A photograph appeared in this weeks' issue of Entertainment Weekly which pissed me off considerably. It's a picture of John Travolta in the film version of the musical (based on the John Waters film) Hairspray. He's dancing and singing. (This isn't that picture, by the way.)
In 1988, John Waters--a cinematic genius, and a queer--made this incredibly entertaining movie that was actually about bringing people together, about moving society foreward, using the integration of a popular television dance show as the backdrop. Then in 2002, a musical version of the film opened on Broadway to critical and audience acclaim. The musical starred Harvey Fierstein (a queer,) with music and lyrics by Marc Shaiman and Scott Whittman (queers who are married to each other and who proclaimed their love for each other and even kissed on the Tonys.) The whole thing is just crawling with gay from beginning to end.
And the musical was about being who you are, to the fullest extent, your race, your class, your size, your sexuality, embracing the whole of everyone. It filled the theeater with love over and over again. It was sheer joy. And now we have Travolta, who I refer to as John Trevolting, playing the role of Edna Turnblad--and he's one of the most closeted people in the history of history. The whole thing makes me want to puke.
I've looked throught he IMDB message boards and Googled the hell out of it, but I'm not sure why Harvey's not in the film. He's an icon, a supreme talent. He's got four Tony Awards in four categories from only four nominations. He's a hero. Oh, and he's out.
So here's this other picture, which appeared in the Enquirer about a month ago, just because I can.