TRANS FORMATIONS
by Les Phillips

Superstar in a Housedress
(2004, directed by Craig Highberger).

A film about the writer, actor, and Warhol superstar Jackie Curtis, a tough kid from the Lower East Side who never once gave it away. His grandmother, Slugger Ann, ran a bar on East 13th Street, in the Fifties--that location was much more Damon Runyon than Keith Haring--and Jackie definitely learned how to hustle. Curtis was among a group of egoistic, revolutionary playwrights and performers who seized the Off Off Broadway stage in the mid-1960s. Auteurs like Curtis, Tom Eyen, and Charles Ludlam wrote past, over, under, around, and through their queer identities; they produced breakneck farces and magical singing and dancing extravaganzas of Orientalism and haute Hollywood with practically no resources. They left a lasting imprint on high and low culture. Very often, they liked to dress in women’s clothes.

Curtis made his stage debut in something called Miss Nefertiti Regrets, a musical which featured songs like “The Fucking-A Douchebag Blues.” Miss Nefertiti was a modest hit, as $20-budget musicals go (that would be the total budget of the production, not the ticket price). Soon Curtis was discovered by John Vaccaro and his Theatre of the Ridiculous. He, along with his friends Holly Woodlawn and Candy Darling, became the toast of downtown, and beau monde uptown people clamored and jostled for seats in tiny, crowded theatres and sleazy bars. ("I’m Marion Javits!” screamed the wife of New York’s senior senator from her limo. “What do you mean I can’t get in?”) Soon investors were making tidy profits off the likes of Why Hannah's Skirt Won't Stay Down and Vampire Lesbians of Sodom. Then the three amigos hit the big time: Andy Warhol made them superstars, and Curtis landed roles in Heat and Women in Revolt, and became one of the Factory’s famous-for-being-famous icons, the sort of metacreation that was Warhol’s lasting legacy. But really Curtis’s brilliance shows best in his stage performances and interviews, of which Superstar in a Housedress provides a healthy selection.

Curtis stood six feet two inches, and he was a beautiful woman. One friend described him as “a cross between Jean Seberg and Audrey Hepburn.” Another said that “Jackie wasn’t really sexual at all. That wasn’t what he was about.” Curtis himself said, "I’m not gay, I’m not
straight, I’m just Jackie," and that much was clear; he was much more than a drag queen. Too many downtown artists succumbed to heroin and speed, and, later, AIDS. Curtis’s early death was tragic because it was accidental.

Superstar in a Housedress benefits from a good range of archival footage. The talking heads include Ellen Stewart, Harvey Fierstein, and the lovely and talented Ms. Woodlawn; they are welcome, but they don’t eclipse the star of the show. The tone is balanced and appreciative. I’ve sharply criticized some Warhol documentaries, but this isn’t really a Warhol documentary, and in any case it’s crisp, direct, and first-rate.

Get Happy (2008, directed by Mark Payne).

A short film by and about Mark Payne, who began his career as a 12-year-old female impersonator. Little Mark wanted to dress up as Judy Garland and lip-synch “Over The Rainbow,” so his mother helped him with the clothes and makeup, got out the camera, and made the first of a series of home movies that led straight to stardom. (Next was Streisand, “Don’t Rain On My Parade,” reinterpreted on top of the car hood, in the driveway.) And guess what – little Mark is an exhilarating and very convincing female impersonator, making up in spirit and energy what he might lack in precision. Bookings followed – 13-year-olds do not ordinarily represent themselves in the entertainment business, but Mark created an alter-ego agent who drove tough bargains with producers. At 14 the drag wunderkind opened for Milton Berle in Vegas, showcasing his inevitable and painstaking Liza Minnelli replica. He was less well acclaimed by his middle school classmates in suburban Houston. But his mother loves him, his grandmother loves him, and his neighbors love him; he’s gonna be all right, he’s gonna live and live now; hey, Mr. Arnstein, here I am. He’s still here.

Indeed, Mark Payne has lipsynched all over the world, to tremendous acclaim; the grownup Mark Payne has won two Emmys as a makeup artist. (He made Kelly Ripa up to look like Regis Philbin; then he made Regis up to look like Kelly). Get Happy is a brisk, dynamic thirty minutes. It wastes not a second on politics or regret. There’s nothing to regret! Get happy!

Forever's Gonna Start Tonight
(2009, directed by Michelle Lawler).

At 74, Vicki Marlane is America’s oldest working drag performer, and what a story she has to tell. Vicki, originally Donald, was born in rural Nebraska in the 1930s. “We were white trash,” she recalls cheerfully. “We had no running water. In the morning, we’d go out back and empty the slop bucket.” In many respects Vicki’s tale is a typically heartbroken and hopeless pre-Stonewall narrative – an outcast’s life of circus work, hitchhiking, hopping freight trains, prostitution, menial work, a variety of unstable, dangerous relationships, and the constant threat of arrest. But Vicki had a skill – for a time, she was a headliner at a circuit of Chicago and San Francisco drag clubs, a different kind of underground star than Jackie Curtis, but a star just the same. Unlike many other drag performers, Vicki wanted and needed to be a woman, and was finally able to become one, at the age of 46. (Vicki had to quit her day job when her coworkers found out about her surgery.).

Forever's Gonna Start Tonight will probably not persuade you to hire Vicki Marlane for that special occasion that’s coming up. She looks marvelous, certainly, but I doubt that she was ever an accomplished singer or dancer, and her energy level is not what it once was. The film is engrossing because it’s a persuasive account of a sort of representative woman – one who got through the century, despite difficulties and sadnesses that she rarely dwells on. In old age, Vicki’s still hard at work, doing what she loves to do; and she’s acquired a group of friends and admirers. “She was so beautiful,” says one of her contemporaries. “She could have anybody she anted.” And she’s still got great legs. She’s still here.


©2009 Les Phillips
CineScene