Look what the homosexuals have done to me!

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Briefly (Or Maybe Not), Thandie Newton

“You’re a wanker, number nine!”

Famous women can never cop to having lesbian experiences without someone questioning if it’s a bid for publicity, can they? I’ve never understood the derision and disbelief that often follows these revelations; I don’t think an actress has ever landed a development deal after telling a magazine reporter she fucked a girl in college. Not to mention it seems rather quaint when people act like lesbian experimentation is so incredibly exotic that women must be lying when they admit to having tried it. It’s not like they’re saying they were spies in WWII or something.

Sometimes a story will seem a bit suspect, like Megan Fox’s brilliantly calculated Russian stripper romance, but my general philosophy on lesbian ‘sperimentation (which I’d know a thing or two about, being a seasoned professional) is this: it’s common. Very common. And that’s just among “civilian” women. Throw ridiculously gorgeous women like models and actresses into the mix and it practically becomes an inevitability. You might think I’m joking, but really, how often do you think Greta Garbo used to get turned down?

My point, if I ever had one, was that it’s silly to doubt every attractive actress who says she’s had a Mulholland Drive moment. When I read that Thandie Newton (who I’m in lust with, as some of you might remember) recently told The Advocate that she had a lesbian experience as a teenager, I figured I wouldn’t have to visit many websites before finding someone who wondered if she was lying. The comment I found, over at Defamer, turned out to be funny rather than dismissive: “Was this other girl a Russian stripper? Hmmm. I’m waiting until I hear what Thandie’s mom has to say.” (Megan Fox’s mother, when asked about her daughter’s foray into lesbianism, said she had no idea if the story was true.)

Still, there has to be someone at some website who will declare him or herself unconvinced. Normally I wouldn’t care, seeing as this is a trivial matter, but Newton’s comments to The Advocate reminded me of an interview she did with The Scotsman back in 2007, when she talked about embarking on a relationship with her significantly older Flirting director John Duigan at the age of sixteen. The Scotsman interview caught my attention because Newton was so honest with journalist Craig McLean, telling him of her time with Duigan:

“I was involved in a relationship which really relied on my insecurity, so that I wouldn’t ever think, ‘What the fuck am I doing with an old bloke?’ And that insecurity was fueled all the time. ‘It must be because you’re black.’ Seriously. ‘Don’t worry about it because I’m here to…’ Bollocks! ‘It’s because I’m 18 and you’re 41. Everyone’s looking at us because this sucks. And I’m thinking they’re looking at us because I’m black.’ Isn’t that fucking awful?”

What she told The Advocate, in response to the question “Have you ever experimented with a woman?” was this:

“Yes, I had my rite of passage. I was 16, and I wasn’t really in control of the situation, if you know what I mean. It was much more about a male fantasy of seeing two women together. But I loved the girl a lot; she was one of my closest friends. I think falling in love is actually more about falling in love with an individual. We’re all potentially bisexual; it all depends on your circle, your upbringing, and all kinds of things. Or maybe I’m just talking about myself. I could’ve easily fallen in love with a woman over a man. My husband Ol’s kind of a man-woman. Look, I once loved Tim Curry, so there you go.”

It’s presumptuous to make the connection, I know, and it’s entirely possible I’m barking up the wrong tree. But I thought it was worth pointing out that maybe, just maybe, actors tell the truth sometimes. Also, you know, Thandie Newton is hot and I’d hate to pass up an opportunity to post a photo of her. She’s much nicer to look at than Bullwinkle.

Can Anyone Translate?

I’ve watched this clip of Sarah Palin trying to explain her foreign policy experience to Katie Couric twice now, and I’ve read the transcript more times than that, and I still don’t know what the hell she’s saying. All I got out of it is that Sarah Palin can’t form a complete sentence, and that I’ve heard drunken winos — and Tracy Morgan — make more sense than this elected official who somehow ended up the Republican vice presidential candidate.

For example, what’s this business about “our next door neighbors,” which are “foreign countries,” being in Alaska? My elementary school must have had really crappy geography textbooks, because I thought Anchorage and Juneau were in Alaska. I didn’t realize foreign countries were also wedged into the state.

Makes all those stories my grandparents used to tell me about their grandparents fleeing to the U.S. from Imperial Russia to escape anti-Semitism seem kind of meaningless, doesn’t it? Turns out they were in “the state that [Palin is] the executive of” all along. And Canada? Also in Alaska. My sister, a baby dyke who’s obsessed with Tegan and Sara, and Canada by extension, will be disappointed to hear that. She was looking forward to visiting Montreal one day and it might dampen her enthusiasm to learn she’ll really just be going to Fairbanks.

Palin’s comment about Vladimir Putin and how he “rears his head” in Alaska by coming into their airspace is equally fascinating. Hopefully Couric followed it up with questions about whether he does so in a helicopter with Natasha Fatale at his side. If Palin answered yes, that raises all kinds of other questions, like why she hunts moose when we need Bullwinkle to thwart the Russians, and whether she advocates aerial squirrel gunning. If Bullwinkle must die to make burgers for Bristol and Trig, we at least need assurance that Rocky is safe.

More Claymate Madness

“I thought you were good, Clay. But you’re not good. You’re just another lying old dirty birdy.”

“Clay has such a power over me that I couldn’t turn away from him if I wanted to.”

So says avowed Clay Aiken fan ClaysCutiePie14 over at the Clayboard, and I know how she feels because that’s how I feel … about the Clayboard. I can’t stop visiting that website.

I’ve already compiled a companion piece to my previous post about the Claymate reaction to Aiken’s coming out, but I won’t have everything ready until tomorrow. Still, I couldn’t wait to post this, the campiest Claymate post of all time. It starts off slow, but stick with it and I promise you won’t be disappointed:

The Gospel According to Margaret Cho

It’s hard to pick a favorite quote from Margaret Cho’s new blog post addressing the religious wackos — or, as she calls them, “racist homophobic misogynist fake Christian shitheads” — who’ve been on her case since she criticized Sarah Palin last week. (Because, you know, it’s totally Christian to make rape victims pay for their own forensic exams, as Palin did when she was mayor of Wasilla, Alaska. How offensive of Cho to suggest otherwise! Silly comedian, thinking she could have an opinion about something…) Do you choose the one about God being “a serious bottom,” or the one about God’s love of profanity?

The profanity one is somewhat majestic (“He doesn’t give a shit about the profanity. The bitch fucking invented profanity. He thinks it is hilarious”), but ultimately I think the winner is what she closes with:

If you truly believed in Jesus, you would try to be like him and love us, fags and dykes and feminists all. God bless you, even you. You fucking fuckers.

It has a certain Dickensian quality, doesn’t it? I read it and imagined Tiny Tim saying “God bless us, every one! Even you, you fucking fuckers.”

Palinpalooza

After everything that came out this weekend about a certain crazy-eyed, caribou-hunting vice presidential candidate, it would be really easy to ramble on for a few dozen paragraphs about this Sarah Palin character and the repulsive way she has thrown her teenage daughter under the bus in exchange for heightened fame. (Is she not, in a sense, the Michael Lohan of politics?)

In fact, there’s so much to say about Sarah Palin — the corruption scandal; the incalculable sexism of a campaign that thinks female voters who supported Hillary Rodham Clinton would consider voting for an anti-choice, anti-gay politician simply on the basis of her possessing both a uterus and sassy go-go boots; her bizarre decision to spend the critical hours leading up to her son Trig’s birth performing more tasks and traveling more miles than your average Amazing Race contestant — that I’m not sure Blogger has the bandwidth to contain all of it. I’m also not sure my sanity could survive such a task, as I’m a pretty impatient, all-around disagreeable sort to begin with, so I’ll leave the heavy typing to Salon’s Rebecca Traister, who covered all the bases quite nicely yesterday.

And while you’re at Salon, why not stop to take in what Thomas Schaller had to say about Sarah Palin and John McCain’s support of abstinence-only education programs. If you’re too lazy to click, this it it:

What’s galling is this: When the subject is a pregnancy to an unwed, minority teenage mother growing up in some (presumably Democratic) urban area, that pregnancy becomes fodder for lectures from conservatives about bad parenting, the perils of welfare spending and so on. But when the subject is a pregnancy to an unwed, white teenager from some small town in a Republican state, that pregnancy is…a celebration of the wonders of God’s magnificence — and choosing life!

That is a bit curious, isn’t it? I’m just hoping that CNN anchor Campbell Brown, fresh off her “live vivisection” (as Josh Marshall put it) of McCain spokesman Tucker Bounds on the issue of Palin’s foreign policy experience, gets the chance to shock and awe another hapless McCain staffer with a few choice questions about reproductive rights, sex education (the kind that talks about common sense things like birth control instead of the Bible. If Bibles really kept people from having sex, don’t you think hotels would’ve removed them from all of those bedside tables by now?) and how you can make a five-month old baby with Down syndrome a prop in a political campaign while simultaneously telling the media to back off the story of his 17-year-old sister.

To be clear, I agree with Barack Obama’s statement that the children of political candidates should be off-limits. Sarah Palin’s daughter, who didn’t choose to become a public figure, doesn’t need to be criticized by the world for having sex and getting pregnant. Her body is her business. But my body is also my business, which is something anti-choice politicians like John McCain and Sarah Palin don’t seem to understand. That’s what the media needs to be focusing on right now, not how many expletives Palin’s future son-in-law uses on his MySpace page.

The Power of Barack Obama

“And I’ll tell you another thing: I will not be intimidated by Richard Dreyfuss.”

Maybe when you saw that post title you thought I’d write something about Barack Obama’s acceptance speech at the Democratic National Convention last night. Something about how it left me teary-eyed (which it did, but only in my left eye, which is either politically symbolic or has something to do with allergies), or how alternately thrilling and cathartic it was to hear someone in a position of power stand on a stage in front of the world and articulate the pain, anger, sadness and outrage that everyone who loves and cherishes the founding principles of this country has felt so deeply over the last eight years.

Well, I’m not going to do that. You know I don’t get very personal here. But last night, after hearing MSNBC’s political commentators repeatedly (and rather excitedly) invoke the name of Andrew Shepherd, the character Michael Douglas played in The American President, as they discussed Obama’s speech, I checked the movie’s sales rank on Amazon.

As of 10:50 PM, it was #1,389. Pretty respectable for a movie that has been on DVD for nearly a decade. By mid-morning it had jumped to #699. It currently holds spot #447, outranked in popularity by various and sundry TV shows (the fifth season of NCIS is performing particularly well for something that only my grandmother watches) and an eclectic mix of films ranging from 10,000 B.C. to Babette’s Feast and the forgotten Meryl Streep/Ed Begley Jr. masterpiece She-Devil. It is, at the moment, more popular than 10 Things I Hate About You, the extended edition of The Bourne Identity and Napoleon Dynamite.

That’s how powerful Barack Obama is. People are more interested in 13 year-old Aaron Sorkin-penned movies that might have influenced his speech than Julia Stiles and Jon Heder. If only he’d worked in a subtle reference to Showgirls — maybe something about levitating nipples or Ver-sayce — perhaps the Fully Exposed Edition of that movie wouldn’t be languishing at #3,403 right now.

TCM Gets Its Gay On Thursday

Ebba (Elizabeth Young) enjoys being a royal subject in Queen Christina

Greta Garbo cross-dresses, dallies with John Gilbert and kisses a woman — all things she did away from the camera as well — in Rouben Mamoulian’s Queen Christina, which will be shown at 3 PM EST on TCM tomorrow as part of their day-long look at her career.

Unfortunately, TCM’s Garbo marathons are almost always the same: The Kiss, Mata Hari, Anna Karenina, Camille, Ninotchka, Grand Hotel, plus a couple more of the usual suspects, most of them long available on DVD. I’d like to see TCM (or any channel that has the rights) air something rarer, like The Painted Veil.

It came out in 1934, a year after Queen Christina, and had Garbo in another lesbian liplock, this time with Cecilia Parker. To satisfy the demands of the newly created Hays Code, their kisses were presented as mere sisterly affection. But all you have to do is see the movie, or even glance at a screen cap, to know there was nothing familial about it.

Isabelle Huppert and Dead Russian Writers

Isabelle Huppert reclaims bathroom encounters for heterosexuals in The Piano Teacher

If you’ll permit me to act like a squealing fangirl for a moment, I’ve gotta get this off my chest: Isabelle Huppert is God. I challenge you to watch La Cérémonie and The Piano Teacher (or Gabrielle, though that’s better left to the advanced Huppert viewer) and disagree. Or watch her cry in anything (the final moments of Merci pour le chocolat immediately come to mind) and tell me I’m wrong.

There has never been an actress like her: she is formidable in ways that defy description. Her face is somehow capable of doing things other actors can only dream about — and most of them aren’t even imaginative enough to do that. We’re talking about an actress who, using only her eyes, can tell you more in two seconds than entire movies with casts full of big-name actors and armies of uncredited screenwriters and a mercurial director and tens of millions of dollars worth of CGI effects couldn’t begin to tell you in three hours.

Not only that, I’m pretty sure she has magical powers. She can probably transport things across the room just by looking at them, or cure people of insomnia by snapping her fingers. That’s the vibe she gives off in every movie she makes — it’s impossible to think there’s anything she can’t do.

In today’s Independent, she sounds off on a variety of topics, including her part in Joachim Lafosse’s Private Property (and she’s right that the film isn’t focused enough on her character, though it’s still very much worth seeing); whether David O. Russell deserved Lily Tomlin’s wrath on the set of I Heart Huckabees (naturally, the answer is yes); and current acting trends. Speaking of which, when Huppert told reporter Kaleem Aftab that:

“Because of the current fashion for biopics, in the past few years there is this view that acting is the ability to be someone else, which I don’t think it is. Now, the more visible a performance, the better people think it is.”

How much you want to bet she considered mumbling Marion Cotillard’s name under her breath?

In literary news…

Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn has died in Moscow at the age of 89, and the Times responded by publishing an obituary that is almost as long as A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich. Check out the accompanying slide show for nine amazing pictures of Solzhenitsyn’s rockin’ beard.

And in ‘Someone please tell my grandpa about this’ news …

Did you know there’s a “Jewish HBO?” Neither did I, but now I gotta find a way to get my local cable company to carry it. You see, my grandfather has been a little bored with Turner Classic Movies and The History Channel lately, and he’s under the mistaken impression that when he can’t find anything to do, it’s up to the rest of us to entertain him. I love him and everything, but if that retired bastard calls me at work one more time in the middle of the day to ask what I’m doing, I might have to throttle him.

Taking Dyke Drama to a Whole New Level

Madonna, ever the trendsetter, tried her hand at lesbian bigamy in 2003.

Laureen Wells-Weiss is one angry lesbian. In 2001, the New Yorker married her long-time partner, Shari Weiss, in Toronto. Five years later, Weiss broke up with Wells-Weiss and promptly took up with another woman, later entering into a civil union with her in Vermont. The problem? She never got around to divorcing Wells-Weiss first.

Now Wells-Weiss is seriously mad, and if there’s anyone you don’t want to piss off, it’s a lesbian. When you piss off a lesbian, especially one you vowed to spend the rest of your life with, you know there’s gonna be hell to pay. And now — pretend the guy who narrates trailers for suspense films is saying this next part — Laureen Wells-Weiss is ready to collect.

Not only is she still engaged in a legal battle with Weiss in New York over their assets, she has also, as Molly Walsh notes in the Vermont Free Press, “been on a letter-writing campaign to Vermont officials urging them to pursue a case against her estranged spouse on bigamy or perjury charges and to void her civil union.” This, as Wells-Weiss openly admits, is largely designed to bolster her case in New York. So far, her letter-writing campaign has been about as successful as, well, something that is … completely unsuccessful. (Crystal Pepsi comes to mind.)

Her lack of results, she is certain, has to do with her sexuality. As she told Walsh, “I am offended as a gay person and I am appalled as an American that somebody can commit a crime and not be held accountable and the people who are supposed to uphold that law are dismissing it.”

However, a state’s attorney for the Vermont county in which Weiss was civil unionized, or whatever you want to call it (with terminology like that, can’t you just picture Norma Rae serving as the couple’s witness?), isn’t sure any crime has been committed. He also thinks it’s a bunch of hogwash to suggest that Weiss has escaped prosecution because the justice system doesn’t take gay marriage seriously. In his words, “I think the rather unique facts and the multistate and international aspects combined with the fact that it appears to be civil, not criminal, makes it not likely to attract the attention of those whose job it is to prosecute criminal matters.”

Honestly, I’m not sure what to make of any of this. Clearly it’s wrong to enter into a civil union when you haven’t legally dissolved your previous marriage, but these are untested legal waters and it’s disingenuous for Wells-Weiss to cry homophobia when she knowingly entered into a marriage that wasn’t legally recognized in the United States. What I keep going back to are the words “multistate and international,” which put the magnitude of this kind of dyke drama into perspective.

These women have managed to drag New York, Vermont and Canada into their fucked up relationship. That has to be some kind of record. (It certainly makes me feel better about myself. My screwed up relationships have all stayed local. The courts were never involved, reporters were never contacted. Most importantly, no one has ever written about my failed relationships on their shitty blog.) Whatever the outcome of all this legal wrangling turns out to be, this case ought to serve as a cautionary tale for gay couples everywhere.

The first thing it taught us: Don’t be scuzzy. If you got married in one place, even if that union isn’t recognized elsewhere, you’re married. You’re a disgrace to the gay community when you marry one person in Toronto, then take advantage of the fact that American courts don’t know how to deal with gay marriage in order to practically marry another person in the United States.

The second lesson: If your desire to get married is so incredibly strong that even horror stories like this don’t make you reconsider legally binding yourself to your partner in a country that can’t figure out how to handle gay unions, at least do the rest of us a favor and keep your own name. Seriously, lesbians, do we have to do everything like our mothers? All that typing Weiss and Wells-Weiss drove me fucking crazy. Especially Wells-Weiss, which sounds like someone with a speech impediment trying to say Rolls-Royce.

Dirk Bogarde’s Lesbian Squeamishness

Unhappy with the roles he was being offered, Bogarde considered joining The Village People

A collection of Dirk Bogarde’s personal letters is set to be published in England later this month and, if anyone’s interested, The Telegraph offered their first batch of excerpts this morning. I gave them a skim to see whether Anthony Forwood, Bogarde’s partner of several decades, was mentioned (he is, repeatedly), and found myself amused by this recollection of the 1984 Cannes Film Festival, where Bogarde served as president of the jury, that was sent to Kathleen Tynan:

24 in 12 days, starting at 8.15am! I got rather to like it all… but some pretty crummy movies flashed over the screen I assure you! And if I have to look at another pubic-hair or another shot of a cow being slaughtered, a horse being drowned, a fat man having his orgasm, I’ll choke. All that, I may add, jammed with Lesbian-Love scenes of extreme explicity, at eight of a morning is really not adorable.

Bogarde’s description of art-house movie hell is just about perfect, but we’re not on the same page when it comes to lesbian love scenes. While I agree that 8 AM is a bit early for such viewing (I’m not at my most lecherous until later in the evening), I’d say the same of sex scenes featuring two men, a man and a woman, or threesomes of any variety. That he jokingly singles out lesbian love scenes as being enough to put him off his breakfast is a little obnoxious, but more than that I resent that he wasn’t specific.

How many films with such scenes of “extreme explicity” were being made in the early ’80s — and screened at Cannes, no less? The only film from that era that I could think of that might have played at the festival was Diane Kurys’s Coup de foudre (released as Entre Nous in the U.S.), which is famous for its lack of lesbian love scenes. Obviously I’m overlooking something, but what could it possibly be?

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