Darren Criss: The New Kid on the Block
By Ari Karpel
The first time Glee viewers met newcomer Darren Criss, out-but-tortured Kurt Hummel (Chris Colfer) was visiting the all-boys Dalton Academy to suss out whether it would suit his escape from McKinley High. Lost in a sea of navy blue blazers, Kurt nervously sought the aid of a handsome stranger named Blaine (Criss) who immediately clasped our protagonist's hand and was leading him on a shortcut through the school's Versailles-like halls before Kurt knew what was happening. In that brief, fantastical sequence, the two teenage boys ran in slow motion to an ethereal piano interlude until they reached the site of the anticipated gathering, a performance by the Warblers, Dalton's glee club. Once there, Blaine released Kurt's hand and launched into Katy Perry's 'Teenage Dream,' flirtily crooning it his way. For Kurt, the moment was a first glimpse at a future in which he could be himself and belong.
The next day, Glee's version of 'Teenage Dream' shot up the iTunes charts, becoming the most downloaded song yet from a show that had recently surpassed the Beatles' record for the most singles to chart on Billboard's Hot 100. And in a world teeming with undeserving reality TV insta-stars, Criss became a bona fide overnight sensation.
But the 24-year-old's charm and talent were only part of the equation. After a season and a half of building sympathy for Kurt, Glee's fans want him to find happiness. And ever since Glee cocreator Ryan Murphy let on that Kurt will have a boyfriend this season, the Internet has been filled with speculation about who it will be. (After Bieber-esque new kid Sam, played by Chord Overstreet, proved straight, conjecture turned to Blaine.)
This is more than just a teenage dream, or even a gay one. As a top 10 show among men ages 18 to 49, Fox's kooky jukebox musical has a fanbase that extends beyond the usual coalition of teenage girls and gay guys who tune in to Gossip Girl or 90210. Commercial time on Glee commands top dollar (behind only Sunday Night Football and American Idol, according to Advertising Age) and big-name stars like Gwyneth Paltrow and Britney Spears line up for guest appearances. Its coveted berth after the recent Super Bowl -- of all things -- shouted one thing: Glee has become the only true network TV breakout hit of the last few years.
In casting Criss, the show's producers inadvertently landed an ideal spokesman for a new generation of all-American male -- comfortable enough in his own sexuality to be perfectly at ease with someone else's. Knowing that "Are you gay?" would be among the first questions lobbed at him, Criss initially thought he would tell reporters something ambiguous and "idealistic" like "It doesn't matter if I'm gay or straight -- I'm playing a role." Though new to Hollywood, he's wise enough to know that such a tactic could have backfired. He concluded, "I didn't want to make it troublesome."
So Criss came out, as it were, as straight, and now he regularly says things like "I think it's more empowering to everybody, including myself, if I'm articulate about identifying myself as a straight male playing a gay character. Ultimately, that's more powerful for both communities."
Criss's backstory is so good it seems tailor-made for this moment. He grew up in San Francisco (translation: he's gay-friendly), where he was a big musical theater geek (see previous); his mom is Filipino and his dad is Irish (so he's appealingly multicultural); he graduated from the University of Michigan in 2009 (in other words, he's a smartie); his self-produced EP and the Harry Potter musical parody he and his UM friends made became worldwide viral video hits (he's creative, resourceful, and of-the-moment); he auditioned three times for Glee (that's persistence); and he's still deeply involved in Team StarKid, the theater company he started with his friends in college (he's grounded).
When I show up 10 minutes early for our interview, at a nondescript Hollywood caf' a few blocks' walk from his apartment, Criss is dressed in comfortable layers, perched on a stool by the window. A black and blue knit cap conceals his curls while horn-rimmed glasses obscure those thick, look-I'm-the-kid-from-Glee eyebrows. A couple of days' stubble contrasts Blaine's clean-shaven look. This portrait of the artist as a young man comes complete with a napkin full of scribbled lyrics and a few stray lines scrawled on the back of his hand.