Welcome to the Archive Version of the online On the Purple Circuit, which ran from 2000-2021. Bill Kaiser founded the Circuit as a newsletter in 1991, and, in 2000, Demian joined as co-editor. Demian programmed the site, expanded the scope of the Circuit, as well as retouched all the images. Demian needed to stop working on the Purple Circuit in order to realize his other projects, such as publishing the book “Operating Manual for Same-Sex Couples: Navigating the rules, rites & rights,” now available on Amazon, and to publishing his “Photo Stories by Demian” books based on his more than 6 decades as a photographer and writer. QueerWise and Michael Kearns have committed to offering a continuation of the Purple Circuit. The new Web address is purplecircuit.org. Bill Kaiser continues as editor and can be reached at purplecir@aol.com Bill and Demian express their appreciation for the hundreds of writers, directors, actors, and publicists who sent their articles and play data. They have toiled mightily to bring our gay, lesbian, trans, and feminist culture into public view, and appreciation. |
| Bill Kaiser, founder (1991), publisher, editor - purplecir@aol.com - 818-953-5096 Demian, associate editor (2000), Web builder, image retouch (since 2003) Contents © 2022, Purple Circuit, 921 N. Naomi St., Burbank, CA 91505 |
America’s Lesbian & Gay Theater Companies — Then and Now by Erik Haagensen June, 2001 |
On Sunday, June 5, 1983, during a Tony Awards ceremony on the stage of Broadway’s Uris (now Gershwin) Theatre, a critical mass was reached. Though powerfully fueled by Harvey Fierstein’s twin triumphs as author and star of the play “Torch Song Trilogy,” the plutonium particle that finally set the irreversible chain reaction in motion was a smaller, more personal act: producer John Glines’ simple but unprecedented public acknowledgment-live and on national television — of his partner in life, love, and business, Lawrence Lane. It set a lot of tongues tut-tutting in the press (and even among the theatre community) the next day. But with those awards and that act, a fringe theatrical movement that had begun 19 years earlier in the communal coffeehouses and bleeding heart churches of New York’s Greenwich Village broke through into the American mainstream — and nothing would ever be quite the same in the American theatre, on stage or off, again. For Gay Pride Week, we examine the state of gay, lesbian, bisexual, and/or transgendered (GLBT) theatre companies across the country. At first glance, the challenge facing queer theatre today seems to be its very success. When “Angels in America” wins the Pulitzer Prize, when “Love! Valour! Compassion!” is a commercial Broadway hit, when the number of openly gay performers, directors, writers, producers, etc. regularly expands, and gay-themed work graces the stages of the most respected regional theatres in the country, the knee jerk reaction for many is to question whether there is even a need for theatre companies specifically devoted to producing works by and/or about the GLBT community. “You wouldn’t even ask that question if it were posed about African-Americans or women,” chides Doric Wilson, author of “The West Street Gang,” “A Perfect Relationship,” “Street Theatre,” and other early classic gay plays. True enough. Those groups have always been underrepresented in the American theatre. But what about gay men, particularly in the last 20 years or so? “Strike all the Broadway plays where someone gay dies of AIDS by the final curtain and see what you have left,” challenges Wilson. Go ahead — try it. It’s quite instructive.
Wilson was there at the birth of the modern gay theatre. It happened in Greenwich Village on May 18, 1964, when Lanford Wilson’s (no relation) one-act about a drag queen in crisis, “The Madness of Lady Bright,” opened at the Caffe Cino, a coffeehouse named for its owner/operator, the 30-ish, openly gay Joe Cino. As Robert Patrick, another Cino playwright (and originally its doorman), puts it, “The first modern gay play in the world, where gays weren’t portrayed as villains who deserved to die, was ‘Lady Bright.’ That’s as far as anyone knows, because if there was gay theatre before that, it was all secret and closeted. My play, ‘The Haunted Host,’ was the second, opening in November. We were writing at the same time, but Lanford got his dates before I did.” The Cino was the cradle of Off-Off-Broadway, operating from 1960-68. It produced the early works of Lanford Wilson, Sam Shepard, Jean Claude van Itallie, Tom Eyen, and William M. Hoffman, among many others. Work ranged from rethought productions of the classics to new plays — experimental and traditional in form — and even to musicals, such as the spoof “Dames at Sea,” which went on to run for years Off-Broadway and launched the career of Bernadette Peters. Marshall W. Mason began his directing career at the Cino, and the subsequent 1969 founding of Circle Rep included many Cino veterans. Most of the artists who worked at the Cino were gay men (though there was also a small group of women involved, as well as the occasional straight man like Shepard). Playwright Maria Irene Fornes, a regular audience member, says “it was not an exclusive thing, like today you would have a gay theatre that does gay plays. It was just that Joe Cino was gay, and [so were] most of his friends, and the whole place had this very wonderful atmosphere.” Remarks van Itallie, “Gay men [were] gallantly trying to express their individuality at least 10 years before gay consciousness became an active movement.” Robert Patrick claims that, to understand what made these first gay plays happen, “You have to understand what the ’50s were really like. People nowadays, when they think of the ’50s, they think of [the TV sitcom] ‘Happy Days.’ The ’50s were perfectly awful. And we all ran away from them to go to New York. And once we got there, we discovered the New York of our fantasies didn’t exist. So we just stamped our little feet and created it. And that’s largely what the Cino was about. We’d all seen these Judy Garland/Mickey Rooney let’s-put-on-a-show movies and the Cino was a place where we could do that. And we were so suppressed, so frustrated, so crushed by a culture where intelligence was forbidden — and being gay was forbidden even more — we finally found our own place at the Cino. It didn’t occur to any of us to restrain ourselves in any way. And that’s the nearest to a program or a manifesto there was. We just wrote what we saw around us, and Joe Cino let us put it on.” Another crucial element, insists Patrick, was that “nobody was paid anything. We passed the basket. The Caffe Cino was the first time theatre had been done without money playing any part at all. And the reason we could do that was we did it in places that made their money another way. Coffeehouses, churches, art galleries, bowling alleys, bars. We did it for free and we gave it away. Nobody had to think about success or audiences or critics or anything. For the first time, theatre achieved the same autonomy that painting and sculpture and literature and music had achieved starting in the middle of the 19th century. It took 100 years for theatre to happen that way. It was a totally brand new idea. And of that we were very conscious. It changed the entire concept of what theatre is: from being something to please some crowd or Academy or press or paying audience, we made it the personal, responsible expression of the playwright. We just wanted to be free.”
Though Doric Wilson had written four plays for the Cino, none contained modern gay characters, though “Now She Dances” did revisit the trials of Oscar Wilde through characters from his plays. Broadway producer Richard Barr (“Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” and many others) discovered Wilson at the Cino and soon announced to the press “that he had found the next Edward Albee,” remembers Wilson. “I had been christened as the next white hope of the American theatre by the number one playwright producer of the American theatre.” But Wilson, who is a social satirist, demurred. “Anyone who reads my plays knows that I could have had a commercial comedy career. I just wasn’t particularly interested. I met those people, I got involved with it, I was around it, and I thought, ‘I don’t want to be a part of this.’ But it never occurred to me to write gay theatre. Had there been a gay theatre to write for, I might have done it. Instead, I got more involved with early gay politics.” One night, however, he had an epiphany after returning home from seeing the singer Alaina Reed perform in a backroom cabaret on West 46th St. “Alaina was brilliant and a big star on the cabaret circuit. She changed all of the pronouns in the songs so that she didn’t sing a single heterosexual song. They were all gay or gender non-specific. At first you didn’t notice it, but she was singing standards, so soon you did. Walking out of that, I was humming this Gershwin tune. I was humming it all night. And I said to myself, ‘What is that I’m humming?’ And finally the words came into my head: ‘They’re writing songs of love/But not for me.’ And then I said, ‘Holy shit!’ And that was it.” Wilson, along with friends Peter del Valle and Bill Blackwell, started an Off-Off-Broadway company in 1972 known as “The Other Side of Silence” (TOSOS), the first specifically gay theatre company ever formed in the U.S., funded from Wilson’s earnings as a gay bartender. There was, however, a dearth of product. According to Wilson, “When we started, I did not have a new play for TOSOS. In fact, I had not planned ever to do a play of mine at TOSOS.” That changed quickly once Wilson realized there were few available plays that met his standards. “With all due respect, TOSOS was fairly snobby. I wanted the plays to be good, literary plays. We turned down a lot of things that other people were quite happy to have.” He also had some trouble persuading writers to let him produce their plays. Fearful of hurting their chances of moving into the mainstream, “some gay playwrights didn’t want their gay plays done in gay theatres.” It was the same with actors. “I never had a straight actor turn down TOSOS. Only gay.” TOSOS had some early hits — among them the musical revue “Lovers” and Wilson’s “The West Street Gang,” a site-specific production at the Spike Bar — but it ultimately came to a halt after a mere four years. Still, Wilson remains proud of the effort. “Every play we did at TOSOS still has a life. And some had a life before TOSOS. But it was too early, and we didn’t last long enough. And my literary standards were pretty high.” John Glines, Barry Laine, and Jerry Tobin founded The Glines in 1976 as a theatre “devoted to creating and presenting gay art in order to develop positive self-images and dispel negative stereotyping,” according to their web site. Initially, they were happy to produce many of the scripts that Doric Wilson was turning down. And perhaps in part because of that, The Glines survived for the long haul. Their breakthrough came, of course, with Harvey Fierstein’s “Torch Song Trilogy.” Other hits included William M. Hoffman’s “As Is,” co-produced with Circle Rep; Jane Chambers’ “Last Summer at Bluefish Cove” and “My Blue Heaven”; Sydney Morris’ “If This Isn’t Love”; Howard Crabtree and Mark Waldrop’s “Whoop-Dee-Doo!”; and many others, among them two Doric Wilson plays (“A Perfect Relationship” and “Forever After”) and Robert Patrick’s “T-Shirts” and “Untold Decades,” the last an ambitious cycle of seven one-acts looking at gay private lives in the first seven decades of the 20th century. Among the thousands of artists who have appeared with The Glines are Matthew Broderick, Charles Busch, Quentin Crisp, Andrea Dworkin, Harvey Fierstein, Estelle Getty, Allen Ginsberg, Judy Grahn, Jonathan Hadary, Audré Lorde, Dan Luria, Armistead Maupin, Mark Morris, Park Overall, Felice Picano, James Purdy, John Rechy, Ned Rorem, Mercedes Ruehl, Vito Russo, Jean Smart, Robin Tyler, Edmund White, and Jack Wrangler. The Glines still maintain an office today, but rarely produce, and did not return our phone plea for an interview.
The 1970s and ’80s saw gay and lesbian theatre companies spring up across North America. As William M. Hoffman put it in his 1978 preface to the first published anthology of gay plays, “Gay theatres are a phenomenon.” A partial list includes New York City’s Medusa’s Revenge (a lesbian company founded in 1976) and Charles Ludlam’s Ridiculous Theatrical Company (which had an unmistakable gay sensibility, even if the work usually eschewed overtly gay characters). Further afield were Rochester’s Pink Satin Bombers, Minneapolis’ Out-and-About Theatre, Phoenix’s Janus Theatre, Baltimore’s Theatre Closet, Chicago’s Speak Its Name, Toronto’s Harbor Front, the Actor’s Workshop of West Palm Beach, Seattle’s Alice B. Theatre, Los Angeles’ Theatre of the Other Window and Lambda Theatre, and San Francisco’s Gay Men’s Theatre Collective, Lavender Star Theatre, and Theatre Rhinoceros. (This last is the only one of the above still in operation today. Founded in 1977, they are now the nation’s longest-running GLBT theatre regularly producing.) These companies were undoubtedly bolstered by the increasing appearance of sympathetic gay characters in such commercial theatre hits as Michael Cristofer’s “The Shadow Box,” Albert Innaurato’s “Gemini,” Terrence McNally’s “The Ritz,” David Rabe’s “Streamers,” and, of course, the mega-hit Michael Bennett musical, “A Chorus Line.” Which is why the 1983 breakthrough of “Torch Song Trilogy,” a gay man uncompromisingly writing a gay man’s story, produced such euphoria. “Torch Song” was born and nurtured in the world of gay theatre companies by The Glines. If America accepted that, a corner had truly been turned, and future possibilities for other works nurtured in gay theatres were limitless. (One friend of this writer said at the time that when he saw Helen Hayes praise a show including the onstage presentation of sexual activity in the backroom of a gay bar, he knew the world had shifted.) But the AIDS epidemic was overwhelming the gay community just as the breakthrough was being made. Soon, gay theatre companies would be presenting work largely split into two categories: AIDS plays, and what were deemed “cute boys in underpants” plays (sex comedies with dollops of nudity — the Vortex Theatre Company even produced a series of plays with “Cute Boys in Their Underpants” in every title), with the latter providing an understandable respite from the grim realities of the former. (Robert Patrick left New York and the theatre for Los Angeles and the world of television in 1991, in part, he says, because he felt one could only write about AIDS and, though he had done so in plays like “Pouf Positive,” he did not wish to continually address the subject.) Audiences who were living with AIDS on a daily basis resisted extending that experience to the theatre, despite some strong playwriting, including William M. Hoffman’s “As Is,” Larry Kramer’s “The Normal Heart” and “The Destiny of Me,” and Robert Chesley’s “Jerker.” AIDS itself, of course, took its toll on some artists running theatre companies. Other companies found their audiences dwindling and closed up shop. But new companies started up to take their place, often with the express mission of educating audiences about the plague sweeping through the community. Still, a burgeoning theatre network that had been starting to present a wide variety of subject matter (historical plays, coming out plays, musical spoofs, sex farces, political dramas, drag comedies, and more) suddenly found its artistic palette significantly constricted. It was inevitable and necessary, no doubt. But also a tough challenge for what were largely small companies that lived life on the financial edge even in the best of times.
The 1990s saw unprecedented progress in the acceptance of gays and lesbians into the fabric of American society. Gay characters are ubiquitous in TV and film today, as well as in the theatre. At the same time, AIDS is no longer the automatic death sentence it used to be, with new drugs allowing people to live, however imperfectly and uncertainly, with the disease. AIDS has gone from obscuring the landscape to being a part of it. Theoretically, gay and lesbian theatres should be freer than ever to produce a wide range of work. According to “On the Purple Circuit,” an invaluable online newsletter about gay and lesbian theatres published by Bill Kaiser, there are, conservatively, more than 60 producing organizations all across America with a commitment to GLBT work. Some have an exclusive commitment, others mix in non-gay work, still others largely import guest artists. But all maintain a regular flow of GLBT shows, distinguishing them from the many other theatres across the country that do gay work only if a property interests them. Here are representatives from eight of these, with a diverse cross-section in terms of size, location, and artistic interests:
In the Future — A Much Louder Voice “[GLBT theatre] has a much louder voice than it’s ever had,” boasts Ivy Theatre’s Marian Jones, and an artistic resurgence for GLBT companies does seem to be underway, with more new work being generated on a greater variety of subjects: political, historical, and personal. Challenges also lie ahead. Ways must be found to bring gay male and lesbian audiences together. Women are still underrepresented in positions of authority, and multicultural voices need considerable amplification. Still, with larger, more mainstream institutions more open than ever to GLBT work, companies can now serve as a launching pad, suggests Jones, “a stepping stone for new playwrights and for new audiences. [They’re] a safe environment for experimenting, allowing artists to express themselves in a way that they might not otherwise get a chance to do their first time out. Then something hits from these smaller companies and suddenly it’s work that everybody can relate to.” Much of this resurgence has been fueled by the Internet. “The Internet has brought us plays from all over,” says Bailiwick’s David Zak. All those interviewed cite Bill Kaiser’s “On the Purple Circuit” as a resource that has allowed them to collaborate and communicate, bringing tiny, far-flung companies together into a more focused movement, and connecting individual writers and artists with production opportunities. “Now, suddenly, theatres are popping up all over again,” crows playwright Doric Wilson. “The Internet is facilitating this beyond belief. I get close to 100 hits a day on my web site. Thirty percent of them are all over the world. There is not a country in the world that has not hit it — even Iran, Iraq, four or five African downloads. Yesterday, I had five downloads to somebody in Manila. Build yourself a web site and let the plays download. I have at least five productions right now happening from the Internet.” Wilson allows free downloads, though people must sign a copyright agreement, much like the agreements required before downloading free software from the Internet. “Forget about publishing. You get no real money from it,” insists Wilson. “And the plays aren’t available in most bookstores, so you don’t get any circulation. Put up a web site and cut out the middleman.” One of the most generally agreed-upon truisms about writing is that the more specific and particular it is, the more universal will be its impact. A famous example of this phenomenon is “A Chorus Line.” Though incredibly specific about the world of Broadway, and what dancers go through to get a job, it spoke to millions all over the world for whom such a world and its inhabitants were utterly and completely foreign. GLBT theatres continue to present work that explores the gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgendered experience of life with specificity, detail, intelligence, humanity, and invention. On the day that non-GLBT audiences all over the world respond to the best of that work with the same universal embrace that greeted “A Chorus Line,” then, perhaps, specifically GLBT theatres will no longer be needed. Until then, they fulfill a vital function as they, in the words of Marian Jones, “present the human experience from our place in that experience.” Erik Haagensen is a Richard Rodgers Award-winning playwright/lyricist whose most recent show is the Obie Award-winning off-Broadway musical revue, “Taking a Chance on Love,” which tells the life story of openly gay Broadway lyricist John Latouche (1914-56) through his lyrics, journals, and letters. ehaagensen@backstage.com
Article © 2001, BPI Communications Inc. |