There haven’t been a whole lot of Oscar movies yet this summer, but there have been a helluva lot of hot guys onscreen, so it all balances out. A friend of mine in the business works with celebrities for a living and gave me the inside track on which of the summer hotties are the hottest, the nicest, the blandest, and/or the most do-able (in one’s fantasy life, anyway).
Said he: “Channing Tatum’s appeal is that of the guy next door. He’s the kind of guy who you can imagine will come over and play with your kids while they’re in the pool, then go up and fuck you.” Huh? That’s what a guy next door amounts to nowadays? I’m obviously living in the wrong neighborhood. “In person,” he went on, “Channing is so funny and so charming. He’s been doing this for a while. The only thing that’s changed is he no longer has a desire or need to be liked. There was always this open quality where he was trying to engage you or win you over. Now there’s an acceptance that he’s achieved his goal and he’s comfortable with that.” I’m so happy he’s happy--but I hope he doesn’t mind me liking him anyway.
“Henry Cavill,” my nouveau Deep Throat continued, “is a more serious proposition. He is a deeply serious guy--a person you’d find difficult to joke with about anything. He’s the strong, silent, type. He’s somebody who would never be caught reading People magazine—he’s more likely to be immersed in a business journal. But think of how wonderful he’d be in bed, to take control!” I’m thinking, I’m thinking! And onscreen, what’s the man of steel’s super appeal, pray tell? “He’s the smoldering, hot guy,” said my know-it-all friend. “He’s not the guy next door—he’s the dark prince.” And I’m a big queen—we’d be perfect together. Someone alert Kaley Cuoco! Oh, they broke up already? Never mind.
I beamed the conversation right up to Star Trek and got my wise pal to offer his thoughts on the luscious Chris Pine and the gay Zach Quinto. “Chris is genial,” he offered, “and they have an interesting relationship onscreen. Even though Spock is having an affair with a woman now (played by Zoe Saldana), people have commented that the Spock/Kirk thing has a slight homoerotic tinge to it. Zach is also someone who’s very smart and very serious. He wears glasses not to look smart, but because he’s a real intellectual. And Chris Pine is a sort of a California beach dude. His fantasy appeal is that of a ‘fuck buddy.’ You know—the type where you stop by, you want a cup of coffee or a beer, you want to have a quick fuck, and then you’re both off to doing errands or having dates.” Again, I need to move to this incredible locale where stuff like this would happen (at least in my vivid imagination). It sounds like some very desirable surreal estate.
THE EYE OF THE NEEDLES
Rather than rate the drag queens of summer, let’s just focus on RuPaul Drag Race winner Sharon Needles, who’s always stirring things up with long-lashed mirth and mayhem. Keep her away from your kids in the pool! I happened to be on set for the shooting of Sharon’s “Ouija Board” video, and not just because director Santiago Felipe asked me to do a zippy little cameo. (I would have surely been there to observe anyway.) At the Hit Factory shoot, Sharon explained to me that the video is a homage to child-related horror classics like The Exorcist, The Bad Seed, and Children of the Corn. “This song was supposed to be my entrée into Sesame Street,” Sharon deadpanned. “But with a name like Sharon Needles, I didn’t have a chance.” I guess last year’s Diddle Me Elmo guy was as risqué as they were willing to get.
A glance at the production schedule proved titillating, as it included items like “Shoot flying objects” and “shoot green screen vomit.” This was a long way from Celine Dion land (unless you count her audience). Naturally, I was set to play Tangina, the tiny medium from Poltergeist, so I was fitted with a wacky wig, droopy bosoms, and tennis balls as I dodged flying crap and looked alternately amazed and horrified. Hopefully the effects will be better than in some of the above mentioned stud movies!
Otherwise, this summer’s big fun has been On Top, party queen Susanne Bartsch’s Tuesday night indoor/outdoor romp at the Standard Hotel, where three areas—including the roof, where I happen to host—are filled with the mixed crowd of your dreams as opposed to your nightmares. One night, a drag queen gave birth in the jacuzzi--to what, I don’t know, but she was busy eating the afterbirth for hours. Another night, Bartsch urged me to wear a bra for some upcoming protest party she was throwing for women’s lib. And I was thrilled—no more drooping!
But finally, there’s an Oscar movie:
Fruitvale Station, writer/director Ryan Coogler’s interpretation of the last day of a real-life Bay Area man who was annihilated by racist cops on New Year’s Eve over four years ago. (That harrowing sequence is when the film really kicks in.) At the film’s premiere at MoMA last week, Coogler said that Octavia Spencer—who plays the guy’s mother—“is a great actress who somehow trusted someone who had no idea what he was doing, namely me!” But he obviously does know shit; Fruitvale has already gotten bags of honors at Sundance and Cannes. And yay to the lesbian couple on the train.
But while multicultural stars swirl around on Broadway in Forever Tango, you won’t see any same-sex couples there any more than you’ll find Henry Cavill waiting in your bed when you get home. Oh, well, the show is a fierce treat nonetheless—a gasp-inducing array of darting legs, swiveling hips, and smoldering faces. And we can dream, can’t we?