Showing posts with label Anne Hathaway. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Anne Hathaway. Show all posts

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

Am I A Bad Gay? Miserable About 'Les Miserables'

Todd Craig
My husband wants me to take him to go see Les Miserables.   
Sure, the movie has earned great reviews and has garnered Oscar buzz.  Yes, I know that it’s the first blockbuster Hollywood musical since The Sound of Music.  And I’m well aware that my Twitter feed has been clogged with twitterpated gay friends all chirping about how fabulous it is.
Am I a Bad Gay for not wanting to see it?
Am I a Bad Gay for thinking that Les Miserables might be the most appropriately titled movie ever?
True Story #1:  My Uncle Jim, the family wit in a family full of sharp ones, after being dragged by my Aunt Becky to see the Meryl Streep classic Out of Africa, declared that he was “… glad to get out of Africa.”
Anyway, here’s my deal.  I’m a nerdy gay. I grew up on a healthy dose of Spiderman comic books and Star Trek reruns.  I considered last summer’s Avengers movie to be high entertainment.  Yes, I know that makes me a bit dorky, and yes, I know that The Big Bang Theory hits a little close to home sometimes.  As a nerdy gay, I’m the one wearing a collared shirt at the gay bar filled with boys wearing low-cut, V-necks. 
True Story #2:  One of the last times I was at a gay bar, I got separated from my husband who was there with his hag.  I was approached by a gay guy, who sauntered up and asked what a straight boy like me was doing in a gay bar.  I replied, somewhat amused and somewhat coy, that perhaps there was a chance that I was indeed gay.  His response?  “Oh honey, not possible in that shirt.”
All of which, on top of my distaste of movie musicals, might lend you to believe that I’m some sort of Bad Gay.
I guess that I just don’t see much appeal when it comes to these song-and-dance reviews.  Don’t get me wrong, I love a good drama.  I also love music.  But, like a picky six-year old eater, I just don’t like it when my peas get all mixed up with my carrots.  When you mix them all up, the meal’s just not palatable any more.
I’m beginning to wonder if my gay gene is missing the love-of-musicals DNA molecule.  While the rest of the gay world sees Hugh Jackman, Broadway star, I see Wolverine, mutant bad-ass who isn’t doing anything stabby.  Yawn.  
My husband and I have greatly varying tastes when it comes to movies.   In the past, I’ve indulged his every gay desire with such painfully unwatchable movies as Sex and the City 2 
Side Note:  Why does the usually charming Sarah Jessica Parker make such shitty movies?  My husband loves her, imagines himself to be Carrie Bradshaw at least six times a day, gets all ramped up for her latest flick, and then is constantly left disappointed and slightly defensive of his movie star friend.  If Les Miserables has anything going for it, it might be that SJP isn’t in it. 
Side Note #2:  Another appropriately titled movie:  Failure to Launch.  Seriously, don’t put the word failure as the first word of the title of a Sarah Jessica Parker movie.  The same goes for words like doomed, awful, and bleh.
Seriously, if I end up going - and we all know that I will in the name of being the world’s best husband - I will have definitely have to fake my gay orgasm after watching Wolverine sing for two and half hours.  I’ll try not to look at my watch.  I’ll "ooo" and "ahh".  I’ll pretend it was awesome.  I’ll say nice things afterwards.
However, I won’t really mean any of it.
Of course, maybe I’ll be surprised.  Maybe, just maybe, my long-buried gay chanteuse of a conscience will stand up in a feather boa and deliver a soul-shaking, heart-wrenching lyric that will put me and those around me in a song-and-dance finale that brings down the house while my newly-liberated gay self soars to unheard of heights.
But that probably won’t happen while wearing this shirt.