How the Homosexuals Saved Civilization - Cathy Crimmins [45]
He also spoke in minute detail about each color filter he had used to get the fifties look, and how much the costume design played a part in his vision of the movie. He launched into a five-minute discussion about how Julianne Moore’s bell-shaped dresses marked her an old-fashioned, romantic woman, whereas he had dressed Patricia Clarkson, who played Julianne’s best friend, in the sleeker, smoother silhouette of the future.
Queen! I thought as I listened to his elaborate analysis. I meant it as a compliment: I admire Haynes as a director, and I loved his film. It was the homosexual aesthetic in its purest form that made the movie shine. As we left the theater, my gay friend said, “Do you think straight people will get this film?” Without thinking, I said, “Yes, of course.” That was the whole point. That was the miracle of this film. Haynes had crossed over—he had translated the gay sensibility for straight audiences, and had made them laugh at the bitchy daiquiri scene and then weep at the couple’s agony. This was no “in” joke gay flick, like his Karen Carpenter movie starring Barbie and Ken dolls. Haynes now represents an incredible example of the gay world improving on straight movie artistry.
The Tradition of the Gay Leading Man
My friend Sarah and I were walking through the Hollywood Forever cemetery near my house when we came upon the headstone of the dashing leading man of the 1940s and 1950s, Tyrone Power.
“My mother loved him,” said Sarah.
“Tyrone Power was gay, right?” I said.
“Yeah, people say that now. I think so. I don’t think my mother ever knew that, though,” said my friend.
It’s true—they do say that now, and there was an entire biography focusing on Power’s secret life as a homosexual. But this always leaves me feeling awkward—the man was married with children. He lived in a straight world, certainly, even if he did have homosexual proclivities.
Then we made our way over to the main mausoleum, where the great silent movie star Rudolph Valentino is buried.
“Gay,” I said, looking at the floral arrangements in front of the small drawer of remains. But I wasn’t talking about the flowers—I meant that Valentino was gay. At least that was always the rumor, along with the gossip that Ramón Novarro, the other great Latin-lover movie star of silents and early talkies, was homosexual.
“Yep,” said Sarah.
At that moment, it struck me that so many of the actors who molded my ideas of masculinity as a little girl were either gay or bisexual.
I know I adored Montgomery Clift in Raintree County and A Place in the Sun, without even thinking about his sexuality. There was something about his dark, brooding looks that captivated me.
One night—I believe it was in 1966, when I was eleven years old—Monty appeared on the Saturday Night at the Movies program I loved so much, in the film Freud. I don’t even want to think about the implications of Montgomery Clift, a repressed gay man, playing Sigmund Freud. The movie thrilled me. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Montgomery Clift saved a hysterical girl. I could learn about Freudian analysis and lust after a handsome actor at the same time.
The next day, I mentioned to my mother about how cool Montgomery Clift was. “You know, he’s a homosexual,” she said. No, I didn’t know. And I didn’t know how to feel about it. Was I supposed to be ashamed of my attraction to a gay movie star?
Why were so many of Hollywood’s leading men of the past either homosexual or bisexual? And why, if you believe the rumors, are many contemporary male stars “nelly,” as my gossipy gay friend words it?
Even putting aside rumors, the list of homo and bi leading men from the past is substantial: William Haines, Charles Laughton, Rudolph Valentino, Ramon Novarro, Cesar Romero, Tyrone Power, Errol Flynn, Randolph Scott, Tab Hunter, Richard Chamberlain, Raymond Burr, Sal Mineo, James Dean, Dirk Bogarde, Anthony Perkins, Rock Hudson, Marlon Brando, John Gielgud, and, of course, Cary Grant—my beloved Cary Grant.
By the