WEST SIDE STORY One day during the construction of this website there came to my attention a review of a movie making the rounds at the time, to whose various other qualities the critic added the enthusiastic "gay-friendly." I admit I was amused. The term seemed quaint, if not archaic. By now, some ten years after web-surfing replaced baseball as the American pastime, I had long since assimilated the new meaning of "friendly," as in "user-friendly," implying a generous degree of facility though not necessarily an amiable one. I suppose there was a time when such a signpost in a film review might have constituted a welcome invitation for the gay population and also some degree of re-assurance. But now? Who cares! It's the 21st century. Gay men and lesbians are highly visible in all manner of workplaces, including entertainment, sports, and even politics. No special signals are needed, nor even desirable. In a way the term is derisive, perhaps even pandering, like "chick-flick," although I sincerely doubt this was the well-meaning critic's intention. But to take the trouble to point out that a film is going to be agreeable to the gay population is unnecessary, superfluous: At this point in history, it had better be. Case Closed. "Gay-friendly" means "good enough to please the hard-to-please." Q.E.D. So the next time a gay friend recommends something to you, I suggest you see it, or taste it, or listen to it, or visit it. If you don't have a gay friend—well, let's just say that you don't know what you're missing.
The Advocate Review
and
THE BOYS LIKE THAT
Among our other predilections, gay people have always taken an enthusiastic interest in the Arts. According to a certain vocal element among straight people, "that figures." In previous eras, a man, especially a "bachelor," who took an interest in opera was a dead giveaway. He was cause for despair to his weepy but blameless parents, his shocked and dismayed co-workers, and the marriage-minded, disappointed lady friends in his circle. This phenomenon extends over to the world of ballet, whose devotees are no less fervored. Inevitably it filters down to the world of commercial theater, an area of entertainment typically scorned by the opera lover as common and by the non-theatergoer as highbrow. Regardless of the variety of sneers and withering sighs up and down the snob chain, homosexuals (particularly homosexual men, to whom this discourse is confined) and life on and near the stage have been linked in a way that is downright symbiotic--the theater and the American gay male comprise a co-dependency of the highest order. This essay attempts to draw a connection between the musical-lover of a certain persuasion and one musical in particular.
As a gay man with a more-than-passing interest in motion pictures, I wondered if I was even correct in understanding what "gay-friendly" meant. Was it a work that was free of material that would offend, derogate, or otherwise alienate members of the gay audience? Maybe it was even simpler than that. Maybe "gay-friendly" meant delivering a product that not only acknowledged the existence of gay people, but also projected a positive image of them. I'd already figured out a foolproof way of identifying a gay-friendly play: At intermission, the line to the men's room is twice as long as the line to the ladies'. I speculated upon the various possible definitions of a "gay-friendly" movie. Examples filtered through the haze: Definitely not Cruising, God knows. Nor The Children's Hour. Making Love certainly had positive-image characters. In fact it had Breakthrough written all over it, but, some felt, what it possessed in trailblazing it lacked in drama. The Boys in the Band was first embraced as a groundbreaker and then disparaged for its negative stereotypes. Jeffrey and In and Out played it for laughs, which, ironically, made some people unhappy—go figure. You can please some of the people some of the time, if you're lucky.
Was a "gay-friendly" film one that was directed specifically to a gay audience? Or to the cross-section of straight viewers who were not "gay-hostile"? In that case Cruising was still out (thank you very much), but Boys in the Band was back in, notwithstanding the undeserved pasting it came to take. No Way Out was out and In and Out was in. (Personal note: Anything with Kevin Kline or Tom Selleck is way in. As for co-starring them in the same movie, plus that smooch...well, don't ask.) This was easy and fun. All of my favorites appeared to qualify: Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?—check. Any Monty Python—check. The Godfather—check check check (no relevant topical content or role models but great drama and that sumptuous score. And James Caan in his prime). Cabaret, Spider Woman, All about Eve, and anything with a gladiator, including Gladiator. Simple enough indeed, and apparently reliable. I worked my way confidently through the rest of my favorites: Tom Jones, check….Close Encounters, check…West Side Story…whoa, stop the presses.
Some of those examples are easier to qualify than others: The Godfather—well, undoubtedly my Italian parentage came into play here, but in this new context, viewing it through the gay microscope, I certainly recognized the appeal (to me) of a movie about powerful men in a shadowy, exclusively male subculture. Close Encounters of the Third Kind was a bit of a stretch, but the portrait of the Richard Dreyfuss character—lost, bewildered, and dissatisfied with a miserable family situation, searching for adventure and escape—was not exactly unfamiliar territory to closeted and/or recently-closeted gay men. Tom Jones—playfully erotic. Virginia Woolf—outrageously bitchy. All about Eve—oh please, darlin'. But West Side Story? What specific appeal could this famous A-list wide-release G-rated perennial possibly hold for not just me but (as I have come to learn) many members of the gay population? Against the slow but steady coming of age of the gay identity in the United States, with its very specific proposals and demands, this squeaky-straight opus does not appear to conform to even the broadest definitions of a gay film. Well, at least not at first glance. Some personal observations on the subject are presented here:
The turf on Queer Street. One Sunday morning in December 2003 (around the same time as the "gay-friendly" review appeared), I was sitting at home sharing the Sunday New York Times with my partner. He had surrendered over the Book Review section, and I noticed a paragraph set off with his signature circle-and-stars motif. Attention must be paid. Highlighted for my inspection was a paragraph in a review by Maureen N. McLane of a book called Queer Street by James McCourt. The book was being touted as an overview of the gay culture in America in the mid-20th century. My friend had directed me to a description of West Side Story as "the supreme encoded queer Broadway musical." While this assessment was disputed by no lesser a personage than Arthur Laurents, in a circled-and-starred Letter to the Editor that appeared a few weeks later, the idea ignited some long-since-dormant speculation. My partner is indisputably the brains of the outfit, so I let him in on the process. "What do you think 'supreme encoded queer Broadway musical' means?" Heavy silence ensued, which meant either the question was getting the full treatment or I was being tiresome and asking the obvious. I waited out the regulation thirty-second grace period and asked again. This time the reply was prompt, and a little impatient, as though I should have known this all along. "They're dancers, aren't they? West Side Story? Boy dancers?" Ah, so. Of course, this observation is not restricted to the work at hand It is not news to me nor to any theater aficionado that a disproportionate number of the male dancing ensemble of any given musical play for our side. The product they deliver is appealing on its own terms, regardless of the orientation of the performer. But there is some vicarious satisfaction in knowing that the efforts of members of the gay community constitute a significant contribution to the remarkable work.
And yes, like The Godfather, West Side Story is male-centric and deals with men in power and men seeking power. Moreover it celebrates male youth and exuberance, and, like Seven Brides for Seven Brothers before it, the work not only fails to emasculate the male dancer but actually intensifies his masculinity. So the universal and time-honored male idolatry was at work here, starting with a cast that included some twenty healthy, fit young men, dancers in top physical shape rendering a patently historic performance, dazzling audiences with all the standard ingredients of machismo: Swagger, bravado, and flat-out toughness. "And," came the unexpected postscript from my partner, "they're Hispanic. Half of them anyway. Hot Latin men with muscles." Something told me this conversation was headed for trouble, but of course he was right. Without stooping to stereotype, it was a fact of life that the members of one gang were, to a man, a pack of charmers, actual Latinos or not. Even as a teenager, I could sense the attraction, the promise of an emerging immigrant culture, fresh blood, grass-is-greener, dark, sleek, exotic men from the island. Gay-friendly? Textbook gay-friendly.
Advocate review. At least one important publication shares the view that West Side Story is notably gay-friendly. Several months earlier, when the so-called Collector's Edition of the film was released on DVD, reviews and re-reviews appeared here, there, but not necessarily everywhere, to my surprise and disappointment. But a review did turn up, of all places, in the April 29, 2003 issue of The Advocate, the national news magazine for gay men and lesbians. Since the disc was not receiving wide-spread critical coverage in the media, and since The Advocate usually reviewed works as they pertained to the special interests of its readership, the appearance in this particular magazine of one of the disc's few write-ups gave the "gay-friendly" tag some marginal credibility. The critic did not rise above the temptation to cite the lyric "Pretty and witty and gay" but mercifully did not bring to his readers' attention the equally uninteresting "queer for Uncle Sam." (Both lines appear in the screenplay and not in the original play-script, and neither reference is to homosexuality.) The review dwelt upon the gay sexual persuasion of three and a half of the four collaborators (one open one, one quiet one, one tortured one, and one generally assumed to be bisexual) rather than on any presumed gay content in the film. Nevertheless I was delighted to discover that West Side Story would merit special attention in the magazine that was essentially the gay equivalent of Life, Time and People combined. In my perception of a gay connection to West Side Story I was clearly not the only one—as gays generally come to realize with time.
Womb to tomb. In his remarkable multi-volume examination of the Broadway musical, theater historian and commentator Ethan Mordden gives West Side Story full marks in virtually every respect. He also introduces perhaps the most significant gay reference to come out of the work, one that addresses a major character within the story and not its creators or performers. As observed by Ethan Mordden, Riff is not as interested in his girlfriend as, say, Bernardo is in his own, and this indifference is a clue to a more complicated assessment of the seemingly uncomplicated Jet leader. Notice is also taken of his long-standing living arrangement in Tony's home. Riff's affection for Tony, along with his disappointment at being deserted, becomes re-configured by these implications. Tony's non-reciprocating posture, uninterested and indeed oblivious, rounds out the fable-as-prototype for many such real-life stories of one-sided big-brother hero-worship, to give it a vanilla-flavored name. This fine author's typically astute eye has taken him as close as anyone has come to outing any of the characters in West Side Story, while confirming that the resolution of such a scenario is strictly in the hands of the audience, if not the director and the actor. The adroit Arthur Laurents may have put it there, or not. Mr. Mordden says "not," and yet somehow it's there.
Metaphorically speaking (and singing and acting).
The lovers as metaphor. The lyrics to "Somewhere," which so aptly describe the tragic plight of the modern star-crossed lovers, articulate what may be the outstanding example of gay identification within the spoken and sung words of the show. When gay men and lesbians hear such sentiments as "I will take you away...A place we can feel we're free...There's got to be someplace...A time and place for us...Hold my hand and we're halfway there..." they are surely forgiven if they let go of the story for a moment to recognize their own yearnings and determinations to find or create a better place for themselves. The ongoing quest for acceptance has no better anthem than this classic song of hope. And perhaps nowhere is the poignancy of the message better expressed than in Tim Miller's Us. This performance piece offers a declaration of the gay affinty for Broadway musicals as a backdrop to a more intimiate story. Mr. Miller tells of his prospective exile from his native United States due to the deportation of his Australian partner. In describing their search for the ideal place where they can live as a recognized couple with full civil rights, Mr. Miller calls it, simply, a "place for us."
The gangs as metaphor. You might not notice it for the first five hundred viewings, but the film actually opens with a significant key to the gay connection. When he is first rebuffed by the Jets in their initial encounter, George Chakiris as Bernardo wanders away and, just for that second, he is hurt, and he looks it. His briefly downcast face speaks volumes. He entered Jet territory, was derided and mocked, was coldly shoved aside and unmistakably shown he wasn't wanted. Wow…In a nutshell, in a sixty-second précis, that was Growing Up Gay in America 101. And so he moves along, gangs up with his own kind, toughens up, fights back—boy, did that sound familiar….As a native-born American, I presumed the Sharks had to be the enemy, but as congruent members of oppressed minorities we were muy simpatico, alike on many levels. The set-up of Puerto Ricans vs. "natives" is something of a device, a metaphor, a way to tell a story. The driving factor at the time of writing was the topicality of such feuds. Any background of conflict would have served the drama, as Shakespeare was not the first to demonstrate. The moral might have just as easily been delivered through such historic, admittedly grandiose devices as warlords vs. rebels, or czars vs. peasants, or pharaohs vs. slaves, or any ongoing struggle for religious, ethnic and social tolerance tragically continuing to this day. It could have indeed been the original East Side Story idea of Catholics vs. Jews wrangling through the Easter-Passover celebrations. Wherever there was a story where a stronger mainstream force was being challenged, wherever there was injustice, bigotry, and self-satisfied discrimination, then that was a story with which homosexuals could identify. West Side Story is the archetypical presentation of a culture-clash over recognition and acceptance, a struggle very close to the heart of every gay man and lesbian in the world.
Et cetera. Aside from the theorizing about Riff, other characterizations within the play lend themselves to some interesting interpretations. While these may or may not be consistent with the intentions of the authors, dramatic license is the right and responsibility of a dedicated director. A drama can be presented using whatever different devices are deemed suitable. Certainly the much-discussed haircut of Anybodys has opened the doors for debate on exactly what made her tick, along with her tone, her attitude ("I ain't never gonna get married") and her snazzy wardrobe. On the flip side, one might wonder how the role of Glad Hand might be played to an audience possessing modern sensibilities on matters of sexual preference. Like Anybodys, he is a consummate outsider—itself another gay reference—and he is the target of a wisecrack that pretends to question his gender and, therefore, his sexuality. The task of separating the boys from the girls causes a Jet to wonder aloud: "Hey, where are you?" It might have been interesting to have a Shark ask the question, because, unfortunately, discrimination has been known to trickle down, but the choice was correct; such a re-write is obviated by the wise-guy attitude of the Jets and the relative courtly politeness of the Sharks. One can imagine, with a shiver, the ugly animosity and derision a real gang would heap upon a real Glad Hand. No better evidence exists of the claim that West Side Story is whitewashed than the free pass the Jets give to the slightly ridiculous dance organizer.
And for the record, "Gee, Officer Krupke," was written and first sung during a period of history when "my brother wears a dress" was a "symptom" not of the transvestite but the homosexual, if anyone knew that these were two different animals. I can't actually be persuaded that this lyric is a gay-friendly element, but it's there if anyone needs it.
Backstage with "The Boys." Any musical, any work that employs the service of a number of creative and artistic talents will be accompanied by the standard array of legends, gossip and unsubstantiated rumors about the backstage intrigue of its cast, crew and staff. The Backstage Romance is a standard, almost inevitable staple of any worthwhile show-biz yarn, though traditionally the couple is heterosexual. A number of interviews and biographies of the West Side Story personalities declare or suggest the existence of a presumably unremarkable number of homosexual liaisons both within the Broadway company and within the film company, including one provocative account that hints at an "item" between two members of the Hollywood cast, not only male-male but Jet-Shark, the classic and ultimate double-whammy.
One significant backstage tale of West Side Story concerns itself not with romantic attachments but with an encounter that may have done nothing less than help shape the future of gay theater in America. At the time the Hollywood product was being filmed, Natalie Wood's personal assistant was Mart Crowley. I remembered this because I had been excited (even then—this would be 1970-ish) to learn of a link between the beloved musical and Mr. Crowley's seminal The Boys in the Band, the debut of which was quickly followed by my own "debut," and incidentally that of the Gay Movement itself. There was a cozy intimacy to the unexpected but delectable notion of the author of this very special play being a presence on the set of this very special film. What I did not know till many years later was that the playwright had modeled a major character in Boys after another behind-the-scenes member of the West Side Story troupe. If the resulting portrait is not particularly flattering, the plot was incontrovertibly driven by the presence of this key, multi-dimensioned character. Considering the enormous impact of The Boys in the Band, the fact intrigued me that this important gay drama may have taken a completely different direction, if it took any at all, but for the playwright's peripheral participation in the filming of the masterwork. Boys took all of its share of the initial credit for galvanizing the mindset of the contemporary American gay scene. An eruption of angry socio-political activity ensued that culminated at Stonewall and gave birth to a new and ever-strengthening force to be reckoned with. Considering all that, one can't help wondering: Did the Gay Rights Movement have West Side Story to thank for its existence? The idea may be fantastic, based mostly on speculation, one might even say on wishful thinking. But something got someone thinking, and then moving, and then acting, and thus a new chapter in the struggle for human rights was born. That something might have been West Side Story. The multi-layered musical has certainly had its day in the sun as the quintessential soapbox for racial injustice; there now exists the possibility of it being a keystone in the construction of gay pride as well.
The end. In closing I will pass along a quote from the February 1980 issue of Playbill magazine, a souvenir from my first visit to the 1980 Broadway revival of West Side Story. In it is an article by Barry Tarshis entitled "A Gay Sensibility," in which is given a fair assessment of the situation in 1980. While Mr. Tarshis was not actually clocking attendance in the rest rooms, he did confirm the prevailing idea of a "gay audience" and especially their newly audible voice in the arts and the value of their undeniable contributions, both artistic and financial. And gay-friendly meant exactly what everybody thought it meant in the first place:
The piece closes with the following quote from a gay theatrical executive. "What's clear about the gay mystique is that it doesn't focus exclusively on performers who are themselves gay. Nor does it limit itself to shows that deal with homosexual themes."
"There's definitely a homosexual audience out there. And it's growing. But it would be a mistake to take it for granted. Gays on the whole are more demanding than most Broadway audiences. A show, especially a musical, has to have something fresh and exciting going for it to get a gay audience behind it. Gays tend to have a lower boredom threshold than straights."
Ethan Mordden's Coming Up Roses
Arthur Laurents' Original Story By
The Boys in the Band in Print
Special thanks to Susan, Paul, and especially Wayne, for variously having an eye on the ball, getting the ball rolling, and keeping me on the ball. Much love to all.
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