The Gay Canon

Tuesday is the first day of classes at the Boston Conservatory, where I teach. This is for all those incoming gay boys. (Gay boys? In musical theater? Shut the front door.)

Patty Hearst: Fashion has changed! Kathleen Turner: No. It hasn't. Happy Labor Day.

Saki (H. H. Munro)

After The Sound of Music, Julie Andrews had a spotty record when it came to movie musicals. (Darling Lili? Oy) But even if the films themselves weren't so hot, they still contained moments in which Julie could shine. Here she is in Star, re-interpreting a Gertrude Lawrence showstopper from Lady in the Dark.

I haven't thought about Gordon Merrick in years, but when I was a teen, his trashy novels were a guilty pleasure. The prose was bombastic, the characters were melodramatic, and the dialog was purple as hell. But they were the closest any books at the time came to the gay equivalent of a Jackie Collins novel. Plus, the covers were a pleasure unto themselves.

Following up on my previous post about hot men growing older, here are some guys that seem to have gotten better with age. Again, an encouraging development for those of us who may not have been Big Man on Campus. We could just turn out to be Big Hot Daddies.

For any of you young gay boys out there who look around at all the pretty people you see around you and in the media and start to feel less-than, just remember: everyone gets old. Sure, some guys mature gracefully, and even get hotter when they age. But not everyone.

Schadenfreude? Or just calm acceptance? Whatever.

Sic transit pulchritudo.

A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion; A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted With shifting change, as is false women's fashion; An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling, Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth; A man in hue, all 'hues' in his controlling, Much steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth. And for a woman wert thou first created; Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting, And by addition me of thee defeated, By adding one thing to my purpose nothing. But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure, Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.

- Sonnet 20, William Shakespeare (Who may or may not have been writing as himself and directing this poem toward another man.)

You may not know it to look at him today, but Robert Redford used to be beautiful. Yeah, sure, today's he's sort of craggily handsome, in that wind-swept, prairie-burnt, mountain-tousled kind of way. But in the '60s the man was stunning. Here he is with Jane Fonda in "Barefoot in the Park." Hubba Hubbell.

One of the dishiest theatrical reads ever was James Kirkwood, Jr.'s Diary of a Mad Playwright, about Kirkwood's experience with his play Legends. The play toured the country, but never made it to Broadway. The reasons why make for quite a tale, and don't exactly do Mary Martin any favors in the reputation department. Carol Channing comes off slightly better, but as with all fascinating failures, Legends has enough blame to spread around to everyone involved.

When I was a kid, I had heard the term "acid trip," but I never really knew what it was. That is, until I saw the movie Tommy. You know, the scene with Ann-Margret and the champagne. And the beans. And the chocolate. Trippy.

Walt Whitman

"A lot of people like this kind of music! A lot of people wish they could hear a whole lot more of it! So the hell with you, mister! Cuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuz..."

Happy 84th birthday to Marian Seldes, one of the great grande dames of the American theater. As Michael Feingold put it this morning on Facebook, "Today is Marian Seldes's birthday. All other matters are set aside." Indeed.

James Kirkwood, Jr.