A show about dykes and faggots
CAPTION: Two queer friends discuss Fun Home the musical.
I play a very small (professional, but non-artistic) role in supporting the Broadway production of Fun Home. My friend comments, āI like what's been done with the new key art. It really captures the show. But the language used in all the marketingānow and when it was at The Publicāsort of skirts around the actual subject. āOh, itās about a family and relationshipsā¦ā No. You know what? Letās just say itāitās a show about dykes and faggots.ā
This musical is universalāit is about family and relationships. Itās about self-discovery and acceptance. Itās about the irrevocable damage of denial, and the liberation that truth can bring.
But this musical is also specificāit is about dykes and faggots.
We live in a country where marriage equality has been a hot topic in public discourse for the past decade. In our attempts to assuage the hetero, cis-gender population, our campaign slogan has always been, āWe are the same as you.ā People turn on the TV and watch Ellen DeGeneres nonchalantly talk about her wife, or the straight and gay kids on āGleeā tackle a Top 40s hit together in perfect harmony. Weāve come so far as a society (I donāt hear anyone calling her āEllen DeGenerateā anymore); I am endlessly grateful to see such a shift within my lifetime.
But weāve lost something along the way. Weāve been homogenized. Ā
Of course we all share a common humanity and the universal experiences that come with it. But weāre not āall the same.ā Straights ignoring the otherness of queers is similar to white people being confronted with the subject of race and asserting, āI donāt see race; Iām colorblind.ā Though well-intentioned, a very real and very different experience is being negated.
Even more specifically, the experience of queer women is muted and lost in the noise. There was a time when āgayā referred specifically to homosexual men. But, as the national discussion of same-sex marriage gained momentum, āthe gaysā became a catch-all term for anyone who didnāt fit into a neat, hetero-normative box. The real conflict wasnāt about allowing lesbians to marry each other, after allāthey are either butch or androgynous and consequently invisible to the male gaze, or they are femmes who are objectified by it. Much like everything else in our society, unless itās a direct threat or appeal to heterosexual masculinity, it is of little importance.
But Fun Home shines an unrepentant spotlight on a strong, queer, female protagonist.
Based on Alison Bechdelās heartbreakingly beautiful graphic memoir, Fun Home is the story of a lesbian cartoonist digging into the past, trying to discern the truth about her fatherās life. Father and daughter seem to be traveling on inverse trajectories; while Alison blossoms into her newly realized lesbian identity, her father recedes deeper and deeper into the closet. Ā Ā
Thereās an entire song devoted to Alisonās first sexual experience with her college girlfriend. In a video filmed for Broadway.com, book writer & lyricist Lisa Kron essentially says that āitās not about love. Itās about sex. Lesbian sex has been invisible.ā Queer relationships depicted in the arts are too frequently censored for the sake of appearing inoffensive to heterosexual viewers. When Alison sings rapturously about āchanging [her] major to sex with Joan,ā and āforeign studies to Joanās inner thighs,ā one canāt help but feel that there are barriers being demolished and new paths being paved.
Conversely, when a prepubescent Alison encounters an āold school butchā delivery woman entering the luncheonette where she and her father are dining, she sings (or tries to sing) about an indescribable sense of identification. Little Alison doesnāt have the vocabulary to express exactly how she feels, but sheās compelled to try. āIt's probably conceited to say, but I think we're alike in a certain way. I...um... Your swagger and your bearing, and the just right clothes you're wearing, your short hair and your dungarees, and your lace up boots. And your keysāohāyour ring of keys.ā
The incomparable, wildly talented, 11-year-old Sydney Lucas will be performing āRing of Keysā for a national audience on the Tony Awards tonight. For a brief moment, people all over the country will be witnessing this exquisitely crafted song. Viewers will see and hear what itās like for a queer kid to realize, for the first time, that theyāre not completely alone in this world. Just thinking about it brings tears to my eyes.
No one wakes up one morning to confidently discover their sexuality; there are no instantaneous āEureka!ā moments. Itās a slow realization; an excavation of what was always there. In my personal experience, it was an internal war between my true feelings and the dictatorial Catholic upbringing that implied those feelings were unnatural. Just as I entered puberty, I was subjected to my fatherās heated, Fox News-fueled rants about āthe depraved, disease-ridden homosexualsā who were ripping apart the very fabric of our society. I remember channel surfing one afternoon after school in the ā90s and finding a Ricki Lake episode about the ābisexual mythā; guests were attempting to force their friends to āchoose one or the otherāyouāre either straight, or youāre gay.ā When my Catholic guilt convinced me to tell my mother that, at 11 years old, I had kissed a boy, she laughed and said, āOh, honey, thatās fineāI donāt care. Just as long as you donāt come home someday and say, āMom, I kissed little Susieāā¦ā
Still, I was lucky to grow up in a post-Stonewall world, after the peak of the AIDS epidemic. Queer people could finally step out of the closet, even if they were met with confusion or hostility. They began to appear in the media (in a positive capacity.) As a pre-teen, I idolized the gender-bending Canadian comedy troupe, The Kids in the Hall (and still do!) Group member Scott Thompson, in particular, was a poster boy for the gay subculture of the ā90s. Thereās even a sketch he wrote and starred in thatās devoted to deconstructing the word āFaggot.ā It was subversive. It wasnāt about pleading for acceptanceāit was about demanding acknowledgement. Ā Ā Ā
Fun Home operates in a similar way. The straight audience members arenāt afforded much hand-holding into this potentially uncomfortable territory. Alison and her father, Bruce, arenāt treated like sexless cartoon characters who pander to a more conservative audience, spouting vague throwaway lines about love and acceptance. These are real human beings. These are real life experiences. This is truth that has been masterfully crafted into a transformative and illuminating piece of art that will reverberate through history long after the jukebox and movie musicals lower their curtains.
This musical explores the dangers of stifling the truth. Alison longs to rewrite history and connect with her father over their shared queerness before his untimely death. In the most brilliant, soul-rending, passionate musical theatre song Iāve ever heard, āTelephone Wire,ā Alison slips into the past and tries in vain to reach out to Bruce while they take a drive through their hometown.Ā āThis is where it has to happen! There must be some other chances. There's a moment I'm forgetting where you tell me you see me.āĀ
āFUN HOME: A new musical about dykes and faggotsā isnāt a particularly catchy tagline. Itās not going to persuade middle-aged Alabamans to buy a pair of $150 tickets and book their flight to New York. I understand that. My friend understands that. Focusing on the universal themes of this show, and its unanimous acclaim, has been (and will continue to be) the plan. And itās all trueāyou donāt have to be a lesbian to fall deeply in love with this flawlessly written, directed, acted, and designed production. I could write an entire novel on the exquisite craft of this show simply as a piece of theatre, regardless of subject matter. Sam Goldās handling of the in-the-round staging is a true masterclass for any aspiring directors in the audience. Broadway legends Michael Cerveris and Judy Kuhn pour their entire souls into this story. Jeanine Tesori and Lisa Kronās score and book are intelligent, meticulously rendered, and truly rival any classic Sondheim work. It has clearly been a labor of love for everyone involvedāadvertisers included. If using vague, broad language is whatās needed to get tourists into the Circle in the Square Theatre, that is the language that must be used.
Tonight, a Tony Award win for Best Musical could give Fun Home the nationwide recognition it deserves, and enough steam to keep its doors open on Broadway for years to come (though they are already playing to sold-out houses every night.) Like all award shows, the Tonys are politicalātheyāre ultimately more about financial interests than artistic integrity. (Because, letās be honest, if it were really about artistic integrity, there would be an award for Best Sound Design.) Ā Fun Home doesnāt have the mass market appeal that An American in Paris does (with its central heterosexual love story.) Itās certainly not as commercially viable as the uproariously funny and fun (if slightly less substantial) Something Rotten. I donāt think Fun Home is going to win. I bet my money on another show in the office Tony pool. But, good lord, I hope Iām wrong. I hope I never see that $5 again.
If Fun Home wins tonight, it could be truly revolutionary. It could herald a secure spot on Broadway for the intimate, socially important stories that are produced every day throughout this countryās regional theatres, college campuses, and in NYCās own 20-seat downtown converted spaces. We are a nation growing thirsty for art of substance and honesty.
Everyone needs to see this show. Queer kids need to see themselves on a stage, completely unfiltered and unapologetic. But, more importantly, heterosexual mainstream audiences need to see this show. They need to see that dyke and that faggot.Ā