"Anything but Johnny Weir. Leave me alone with that faggot. Anything but Johnny Weir and his divorce!"—Harvey Fierstein is asked if any topics are off-limits. Apparently he has no love for ice skating—or for being politically correct.
We live in an age of political correctness. As luck would have it, the world got more politically correct just around the time I started this column. But who determines what is acceptable and what isn't? This past week, it was announced that the hugely popular San Francisco party "Trannyshack" ( started in 1996 by Heklina ) would change its moniker to the more innocuous "T-Shack." Also in the news, RuPaul was pressured to stop using the term "tranny" and drop a "Drag Race" segment called "Female or She-Male." And yet, most notable drag queens polled had no problem with either term. So why the change? Because some people out there were uncomfortable.
It's not politically correct to criticize Larry Kramer or The Normal Heart, but HBO's adaptation proves several things. First, this is a powerful story that needs to be told. Sections of the play that are shown rather than described illustrate what this film could have been. I kept thinking that maybe it should have been even longer. Maybe it should have been a mini-series, like Angels in America.
But that brings us to the biggest problem—The Normal Heart ain't no Angels In America, and Larry Kramer ain't no Tony Kushner. Kramer is a historian. He's a chronicler of events. But I'm not convinced he's a great storyteller. Perhaps because there is so much material to cover, you never become totally invested in many important characters. And my hunch is, the ones you do become invested in says more about the actors than the material. Playing perhaps the most fully realized character, Matt Bomer all but steals the show. A close second would be Jim Parsons, who was as touching and nuanced as I remember him from the Broadway production. And Joe Mantello is a miracle and probably knows this material better than anyone else. They were lucky to have him. I believe this was a labor of love for everyone involved. And, truthfully, I'm glad it was made. Ultimately, an imperfect film is better than no film at all.
Rather than bask in the glory of this accomplishment, Kramer still wants to talk about Barbra Streisand. The most recent bon mot he shared with The New York Times is as follows: "I said [to Barbra], 'I really think it's important that after eons of watching men and women make love in the movies, it's time to see two men do so.' I bought her a book of very beautiful art pictures of two men making love, and she found it very distasteful." Let me translate—he gave Babs gay porn and she was turned off. How shocking! What Larry often neglects to say is that Streisand brought him the same exact deal Ryan Murphy signed with HBO. Kramer turned it down, holding out for either a theatrical release or wanting to be paid $1 million to write the script. He does admit to that last part, along with praise that Murphy put up the money himself. Sigh—it always comes down to that.
I've been fascinated watching Ricky Martin this past week. It started with Barbara Walters' farewell special, where she showed the clip from a 2000 interview where she asked Ricky if he wanted to confirm or deny that he was gay. He pointedly avoided the question, but with so much grace that it was almost elegant. Babs, on the other hand, wouldn't let it go and tried every angle. Ricky was so calm, he almost seemed amused. And that spoke volumes about Martin—he's unflappable. This feeling was reinforced when he turned up on Andy Cohen's sofa last week. Andy tried ( with, I should add, significantly less skill than Walters ) to get Ricky to talk about his private life—specifically, if he's single. Ricky just smiled and said virtually nothing.
However, that doesn't mean others around him aren't talking. For instance, it's been rumored that Uruguayan actor and model Federico Diaz may have been complicit in the breakup of Ricky and Carlos Gonzalez Abella. But how silly would that be? Federico isn't even gay. Oh, wait, breaking news. ... Federico just came out on Twitter. There's lots of "Only God know when and how, blah blah blah, I came to this Earth to be happy, blah, blah, blah ... I love you all very much." Nothing about Ricky. But another player has entered the game. Perhaps Andy should get Diaz on the couch.
Michael Jackson is back in the news with a new hit single—because, like Tupac, he'll be putting out new records for decades. He wrote "Love Never Felt So Good" with Paul Anka, and Jackson recorded a demo in 1983. It's been remixed and enhanced for this current release with the assistance of Justin Timberlake. Surely, this is a collaboration MJ would have endorsed. Did you know that Michael Jackson had a HUGE crush on Justin Timberlake? Their paths crossed a few brief times, and MJ finally summoned the courage to invite Timby to visit him. At the appointed day, the buzzer at the gate rang, and Justin asked for entry ... with his then-girlfriend Britney Spears. Jackson privately sobbed, "Why did he have to bring HER?" He had hoped to have Justin all to himself. Michael had the pair wait outside an endless amount of time while he composed himself and tried to look happy to see Britney. Like she hasn't been through that before.
We have time for a very brief "Ask Billy" question. Philip in Toronto writes: "Have you seen Tom Daley's reality travel show? He showed off his bouncing bulge last week. I thought you would enjoy it since he just turned 20."
And indeed I did. You may all enjoy it on BillyMasters.com .
When I'm telling you to follow the bouncing balls, it's definitely time to end yet another column. This is one of those transitional columns—we're getting into the summer season, but it's still kinda chilly out. Thank God you can get your fill of hot guys in Speedos ( and less ) over at www.BillyMasters.com, the site where it's always steamy. If you have a question you'd like answered, dash off an e-mail to me at Billy@BillyMasters.com and I promise to get back to you before Julia Roberts appears in a gender-bending remake of Ironside. Until next time, remember, one man's filth is another man's bible.
