
Not only did seeing the prostitute pee in that cup change my life, but so did FAME. I've never been so moved by a film in my life. I didn't know it at the time, but I was able to see elements of my future self up there on the screen. I saw myself in so many of those characters. Back then, my closeted homo-ness in my suburban Texas world, filled with my OCD need to have the latest Broadway cast album and sing show tunes all the time, as well as my insistence that I, too, would "live forever," would all be validated by this film. What kid with talent didn't want to be up on top of one of those cabs hoofing away to the beat? I didn't even like to dance for Heaven's sake!

When I was in high school, I went so far as to to write a letter to Anne Meara (Ben Stiller's mother, for those of you who are too young to remember) to let her know how much her performance of Sherwood meant to me. I still have the autographed picture that she sent me along with a sweet note. Imagine the irony, when at age 32, I ended up in the same benefit concert with her and her husband, Jerry Stiller of Seinfeld fame, at NYC's Off-Broadway John Houseman Theatre. Stuff like that in the Universe is cyclical and beautiful. FAME remakes are not!
No comments:
Post a Comment