The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert (1994) dir. Stephan Elliott - Review
I don’t think this film is perfect.
I also don’t think drag needs to be defended.
I read somewhere on Twitter that drag is the lesser form of art. Silly, oversexualized, and not clever enough to be satirical.
Drag is an attempt at channeling feminine energy through costume, and lip syncing is a performative charade where talent lies in the choice of the song, and its value in the continued relevance it gives to old female pop and disco artists and their music.
“Talentless dog” Are they aware of it? They have to be.
One thing to point out among gay men and the drag world, and maybe even criticize, is their superficial portrayal and embodiment of womanhood, and the very, very fine line between cattiness and misogyny.
They walk into a bar full of blokes and the only one that’s gonna be an asshole is a woman called Shirley that has long armpit hair and can outdrink everyone. And for being a bit of a dick, the insult Bernadette (a trans woman) can come up with is regarding her hypothetical tampon, tied to her womanhood, followed by one of the most misogynistic things you could possibly say next: “only bang you’re gonna get.”
There’s nothing more reductive and insulting than suggesting that a woman is unfuckable and that that’s an insult in itself. As if unfuckability is the worst trait Shirley could have.
The story arc with Cynthia is even more problematic, shallow and stereotypical.
But beyond this, the film holds some gems:
“Oh for goodness sakes get down off that crucifix. Someone needs the wood!”
And Adam, sweet Adam. The portrayal of the assholy twink. A bit too shallow, completely narcissistic and self-centered. But ultimately soft hearted and smart mouthed and resourceful. A fair portrayal of an often-found archetype ever-present in the gay community.
In terms of plot, why would people in Alice Springs want a drag show in the late 90s?
Was it some sort of queer mecca in the desert? Australia’s Palm Springs?
As the soundtrack plays “Go West,” you sort of think that’s the framing it’s oughta be. Driving a bus called Priscilla to a sort of promised land beyond the desert. Like a manifest destiny. Something that’ll be found at the end of the road.
But there’s always unexpected allies everywhere. Such as the ones they run into in the middle of nowhere, when they end up giving a show to a crowd of aboriginal people of the outback with Gloria Gaynor blasting through the camp. The timelessness of that song, the place, the people. That scene can’t help but make you want to smirk and sing along.
The answer as to why this show is even happening ends up being a good old lavender marriage which back in the day was a more than practical route for queer people to take, but ultimately still a low-ranking synonym for freedom.
And in the way there, you end up getting what essentially is a love letter to the Australian outback, with the big reward of Sarah Chadwick playing a queer woman and looking like an absolute snack.
Maybe art has to have levels. Maybe art can just be fun.
And if it’s lesser, what’s higher?
Ballet? Opera? Perhaps.
But as opera music plays and Tick lip syncs while sitting on top of a bus that’s bursting through the harsh Australian outback, while silvery silk flows through the air and contrasts the sky, you can't possibly put that and the word 'lesser' in the same sentence.
Art exists without needing to be hierarchized or even witnessed. Like Bernadette stopping during her long trek to touch up her red lipstick, although nobody is watching.
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