#charles busch

[benedictusantonius]

Psycho Beach Party (2000) directed by Robert Lee King

[spockvarietyhour]

Psycho Beach Party (2000)

[wawamouse]

Oz 3x07 "Secret Identities"

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Charles Busch

Okay, I’ve got a Terence Stamp story. Hearing of his death, this may be the only time I get to relate this beautiful experience. First of all, as an impressionable gay child in the sixties, Terence Stamp in the movies “Billy Budd” and “Far From the Madding Crowd” was the definition of male beauty. Any glimpse of that gorgeous face in a magazine was enough to make me delirious.

1994. The lgbt news magazine, The Advocate, asked me to interview Terence Stamp about his new movie Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. It was to be a cover story. I wasn’t a journalist but as the author of many plays, I was known as the drag star with a literary pedigree. I was thrilled to have the opportunity to meet my early crush. Terence Stamp was staying way out in Amagansett, Long Island. He was renting the house, built out of an old windmill, where supposedly Marilyn Monroe and Arthur Miller spent their honeymoon. I was given strict instructions and given them at least three times. Stamp was adamant about the interview only lasting one hour and then a car was picking him up to drive him into Manhattan. By no means, was I supposed to ride back with him. I would have to get a cab and then take the train back to the city. Okay, okay, I understand.

It was a loooong ride on the train out to Montauk. I think it’s the final destination on the line. I was able to find a cab and said to the driver. “Please take me to the Windmill House.” And that was quite a distance. We seemed to be driving through endless empty fields and then, there in the distance, facing the water was an old windmill. I was feeling like Jane Eyre being sent to Mr. Rochester’s home, Thornfield Hall. I got out of the cab and suddenly there was Terence Stamp standing in front of the house, and I don’t think I’m imagining this, holding a pitchfork. He looked magnificent in his maturity, gleaming silver hair and those hypnotic blue eyes. As I approached, totally intimidated, I nearly murmured, “I’m the new governess.”

He invited me inside and was polite but very British reserved. We sat down and I quickly got the Priscilla stuff out of the way. I liked the movie and it was interesting hearing his dignified enthusiasm for the project. Then, I confessed to being fascinated by him when I was growing up in the sixties and as a suburban New York kid, devouring anything I could read or see about swinging Mod London, of which he was such a leading figure. Terence, I shall hereby refer to him in that more familiar way, yes, Terence lit up. He had a copy of his published memoir handy. I began leafing through the photos and each shot of the young Terence with Julie Christie or the great fashion model Jean Shrimpton, elicited from me an erotic moan. I knew a lot about him and began throwing all sorts of questions at him about his romantic relationship with Jean Shrimpton and their wild times at the Ad Lib Club. I asked him about working with Pasolini on the film Teorema. I wish I could tell you details of what he said, but I was too infatuated being in his presence. He was delighted to share his memories. He said, no one ever asked him about those times. For years, journalists only seemed to know him as General Zod in Superman.

Although my editor had strongly lectured me that I was only supposed to stay an hour, Terence and I were gabbing for nearly two hours. It had stopped being an interview and had evolved into a lovely conversation. He was interested in who I was and I shared my experiences as an actor/playwright who played female roles. He told me about his beautiful home in the legendary London apartment building called the Albany. He was Heaven.

Finally, it was time for him to head back to New York. Again, I had been strongly warned not to expect to return in his limousine, but he insisted on it. So, I climbed in with him. And we spent another few hours together in the back seat of the car. He smelled so divine, he was impeccably groomed. The texture of his skin was flawless. He knew I was quite besotted and he was effortlessly charming, with a marvelous air of intimacy. He insisted on having me dropped off at my home in the West Village, and before I got out, he.. he kissed me on the cheek. I tried to keep my cool but he knew how I felt. And the limo drove off. I turned in the story and I was told that he was very pleased. An unforgettable day. An unforgettable man.

[snapbookreviews]

I did @makingqueerhistory 's 2025 queer book bingo and came damn close to a full board clear, with one unfilled and one partially filled.

The Making Queer History 2025 Book Bingo

[niche-movies-polls]

Die, Mommie, Die! (2003)

Have you seen this movie?

Yes

I've seen parts of it

No, but it's on my watchlist

No, but I've seen gifsets of it

No, but I've heard of it

No

Voting ended onDec 6, 2025

[haveyouseenthismovie-poll]

Have you seen Die, Mommie, Die! (2003)?

Yes

No

Haven’t even heard of this movie

Voting ended onOct 1, 2024

[mrs-ssa-hotch]

I just can’t even get past the “did this really happen” feeling yet 😅🫠❤️ thankful my friend got these while I was too star struck to do anything but sit there 😂❤️