directed by Mark Brokaw. But that hardly matters since the two characters—the wacky Georgie and the restrained Alex—make sparks as they connect, attract, disturb, and discourse about their differences and distractions, starting in a London train station. I felt Mary-Louise Parker overdid the wacky edge a bit at first as Georgie, but she settled into the character’s eccentricities, and she’s definitely an appealing presence with a strong approach. As Alex, Dennis Arndt navigates off her ramblings (about things like how his folds of flesh remind him of Europe because they’re old) with a slightly rumpled charm. So it’s another argument against one-man shows, and that gets two hands clapping.

All About Bette Davis Vs. Joan Crawford: The Ultimate Feud

All About Bette Davis Vs. Joan Crawford: The Ultimate Feud

Chita Rivera at The Orlando Show on July 25, 2016. Photo by Richard Shotwell/Invision/AP.

Chita Rivera has created a legend with her succession of memorable Broadway divas, including Anita in West Side Story, Rosie in Bye Bye Birdie, Velma in Chicago, Anna in The Rink, Aurora in Kiss of the Spider Woman, and Claire in The Visit. That’s a lot of women on the verge of a nervous breakdown, sometimes giving them. And they all add up to the multifaceted Chita herself. On November 7 at Carnegie Hall, we will come to pay our respects because the two-time Tony winner is appearing in Chita: Nowadays, a Daniel Nardicio produced presentation with guest stars like Javier Muñoz, Brandon Victor Dixon, Alan Cumming, Andy Karl, Stevie Van Zandt, and the New York City Gay Men’s Chorus. As she prepared for the event, I gabbed with Chita about her life and work.

Hello, Chita. Will this Carnegie Hall event represent some kind of a culmination?

That sounds like it’s the end of something. It’s quite an honor to be asked. New Yorkers have been so great to me since I was 15 years old. They say, “How do you get to Carnegie Hall?  Practice!” So that’s what I’ve done. To celebrate my time in New York, being so fortunate to have a wonderful career….a very lucky gal I am. I’m with some fabulous people [at the Carnegie Hall event]—and they’re all men, which I like a lot.

As for women, you’ve collaborated on an incredible array of them on Broadway. Would you say the fact that they’re incredibly strong is something that links them?

I guess I never quite of thought of it that way because it definitely comes from me also. I’m a potpourri of everything—the clown, the mistress, the strong women, the mother, the Greek, the French, the Italian. I’ve been around long enough to do all that. It’s fortunate I’ve been around to be a part of the golden age, where the opportunities were all there and I didn’t miss it. It’s a ball and it still is. What I loved about Nowadays, the title itself, was it was written for Velma in the original Chicago by John and Fred [Kander and Ebb], and it really sums up wat I’m kind of about. I’m about today.

Kander and Ebb are among the great forces in your career.

Liza and I can both say that we were both fortunate enough to be there, and their wanting to use us to express their genius. Freddie [Ebb] knew me better than I knew myself. He and Terence could write better than I could for me. Terrence McNally’s a big part of it. I just got back from Italy a couple of days ago. I stay at a particular place and I’ve been doing that ever since I did West Side in London, 1959. Long before you were born, I’m sure.

I don’t think so [chortle]. Is West Side Story the show of yours that you think has the most life and will live forever?

In 2004, at the LGBT Center, you told me, “I’ve never been all straight. Everyone has their curveballs.” [I had joked about Chita being the only straight woman in the room during West Side Story, considering the presence of Jerome Robbins, Larry Kert, Sondheim, and so on.]

I don’t know what I meant by that. I have no idea what I meant by that. I was probably joking around because I am a serious joker.

Chita: Nowadays will take place on November 7, 8 p.m., at Carnegie Hall. Find more information here.

Chita Rivera on Continuing to Live in the Nowadays as She Prepares for NYC Concert

Chita Rivera on Continuing to Live in the Nowadays as She Prepares for NYC Concert

The potential horror of sitting through terrible movies is more than made up for by the chance to read (or write) reviews skewering them for the caca they are. And so, for your sadomasochistic delectation, I’ve rounded up some of the most sneeringly enjoyable pans in history, concentrating on camp classics that, if truth be told, I happen to love. Well, some of them. Bon appétit.

“Showgirls is a cold, soulless, misogynistic motion picture. It has one aim only: to suck in money. Artistic integrity, intelligent scripting, heartfelt acting and sincere filmmaking are all absent. The final scenes are intended to teach something about ethics, but that’s a hypocritical stance for a motion picture without a moral compass.”—ReelViews

"It sucks when Mariah Carey sings. It sucks when she does not sing. That the nature of its sucking shifts in between does not register and does not matter."—Antagony & Ecstasy re: Glitter (2001)

"Britney Spears' technique indicates she's a graduate of the Brady Bunch Acting Academy."—Film Quips Online review of Crossroads (2002)

“A bore is starred.”—the Village Voice on the Barbra Streisand vehicle A Star is Born (1976)

“Things go downhill rapidly as the movie descends into horror material that is so laughably grotesque, yet so visually cool it remains fatally unfunny.”—Globe and Mail review of The Neon Demon (2016)

“Obscure and pointless personal fantasy, financed at great expense by a major film company as a rather seedy monument to Anthony Newley’s totally uninteresting sex life, and to the talent which he obviously thinks he possesses. The few mildly amusing moments are not provided by him.”—Halliwell’s Film Guide on Can Hieronymus Merkin Ever Forget Mercy Humppe and Find True Happiness? (1969)

“At Long Last Love never quite sinks, but then it never leaves the pier.”—Vincent Canby, New York Times (1975)

“This foolish attempt at recreating the lush musicals of the 1930s offers fabulous art deco sets, memorable Cole Porter songs, and slick production values, yet it goes down like a stricken elephant.”—TV Guide’s Movie Guide on At Long Last Love

“Cole Porter fans, steer clear. Actually, everybody steer clear.”—Film 4

“The success of a movie like The Sound of Music makes it even more difficult for anyone to try to do anything worth doing, anything relevant to the modern world, anything inventive or expressive.”—Pauline Kael (1965)

“…Square and solid sugar. Calorie-counters, diabetics, and grown-ups from eight to 80 had best beware.”—Judith Crist on The Sound of Music

“Jumpin’ Jack Flash is not a gas, it’s a bore. Anyone who’s been longing for a film in which an office worker talks dirty to a computer terminal should find Jumpin’ Jack Flash just what they’ve been waiting for.”—Variety (1985)

“Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band is a motion picture whose awfulness can hardly be imagined on a human scale; its derangement and crazy invention stretch beyond the limits of imagination….This film is so terrible that it goes ‘round the other side of terrible and comes back in some kind of unbearable psychotic beauty.”—Antagony & Ecstasy

“Despite boasting several important moral lessons, the period piece is more artificial than a polyester teddy bear stuffed with Splenda and Cheez Whiz-–and about as appealing.”—The Wrap on Little Boy

“When the end of Get Hard finally arrives, it’s 95 minutes too late.”—Vue Weekly

“Let’s pretend prison rape jokes are funny (they’re not) and cheap homophobia jokes are funny (also not). Even with all those concessions, Get Hard still isn’t that funny.”—Columbus Alive

“Oy! A lumbering, overwrought and somewhat risible production that in all its bathos cries out for a flurry of Woody Allen neurotic Jewish jokes. ”—Ozus’ World Movie Reviews on Yentl (1983)

“A movie whose chuckles (six, I counted) are outnumbered by helicopter shots of the Wynn resort in Las Vegas.”—The Wrap’s Alonso Duralde on Paul Blart: Mall Cop 2

“Only Ross Hunter would remake a 1937 movie into a 1932 one.”—Judith Crist on the musical reworking of Lost Horizon (1973)

“It can’t even be enjoyed as camp.”—Newsweek on Lost Horizon

“Every joke is obvious, every joke is predictable, and strangely, every joke is repeated.”—Sky Movies re Vacation

“The movie doesn’t stick together in one’s head; this thing is like some junky fairground show—a chamber of horrors with skeletons that jump up.”—Pauline Kael on The Towering Inferno (1974)

“More fun than getting stabbed, at least”—Movies.com on The Roommate (2011)

“For those who like to watch folks pull the wings off flies.”—Judith Crist on See No Evil (1971)

“The question becomes, How much punishment can the audience take and still keep on howling?”—East Bay Express on The Room (2003)

 

WATCH CLOSELY NOW

But back to A Star Is Born, the 1976 Barbra Streisand/Kris Kristofferson starrer that was the third incarnation of the story of an exciting woman with a rising career as her drunken husband’s stumbles in despair. (It could be the story of…well, a lot of real-life Hollywood couples, sometimes with the genders switched.) Two versions came before it—1932’s What Price Hollywood? (which became a model for the later incarnations) and 1937’s A Star Is Born with Janet Gaynor and Frederic March, a pungent drama that’s a great example of Hollywood on Hollywood. But it became a whole other animal—a glorious musical—in 1954, when George Cukor directed Judy Garland and James Mason in an erratically edited and uneven but beautiful oddball of a movie, with Cukor’s framing eye at its finest and Judy’s tremulous vulnerability and spirit reaching new levels with her rising-star spunk, sad-spouse histrionics, and delivery of the heart wrencher “The Man Who Got Away.” The Barbra version? Well, I wouldn’t say a bore was starred, but in bringing it into a more pop-rock-flavored world and making the plot more diffuse, that remake didn’t exactly result in a whole lot of cultural urgency. And that perm! And now comes Lady Gaga, about to star in one more remake, costarring and directed by Bradley Cooper. With new music (and, I’m sure, all new outfits), this could either be another unwittingly campy blowout a la Barbra’s or it could be a heartfelt answer to Judy’s. Gaga certainly has the drive and stretching muscles for the assignment, and the best bet would be something that would preserve what’s essential about the film while making the material relevant again. It’s possible a rewarding time is born, and if that isn’t achieved, it could be good for a laugh, and besides, a sixth remake can’t be far behind.

The Most Vicious Reviews Written About Glitter, Showgirls, and Other Camp Classics

The Most Vicious Reviews Written About Glitter, Showgirls, and Other Camp Classics

Hollywood loves nothing more than trotting a hit property out of mothballs and gussying it up again for some hot star to earn all new cash with. So I’ve got some ideas for remakes, and if they work out, seeing the result will be its own reward. Generally, I feel that good movies shouldn’t be remade—just bad ones, to make them better. But let’s mix up the field to make things broader, and give us some remakes we could live with—even of films that are fab enough to begin with. Here goes everything:

*THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTION with Meryl Streep. Just to see if she’s that versatile.

*Similarly, The DEVIL WEARS PRADA, THE IRON LADY, and DOUBT, starring any of a bevy of high-toned actresses, from Kate Winslet to Emily Blunt. To see if anyone else is that versatile.

*CHICAGO. Is it too soon for a remake of the flashy, trashy musical about celebrity justice? Probably not, especially since that show, about a pair of leggy criminals in tune with razzle dazzle, will obviously never die on Broadway (along with the Phantom menace). In the new version, set on the reality competition show circuit, Taylor Swift could rock it as Roxie, Demi Lovato might have the tough edge for Velma, and Adam Lambert could be slippery lawyer Billy Flynn. “And that’s good, isn’t it…?”

*MRS. MINIVER or any of those other noble pics that starred Oscar winner Greer Garson, complete with stiff upper lip. Adele would be perfection, dahling.

*MY FAIR LADY starring Laverne Cox. Laverne could turn it out as the volatile street urchin Eliza Doolittle, who, with the help of Professor Henry Higgins (Jamie Foxx), becomes a slick ballroom diva, wowing all of L.A. In lieu of papa Alfred P. Doolittle (Billy Porter) doing “Get Me To The Church On Time,” there will be Hozier singing “Take Me To Church.”

*WEST SIDE STORY, with Neil Patrick Harris as a gay former gang member (now the CEO of a hookup site) who falls in love with a straight guy, played by Aaron Eckhart. Both of their families wildly disapprove, but the dance-offs will be remarkable enough to win everyone over at the gym.

*BROOKLYNwith Lady Gaga (Let’s try out her cinematic acting chops with some pure dramatics. Though admittedly this would speed up the remaking process a bit.) Also, MAHOGANYwith Rihanna. (The Diana Ross original was not exactly a Renoir film, but a fun trashy flick). Or—once again—CHICAGOwith them two, plus Nicki Minaj. Helleaux.

*MAME starring Madonna. The high-living auntie could be a good fit for Madonna, and since the 1974 Lucille Ball version was greeted like a pile of soggy corn husks, there’s no harm in trying. And this would be a real, old-style star vehicle. If Madonna’s not into it, bring on Cher, who was long ago rumored for the part.

*MARTY, the Ernest Borgnine-starring Oscar winner about the sad sack butcher, this time starring James Franco. Give those ham hocks some glam!

*DEAD RINGER (or A STOLEN LIFE), two pretty obscure films in which Bette Davis played twins, thereby upping her dialogue. Bring on Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen, who’d be a natural—and unlike Bette, they wouldn’t have to shoot their scenes separately.

*XANADU, the overblown musical fantasy that had a hit soundtrack, but couldn’t keep disco (or ancient mythology) alive. Again, this is perfect for Taylor Swift (who is sort of a nouveau Olivia Newton-John anyway). Also, Eddie Redmayne for the male lead, and a cavalcade of every other star on earth for the jaw-dropping musical climax on blades.

*WHO’S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLF?with Tilda Swinton, Johnny Depp, Anna Kendrick, and Casey Affleck. No joke here. The original film of the Edward Albee marital drama is a magnificent work, but this cast could put the “re” (as in “respect”) back in remake.

One of the staples of LGBT folklore is that gay guys always seek mirror-image boyfriends (or husbands), coming off insecure and/or narcissistic enough to crave an exact reflection of themselves. That’s had truth in the past, but it’s less so as gays don’t need as much artificial support. For a while, it seemed as if some gays were even looking like their dogs and their furnishings, but now that even varies. It’s possible that gays no longer need their own image looking back at them in order to feel validated. This might seem like another form of reductionism, but it’s more productive to say what gays don’t have to be rather than what they supposedly always are.

I’ve written about some of the stereotypes that are true—at least in my case, lol. But here are some other ones it’s time to send back to the gay warehouse.

*GAYS ONLY CARE ABOUT MOVIES AND TV SHOWS WITH QUEER CHARACTERS. Many gays are into all that, mind you—and binge-watch things that are gay-gay-gay—but hardly exclusively. If each demographic stuck to seeing things with “their own kind,” moviegoing would be as segregated as all-girl Bingo. Like I said, gays don’t want to only see mirror images!

*GAY GUYS ONLY LIKE STRAIGHT GUYS. That’s an old one from the self-loathing days.

*GAYS LOVE THAI FOOD. Yes, I’ve perpetrated that one, but it’s time for an expiration date on it. Give someone else a chance at that beef salad. Gays actually have a diverse palette, even if the restaurants in question don’t have the atmosphere of a bar in HK or WeHo.

*GAYS ADORE ATHLETICS. It’s hard to believe it, but stereotypes have come so full circle that the familiar feeling now is that gays absolutely love sports—a far cry from the days when the two were as separate as football jerseys and glitter tap shoes. So I now have to reverse the new stereotype and take it back to the old one, to remind you that gays don’t all love sports. I swear!

*GAYS ALWAYS VOTE FOR GAY RIGHTS. As we’ve seen through the years, that isn’t always the case, and it’s weird.

*THEY ALL LOVE GAY CRUISES AND FIRE ISLAND! THEY ALL LOVE KALE! THEY ALL LOVE ACCESSORIES!

*GAY GUYS ALL WANT TO GET MARRIED. No, not really. Some of them don’t even want to go to someone else’s wedding.

*GAYS ALL LIVE FOR SHOW TUNES  Not every gay male feels the constant urge to launch into numbers from Gypsy, Funny Girl, Little Shop of Horrors, Wicked, Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, and Hamilton. No, wait a minute. On second thought…

AND SPEAKING OF MUSICALS….

In Transit, an a cappella Broadway show about 11 intertwining characters in the NYC subway system, is in previews, preparing for a December 10 opening. The book and score are by Kristen Anderson-Lopez, James-Allen Ford, Russ Kaplan, and Sara Wordsworth, and the cast includes Justin Guarini, Margo Seibert, James Snyder, and Telly Yeung. James-Allen Ford told me that he and the other three writers have an a cappella group (which originally had six members, but two of them left for other parts). He said they got together after 9/11 and started planting the seeds for this musical, which has 11 intertwining characters, including a gay couple (Guarini and Lueng) getting ready to get married. Not having musicians won’t be a controversy, said Ford, because it was cleared with the orchestra union. And he added that the set is pretty glam and doesn’t totally consist of the subway, and going downstairs when you enter the theater makes the experience all too apt. Thanks to the bounty of the musical theater, this is not a new idea at all, as it turns out. On The Town, (1944), Subways Are For Sleeping (1961), Metro, (1992), and off-Broadway’s Happiness (2009) are among the shows that feature mixed tunes and turnstiles. So get out your Metrocard for one more ride.

*Would the old Kander and Ebb mother/daughter musical The Rink be worth another look? I never thought so, but at her Carnegie Hall concert, Chita Rivera: Nowadays, last week (which I was there for much of), the two-time Tony winner razzled with a couple of songs from it (including one with guest Alan Cumming), and one got the feeling that with script revisions, this Rink could be far less extinct. Or maybe they can just magically find a whole new show by Kander and Ebb.

Michael York

York has always seemed up for a screen adventure, as in Cabaret, Bob Fosse’s dazzling adaptation of the musical about hedonism, sexuality, delusion, hopes, and despair as the Nazis rise. York was the writer who sleeps with guys and Sally Bowles.

Oliver Reed, Alan Bates

These two bright lights of 1960s British cinema exuded a muddy machismo when wrestling in Women in Love, Ken Russell’s visceral adaptation of the D.H. Lawrence novella. Reed could also be counted on to exude a sullen danger in films like Oliver!, whereas Bates (TheRose, Broadway) is synonymous with a more cerebral angst.

David Hemmings

Hemmings starred in the arthouse hit Blow-Up (1966) and also was game for dizzy comic book mayhem (Barbarella) and an earthy musical (Camelot).

Malcom McDowell

Armed with a gleeful grin, McDowell went rogue in the boarding school drama if…. (1968) and the nihilistic romp A Clockwork Orange (1971), proving to be a far cry from the Douglas Fairbanks types of yore. The dangerous games of some of his early work still chill.

Dirk Bogarde

An earnest, dry actor, Dirk made his mark in films like Victim (1961) and Death in Venice (1971). As movies kept exploring, Bogarde became known as a pioneer.

David Bowie

The glamtastic rocker lent his surreal presence to films like The Man Who Fell To Earth and the vampire thriller The Hunger. His aloof allure generally gave them an artful imprint from outer space.

Tim Curry

A pricelessly vamping Frank ‘n Furter in The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Tim’s also known for everything from Amadeus (onstage) to Spamalot and beyond. His wit takes the warped out of time warping.

Rupert Crosse

Exuding sass and humor, Crosse was the first African American to be nominated for the Best Supporting Actor Oscar (for the western The Reivers).

Tom Courtenay

Courtenay was a familiar presence in 1960s films like Doctor Zhivago, often projecting a wiry intellect (and scoring in the ‘80s with The Dresser, a pas de deux for theatrical figures). Keeping on, he matched Charlotte Rampling every step of the way in last year’s marital drama 45 Years.

Ellen DeGeneres continued to make waves (or at least lead the masses in the wave) as the lesbian queen of daytime, while Rachel Maddow, Don Lemon, and Anderson Cooper kept nighttime talk TV bright with questions and banter.

Award winning actor/playwright Harvey Fiersteinspoke eloquently about the Orlando massacre and the kind of compassion it demands for our community, and on a more effervescent note, he dug back into his Edna Turnblad role for a Hairspray Live!that hardly had NBC screaming “No more musicals!” Based on the Broadway show (in turn based on the John Waters movie) that unseats Baltimore segregation with rollicking spirit, its candy-colored but socially conscious ebullience got a mostly favorable response from critics, though some pointed out the pitfalls of live TV. And it followed the mashup The Rocky Horror Picture Show: Let’s Do The Time Warp Again (with a shimmying Laverne Cox as the sweet transvestite from transsexual Transylvania) for a one-two punch that made us wonder if Angels in America Live—or even Boys in the Band Live—might not be far behind. The New York Times said that Rocky Horror had lost quite a bit of its subversive magic, which isn’t surprising; even the original midnight movie has the audacity to come off endearingly quaint rather than flat-out frightening these days. But as a camp classic, it still needs to be produced, the way straights can have their…well, don’t say Rodgers & Hammerstein shows, because there’s nary a gay who doesn’t have fancy thoughts about those too!

In other potential future ideas, Laverne and Harvey duetting on “Bosom Buddies” from Mame would be a jolt for the masses, and of course Rosie O’Donnell (who was the gym teacher in Hairspray Live!) should somehow pop up in there as well.

Lady Gaga led an L.A. rally in the wake of Orlando, while Nick Jonas got flack for appearing at the NYC rally—though naturally, there should be room for everyone, as long as diversity is achieved within the time limit. Similarly, there was some controversy when Matt Bomer was cast as a trans female sex worker in movie, Anything, but again, there shouldn’t be limits on who can play what, as long as transgender men and women get the chance to play all kinds of roles, just like cis actors do.

Trans continued to be visible in March, when filmmaker Andy Wachowski came out as Lilly Wachowski, transgender like sister Lana.

Also in the movies, 2015’s Carol didn’t get a Best Picture Oscar nomination. (Not tragic enough?). But Moonlight—directed by Barry Jenkins, based on a Jenkins screenplay developed from Tarell Alvin McCraney’s story—seems to be aiming to blast last year’s shortage of African American Oscar nominees with a coming of age story that has gotten raves and Golden Globe nominations.

Channing Tatum’s sailor number in the old-Hollywood romp Hail, Caesar! had homoerotic touches that popped sensitive eyeballs out of heads, while in the animated Sausage Party, a lesbian taco voiced by Salma Hayek makes a move on a glamour bun played by Kristen Wiig. The bun spurs her advances in favor of a very phallic hot dog, but then…oh, wait till you see the food orgy.

Sulu (John Cho) in Star Trek Beyond was beamed out as gay, apparently in a nod to the original Sulu, George Takei. And in the entertaining Tallulah—full of quirky people, some more flawed than others—JohnBenjamin Hickey plays Allison Janney’s ex-husband who came out and settled down with a guy played by Zachary Quinto, as Janney seethes with rage.

Bridget Jones’s Baby had a few gay and lesbian bits here and there, none of them that enlightened. And there were other lesbian bits in art films, star vehicles, instant cult flicks, and some obscure indies that it’s possible no one will see but more critics. But there they were!

From Modern Family to The Real O’Neals, TV kept presenting visibility, and in the personal realm, Parks and Recreation’sAubrey Plaza told The Advocate,“I fall in love with girls and guys. I can’t help it.” No word on Grumpy cat.

Meanwhile, movie/TV/concert/everything star Bette Midler announced that she’s coming to Broadway this spring in a revival of Hello, Dolly!and people started hoping there would be tickets available on the actual staircase. (Even gayer, Bette is appearing in Freak Show, based on James St. James’ award winning novel.)

And somehow, things kept coming back to The Rocky Horror Picture Show, whose creator/costar Richard O’Brien had been quoted saying trans people can’t become women. Hmm. Maybe he meant that some of them already are?