Quel drag

Speaking of Brokeback Mountain, as I was earlier this month, did you happen to catch Jake Gyllenhaal's turn as host of Saturday Night Live the weekend before? I don't know that I watched the entire show--you would think after more than 30 years on the air, they would finally cut the show to a more wieldy 60 minutes and hire a smaller cast of sketch comedy actors, not just folks who can deliver an occasionally funny one-liner on stage (I'm talking to you, Seth Meyers). So I rarely make it through the entire 90 minutes of not-always-funny-but-occasionally-brilliant comedy shenanigans.

So I don't know how Mr. G faired past lift-off. Really, though, all you needed to see was the opening "number" by Jake himself--that, alone, is blogworthy.

Instead of the usual lame-o welcome given by the guest host--another run of fake questions from the audience? yawn . . . maybe I'll turn in early . . . although the one with Annette Benning, where she had to justify her role as the philandering real estate agent in American Beauty to an audience full of philandering real estate agents who had been found out by their husbands was pretty funny--Jake talked about how he had told the show he wouldn't do any BM (uh, Brokeback Mountain) jokes. However, he noted, he had loved doing the movie, and it had brought to him a whole new, "unique fanbase."

Hmmm, where is he going with this?

Flash to the audience, and you see two of the male cast members dressed as a gay cowboy couple, yet a couple that will not acknowledge that it is a couple. Jake chats with them a bit, yadda yadda yadda. Nothing unusual in the comedy tonight. The same ol' same ol' kinda predictable humor.

But then, what happens next had to be by turns one of the bravest, weirdest, and possibly even most cynical moments witnessed on network TV--at least since Paula Abdul starting appearing on American Idol and referring to herself as a "recording artist." (Like that ol' Chris Rock joke, "Paula Abdul judging a singing contest is like Christopher Reeves judging a dancing contest." You can't get mad at me for the joke--I used quote marks to distance myself from the poor taste.) Jake says he wants to use the opportunity he has as host to do "something special for these fans," something "fans of Brokeback would like to see me do," something "just for them."

And you swear he's going to come out. In public. Live. On national TV. The "internets" (as they say) have been ripe with speculation well before Brokeback about which side of the croissant Mr. Gyllenhaal prefers to butter (although I speculate he's using some rather expensive French preserves, avoiding the fat content of butter). Several blind items by Hollywood gay gossip columnist Ted Casablanca and others refer to a somewhat mysterious Toothy Tile, who may or not be Jake Gyllenhaal or any of several hundred other possibilities of A-to-D list Hollywood celebrities.

So I'm watching and I'm thinking, ohmigod! First, T. R. Knight, then Doogie Howser, and now Jack Twist! The year 2007 is going to be fab, after all!

Instead, what Jake does is even stranger and definitely queerer. He dons a black bubble wig, tears off his clothes to reveal a sequined, lamé evening gown, and begins to sing what is possibly the gayest song ever written (at least among drag queens, at least since "I Will Survive" was recorded)--"And I'm Telling You I'm Not Going" from the natural successor to BM in Hollywood gay cinema offerings, Dreamgirls.

Thanks to the link to YouTube above, you can see for yourself. [Editor's note: Curses! Foiled by the Kopyright Gestapo once again!]

You'll also see and hear that he does a good job with the song as well. It's comedy, but it's credible, from the strong semi-falsetto vocal contortions down to his Patti LaBelle, Showtime at the Apollo hand gestures and moves. Someone has clearly spent a lot of time in front of the mirror with a hairbrush practicing this number.

So what to think?

Well, it's definitely a "queer" moment in TV, no matter how you define queer. Whether you mean gay or just plain strange, it's queer alright. It seems gay friendly enough, and if it's his way of addressing the rumors and speculation or having some fun at their and his expense or even sorta kinda adding fuel to fondue flame, as it were, it could be considered a pretty brave stance. Almost like a coming out without really coming out. Not as brave as a T. R. Knight, mind you, but not bad for these Hollywood megawatt celebrities, who trade heavily on heterosexual romantic fantasy (Brokeback excepted, of course) to make millions for themselves and their studios.

The cynic in me--which is all-pervasive, in case you hadn't figured that out already--almost sees it in, well, more cynical terms. Is he making fun of the gay community for its speculations about his personal life, for that tendency of gay men to turn every handsome man into some sort of gay wish fulfillment fantasy? Is he trading on gay stereotypes just for a laugh at our expense?

Or is it just supposed to be funny, regardless, and I'm thinking about it all too much?

Like any good Libra, I try to find some balance in the situation. I hope for (1) he's coming out; underneath I suspect (2) he's making fun of us; but I'll accept (3) he's just having fun, being silly, no insult or injury intended. But nothing deeper necessarily meant either. Hard to say.

As usual, I end up with (4) all of the above, the lack of definition and decisiveness, the propensity for seeing things in mind-boggling variations on a theme of gray rather than in the one-note all black, all white--a tendency, I should add, which has driven boyfriends and employers (the twin towers of alleged importance in modern life) crazy for years.

Well, so be it. I've got to entertain myself somehow waiting for these celebs to come bounding out of the closet, singing songs from the original cast recording of Dreamgirls.