I have spent a good part of my summer attempting to catalogue all substantial cultural and pop-cultural contributions by gay men who interest me. Some choices have been obvious: Kander and Ebb, John Cheever. But I'm especially happy when I can record, for posterity, thoughts on the works of the very, very obscure.
And that's today. Specifically, that's Hunter Bell and Jeff Bowen.
One thing I notice within a certain subset of gay writers: Actual life can be so awkward and painful, the artist retreats to a dream world of stories, a hodgepodge of references to Disney World and Glenn Close. Perhaps he starts a blog--and in that blog, instead of describing his professional ambitions or his reaction to World Events, he writes a great deal about, say, Rip Torn in "Hercules," or the cast recordings of Darius de Haas, or the songwriting corpus of Taylor Swift. That's a sign that you're dealing with a gay man.
I see this trend in the works of Drew Droege. Who wants to hear Mr. Droege's plainspoken autobiography? Gay writer Michael Cunningham once finessed all gay male autobiographies in this way: Distant father, neurasthenic mother, awakening of tender same-sex feelings at summer camp, yada yada yada. Droege has little to say about the quotidian details of his own life, so he has instead given us a series of increasingly bizarre vignettes, in which Chloe Sevigny shares her thoughts on exercise, barbecue, and toast. The same is true for the gay man who grew up in foster homes and wanted very much not to write about that experience. So, instead, he crazily watched and re-watched the "La La Land" footage in which Emma Stone's character alludes to having written a bad one-act play--and then he went ahead and wrote out that hypothetical one-act play and performed it for paying guests. And so: fifteen minutes of fame.
Hunter Bell and Jeff Bowen were semi-employed gay men in Manhattan, wanting very badly to have a hit in a fringe theater festival. But what would their subject be? They had a stroke of genius. They would make something that was pretty clearly an irreverent update of "A Chorus Line" (a landmark work by--gay--titan Michael Bennett). Instead of "Game of Thrones"-esque confrontations, instead of terse "Margin Call"-ish showdowns in sterile Wall Street boardrooms, the meat of "Title of Show" would be various struggles to overcome standard writerly difficulties: Fighting against self-censorship, feeling uneasiness in the company of a quirky creative partner, devoting too much time to one's oppressive day job.
Who could fail to relate to these characters? Who--among people who want to create things? (A good portion of my twenties was handed over to a really insufferable young gay man, but I think one reason I stuck around so long was that I admired this guy's efforts to be seen on a Broadway stage. The audition classes, where anxious waiters and tutors would attempt to jazz up Sweeney Todd's "Epiphany" by delivering it nude, or while making love to a coat hanger. The reviewing and re-reviewing of head-shots. The lesbian actor I knew who coped with a dawning awareness of the death of her romantic relationship by listening, over and over, to the song "For Good," from "Wicked." These are the memories I'll always enjoy revisiting, when I think about my twenties.)
There are many standout moments in "Title of Show," but, to me, one of the best is the relationship between Heidi and Susan. These two characters have two big numbers: "What Kind of Girl Is She?" and "Secondary Characters." Bell and Bowen use these songs to spoof various tropes of storytelling. Clearly, two female characters must have an explosive frenemy bond (even though this stale idea has a whiff of misogyny). So, Bowen and Bell have the two female characters, who seem innocuous, shrieking: "She might try to steal my husband! She might try to have my baby!" Whatever that means. (Thank you, "Hand that Rocks the Cradle.")
There's also the tired idea that, in the span of a song, two feuding characters must become best friends. We see this--sort of--in "What Is This Feeling" and "For Good," from "Wicked." I think we see it in "I Know Him So Well," by portions of ABBA (one of the most stunningly anti-feminist moments in "Chess"). I believe we see something like it in "War Paint." Bowen and Bell spoof the idea by having their secondary characters *declare* their ardent wish; they actually say, "By the end of this song, you'll be my best friend!!!" And they get so swept up in the sentimentality of this moment, they just begin crazily belting high notes. And they're interrupted; they need a tall glass of water and a rest. Goofy and bizarre--and something that reliably give me happiness in my life.
I'm always more inclined to like a story if the protagonist is a struggling artist. Happily, writers tend to write about themselves--so it's not hard to find "coming-of-age of a creative weirdo" material. This is why "Girls" has a special place in my heart. It's why I enjoy the kids' books of (gay) Tim Federle. And it's part of the reason I love "Title of Show."
No series of Broadway essays, and no tribute to gay men, would be complete without a snippet about Bowen and Bell. I don't know that they've had a great deal of success after "Title of Show." But who cares? No one was dying to hear from them when they wrote this smart, wacky musical. No one put a silver spoon in their mouth. But they did their work. And their show grew and grew, and even--bizarrely--spent a quiet, ill-fated month on Broadway. That's the thing about gay men. They can be crazily tenacious. Three cheers for (the unsung) Bowen and Bell.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tt5xuqiXlAY
And that's today. Specifically, that's Hunter Bell and Jeff Bowen.
One thing I notice within a certain subset of gay writers: Actual life can be so awkward and painful, the artist retreats to a dream world of stories, a hodgepodge of references to Disney World and Glenn Close. Perhaps he starts a blog--and in that blog, instead of describing his professional ambitions or his reaction to World Events, he writes a great deal about, say, Rip Torn in "Hercules," or the cast recordings of Darius de Haas, or the songwriting corpus of Taylor Swift. That's a sign that you're dealing with a gay man.
I see this trend in the works of Drew Droege. Who wants to hear Mr. Droege's plainspoken autobiography? Gay writer Michael Cunningham once finessed all gay male autobiographies in this way: Distant father, neurasthenic mother, awakening of tender same-sex feelings at summer camp, yada yada yada. Droege has little to say about the quotidian details of his own life, so he has instead given us a series of increasingly bizarre vignettes, in which Chloe Sevigny shares her thoughts on exercise, barbecue, and toast. The same is true for the gay man who grew up in foster homes and wanted very much not to write about that experience. So, instead, he crazily watched and re-watched the "La La Land" footage in which Emma Stone's character alludes to having written a bad one-act play--and then he went ahead and wrote out that hypothetical one-act play and performed it for paying guests. And so: fifteen minutes of fame.
Hunter Bell and Jeff Bowen were semi-employed gay men in Manhattan, wanting very badly to have a hit in a fringe theater festival. But what would their subject be? They had a stroke of genius. They would make something that was pretty clearly an irreverent update of "A Chorus Line" (a landmark work by--gay--titan Michael Bennett). Instead of "Game of Thrones"-esque confrontations, instead of terse "Margin Call"-ish showdowns in sterile Wall Street boardrooms, the meat of "Title of Show" would be various struggles to overcome standard writerly difficulties: Fighting against self-censorship, feeling uneasiness in the company of a quirky creative partner, devoting too much time to one's oppressive day job.
Who could fail to relate to these characters? Who--among people who want to create things? (A good portion of my twenties was handed over to a really insufferable young gay man, but I think one reason I stuck around so long was that I admired this guy's efforts to be seen on a Broadway stage. The audition classes, where anxious waiters and tutors would attempt to jazz up Sweeney Todd's "Epiphany" by delivering it nude, or while making love to a coat hanger. The reviewing and re-reviewing of head-shots. The lesbian actor I knew who coped with a dawning awareness of the death of her romantic relationship by listening, over and over, to the song "For Good," from "Wicked." These are the memories I'll always enjoy revisiting, when I think about my twenties.)
There are many standout moments in "Title of Show," but, to me, one of the best is the relationship between Heidi and Susan. These two characters have two big numbers: "What Kind of Girl Is She?" and "Secondary Characters." Bell and Bowen use these songs to spoof various tropes of storytelling. Clearly, two female characters must have an explosive frenemy bond (even though this stale idea has a whiff of misogyny). So, Bowen and Bell have the two female characters, who seem innocuous, shrieking: "She might try to steal my husband! She might try to have my baby!" Whatever that means. (Thank you, "Hand that Rocks the Cradle.")
There's also the tired idea that, in the span of a song, two feuding characters must become best friends. We see this--sort of--in "What Is This Feeling" and "For Good," from "Wicked." I think we see it in "I Know Him So Well," by portions of ABBA (one of the most stunningly anti-feminist moments in "Chess"). I believe we see something like it in "War Paint." Bowen and Bell spoof the idea by having their secondary characters *declare* their ardent wish; they actually say, "By the end of this song, you'll be my best friend!!!" And they get so swept up in the sentimentality of this moment, they just begin crazily belting high notes. And they're interrupted; they need a tall glass of water and a rest. Goofy and bizarre--and something that reliably give me happiness in my life.
I'm always more inclined to like a story if the protagonist is a struggling artist. Happily, writers tend to write about themselves--so it's not hard to find "coming-of-age of a creative weirdo" material. This is why "Girls" has a special place in my heart. It's why I enjoy the kids' books of (gay) Tim Federle. And it's part of the reason I love "Title of Show."
No series of Broadway essays, and no tribute to gay men, would be complete without a snippet about Bowen and Bell. I don't know that they've had a great deal of success after "Title of Show." But who cares? No one was dying to hear from them when they wrote this smart, wacky musical. No one put a silver spoon in their mouth. But they did their work. And their show grew and grew, and even--bizarrely--spent a quiet, ill-fated month on Broadway. That's the thing about gay men. They can be crazily tenacious. Three cheers for (the unsung) Bowen and Bell.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tt5xuqiXlAY
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