Digging into the archives, we unearth the original articles printed in the 半岛体育s of yesteryear.
On June 10, 1982, Harvey Fierstein鈥檚 Torch Song Trilogy opened on Broadway. While Fierstein had been writing his own work and performing his drag club act around the Village, Trilogy put him on the map. In honor of the show's anniversary and the recent, Tony-nominated revival starring Michael Urie, 半岛体育 looks back on this in-depth interview with Fierstein鈥攂efore he was the theatrical icon he is today.
Though a drag queen is often prized for his femininity, drag queen Arnold Beckoff, the main character of Torch Song Trilogy, is less the 鈥渓ittle flower鈥� than the Amazon; not 鈥減retty鈥� beautiful but 鈥渕ountain鈥� beautiful as another character says. Still, he鈥檚 been praised by critics and theatergoers alike, making him just one anomaly of what is already a 鈥渨ondrous strange鈥� hit for Broadway.
Another is the 28-year-old playwright-star, Harvey Fierstein. Rather than starting his acting career the usual way鈥攁s a spear carrier, for instance, in a stock production of Shakespeare鈥攈e began professional work as an 鈥渁sthmatic dyke鈥� in Andy Warhol鈥檚 play, Pork. Other roles have included a transvestite in his own Flatbush Tosca (鈥淚 sang the whole second act in Italian,鈥� he says), and a 300-year-old woman, Lillian Russell, and 26 other parts in Ronald Tavel鈥檚 My Fetus Lived on Amboy Street. He also did a club act impersonating Ethel Merman singing 鈥淵ou Can鈥檛 Get a Man With a Gun.鈥�
Rather than renounce his campy flamboyance for Broadway鈥檚 straighter milieu, he took it with him in Trilogy, which opens as Arnold, a promiscuous drag queen, sets out in search of his ideal man. While this premise may seem daring for Broadway, Arnold turns out to be a staunch conservative at heart. What he wants, we discover, is the stuff of ordinary human happiness鈥攖he life his mother had 鈥渨ith a few minor alterations鈥濃攈ome, 鈥渉usband,鈥� and a child.
One might even call Trilogy a morality tale: the drag queen becomes a symbol for the frightened masquerader hiding behind a 鈥減hony name, face, figure, and sex.鈥� As Arnold sheds his mask, he forsakes self-involvement to embrace the large world and become what one reviewer called 鈥渢he oddest solid citizen in the republic.鈥�
A recent meeting with Fierstein in his dressing room at the Little Theatre replays this disguise-shedding motif. For the first few minutes, he鈥檚 elusive, shape shifting from one camp persona to the other. First, the sweet-natured yenta: 鈥淎sk me anything!鈥� he says in a whiskey baritone pitched at the rasp in which most people snore (his real voice). Then, turning to his make-up mirror, he examines three scratches his pet rabbit, Arnold, left on his cheek, and plays the vamp: 鈥淎 scarred woman,鈥� he sighs.
Elusive though he is, he鈥檚 disarming; and like Arnold Beckoff, Fierstein manages to walk off with one鈥檚 affections without seeming to try. He also seems unaware of assuming a more revealing tone just as he starts to make up his face for the drag scene in Act 1.
鈥淚 was a fat little kid leading a double life,鈥� he says of his teenage years. 鈥淚 lived at home, went to school by day and performed as a drag queen by night.鈥� Since he then weighed 240 pounds (50 more than he does now), he invented names like 鈥淏ertha Vanation鈥� and 鈥淰irginia Hamm鈥� for the drag character he played in Village clubs.
When asked about his appeal as an oversized transvestite, he shrugs and says, 鈥淚 don鈥檛 know. I guess you could see me from further away.鈥� He flips his electric razor for what turns out to be about a 15-minute shave.
鈥淚鈥檓 a real character actor,鈥� he continues, 鈥渁nd playing a woman was just one more element in building a role. And then cross-dressing is a very powerful thing to do. Most men are scared of women and vice versa. Each thinks the other is the more powerful sex. So when you put on women鈥檚 clothes, not only are you taking on the power and mystique of the other sex, but you鈥檙e hiding yourself too. So you can feel very tough. There鈥檚 nothing of you showing. It鈥檚 like walking around in a tank.鈥�
These experiences inspired Fierstein鈥檚 early plays: Freaky Pussy, In Search of the Cobra Jewels, and Flatbush Tosca. They also prompted Torch Song Trilogy, which began as a single play, The International Stud written in 1977. The tough time Fierstein had getting it produced was merely a foretaste of what was to come. Kenny Hill, of La Mama, brought the play to executive director Ellen Stewart (La Mama herself), who was dead set against it.
鈥淚 ain鈥檛 gonna do no play about no backroom bar,鈥� Fierstein imitates the formidable Mrs. Stewart, 鈥淚 know what that bar is, that International Stud, and I ain鈥檛 gonna do that. Mr. Fierstein wants to run around on stage in bloomers and I ain鈥檛 gonna have that.鈥� And that was that. Or so they all thought.
But Kenny Hill died tragically in a bathhouse fire and Ellen asked Harvey to assist her at La Mama. As repayment, she agreed to put on his play. But the theatre was so booked that it was difficult to set a date. This prompted director Eric Concklin to urge Harvey to 鈥淭ell her it鈥檚 a trilogy. Tell her it鈥檚 a trilogy.鈥�
鈥淲hy?鈥� Harvey asked.
鈥淪o we don鈥檛 have to fight her for the next two years to get the space again.鈥�
鈥淚t鈥檚 a trilogy,鈥� Harvey told Ellen.
鈥淎nd so,鈥� he says, beginning to slap whiteface on his newly smooth cheeks, 鈥渟he was stuck.鈥�
But so was he鈥攈e now had to write two more plays. What made him think he could do it?
鈥淚 never say no,鈥� he says as though it were a motto, 鈥淚 always say yes to everything.鈥�
He did come through with two more plays, Fugue in a Nursery (1978) and Widows and Children First! (1979), which continue the saga of Arnold Beckoff. All three works premiered separately at La Mama.
