The Sewers of Paris is a podcast of revealing personal stories about how entertainment has changed the lives of gay men. Each week, a guest plucks a piece of entertainment from their past -- book, movies, music, shows, and more -- and answers the question: how did it change your life?
My guest this week is Tyler, who you may know as Bolt — co-host of the YouTube series Watt’s the Safeword. Online, he’s known for providing fun cute silly sex ed, but did you know that when he’s not on camera, he’s super into watchmaking? Oh and also adventurous kinky sex of course. But that watchmaking!
Also, a quick note about the next livestream: I've had to reschedule it from Saturday the 12th to Sunday the 13th at 10am Pacific. See you there!
My guest this week is Timmy Roghaar, a Seattle actor, drag queen, go-go dancer, and ex-Mormon. Timmy left Salt Lake City behind to take off his pants and dance, and we chatted all about what got him out of a rut and in touch with his inner exhibitionist. (BTW in case you missed it, check out my livechat with Timmy a few weeks ago!)
Hello there! I hope you had a nice holiday time and New Year season. We’re doing something a bit different this week — a kick-back chat with me and my partner James about why I started The Sewers of Paris, how it became what it is today, and the entertainment that changed my life (Star Wars, and also a roast). We’ll be back to the regular format next week, but let me know what you think of this slight departure from the normal Sewers style!
The guests on this bonus episode are Erica Rose and Chelsea Moore, who talk about Sylvia Plath, The L Word, and the Well of Loneliness. Erica and Chelsea are a New York filmmaking team who push the boundaries of queer sex and sexuality on screen.
This holiday season, I hope you're surrounded with good cheer, fabulous family and friends, and comforts aplenty to keep you warm in the dark winter nights.
And when it comes to feeling cozy, I can think of no greater experts than Dave White and Alonso Duralde of the Linoleum Knife family of podcasts. Whether it's cooking glorious feasts, binging on cheesy specials, or unearthing obscure wintery films, this husband-and-husband team are the pinnacle of holiday warmth. Dave and Alonso were my guests on the very first Sewers of Paris holiday special back in 2015, sharing their advice for enjoying a jolly holiday, so we're going to start this episode by listening back to that conversation.
Then we'll hear a more recent chat from earlier this month, when Dave and Alonso popped by one of my regular livestreams to talk about how they're celebrating in 2018.
Next, I'll bring you a quick dive into my favorite holiday special -- Christmas at Pee-wee's Playhouse. Every month, I produce a video for my Culture Cruise series where I talk about LGBTQ themes on TV, in movies, in book, games, and more. And for December I took a look at Pee-wee's 1988 special, and it's connection to Judy Garland Christmas specials of the past, Glee episodes of the future, and believe it or not 18th century French theater. Then we'll wrap things up with a traditional Christmas carol sung by some past Sewers of Paris guests!
You might not recognize the name Glenn Kiser, but he's had a hand in countless films over the last three decades -- helping to craft films in editing rooms alongside directors like David Fincher, Spike Jonze, and Jane Campion, before moving on to run Skywalker Sound for George Lucas and now the Dolby Institute. As a kid, Glenn would obsess over movies and dream of the day he could make his own. And just like gathering elements of a story in an editing room, he crafted the steps in his career that would take him from living on an isolated ranch in Texas to working at Skywalker Ranch.
And I hope you'll join us for the next Sewers of Paris live chat, with Scott Flanary, winner of The Amazing Race Season 29. It's on Saturday December 29 at 2pm pacific.
The Sewers of Paris is listener supported -- click "support the show on Patreon" join the folks who make the show possible.
And for more queer podcasting, check out Queens Of Adventure to hear drag queens on an epic Dungeons & Dragons quest. And we'll be doing our next Queens of Adventure livestream on Saturday December 22, so head over to QueensOfAdventure.com for details.
Thanks again to Glenn for joining me. We talked a bit about Auntie Mame, and now is indeed the perfect time of year for that film. Or for the book on which it's based. Or if you're really devoted, the musical adaptation Mame starring, for various reasons, none of them good, Lucille Ball.
None of these works is entirely perfect -- their handling of racial stereotypes is particularly unpleasant -- but they also manage to achieve moments of sheer delight.
Auntie Mame, in whatever form you consume it, is a delightful work of mid-century art. The film is a 1950s romp with bright phony soundstages and bellowing performances that overflow with camp, centered around a wacky aging aunt who lives a life entirely on her own terms, much to the horror of everyone around her.
At times, the movie manages to accidentally anticipate the freedom of the 60s, but gaily depicts it as originating not in youth culture but from a powerful grande dame.
It's no wonder queer folks are drawn to the character -- created by Patrick Tanner, a bisexual man. As Mame, Rosalind Russell emits a perfect form of manic free-spirited energy to demolish what today we would call "the patriarchy" but back then would simply be "life." And although the two movies lean heavily on the uptight heterosexual nephew as a framing device, Mame has no time for the stodgy times in which she lives, and flies from one madcap caper to another.
Whether her story is contained within the context of the Depression, the pre-feminist 50s, or who knows maybe someday a contemporary remake, Mame's refusal to even consider that she might be beaten down by her circumstances is inspiring. Insane, sure. But the inspiring kind of insane.
How do you share your story when your story defies belief? My guest this week is Henry Goldring, whose upcoming memoir is entitled Unbelievable and recounts tales of audaciously bluffing his way into getting hired as Joan Rivers' opening act, despite never having performed before; and also getting committed by his siblings. Henry grew up in a generation that didn't have the internet, didn't have public role models, and was decimated by an epidemic. Considering all he's endured, it's no wonder he's got some particularly wild stories to share.
We'll have that conversation in a minute. And I hope you'll join us for the next Sewers of Paris live chat, with the delightful Dave and Alonso of the Linoleum Knife family of podcasts. It's next weekend, and it's a little earlier than usual: Saturday December 8 at 8am pacific, 11am eastern.
Head over to SewersOfParis.com to see clips of the stuff we talk about on each episode of the show.
The Sewers of Paris is listener supported -- click "support the show on Patreon" join the folks who make the show possible.
And for more queer podcasting, check out Queens Of Adventure to hear drag queens on an epic Dungeons & Dragons quest. And we'll be doing our next Queens of Adventure livestream on Saturday December 22, so head over to QueensOfAdventure.com for details.
Thanks again to Henry for joining me. After we recorded our conversation, I went back and looked for a clip of him on that episode of Maude, and found him in the background of a scene. There's a screengrab posted at SewersofParis.com.
And that episode is this week's recommendation -- it's entitled "The Gay Bar," and it aired in 1977, season 6 episode 9. Maude episodes are available to buy on Amazon, and for free from illicit sources. But if you'd like a condensed version, I have a video on YouTube where I show some highlights and talk about the historical context at the time when it aired.
In the episode, there's a gay bar coming to town and Maude's homophobic neighbor Arthur isn't having it. He plans to protest and get politicians involved and shut the place down. The episode is remarkable for a couple of reasons -- it was a particularly compassionate depiction of gay people and the persecution they face; it may be the first time the inside of a gay bar appeared on television; and there's one extra who wears a pink three-piece suit that has to be seen to be believed.
But what really stands out to me when I watch the episode now is that in the end, Maude and Arthur are able to reach a point of mutual respect for each other, despite also having mutual disdain for each others' values. This was a time at which it was considered a virtue to overlook the moral failings of bigots like Arthur in the name of collegiality and compromise. There are a lot of reasons that changed, but by today's standards I'm not impressed by either Maude or Arthur. He ends the episode backing down from his plans to picket but still believing that gay people are a blight; she ends the episode telling him that the consistency of his principles is worthy of respect.
But lets not forget what those principles are: that queer people should be hounded and persecuted to the point that they can no longer leave the house. That might've been a mainstream opinion at the time, but the fact that a supposedly liberal character would tolerate it as recently as 1977 reminds us just how backwards that time was.
I don't know if you heard, but somebody tried to make a movie about Bohemian Rhapsody recently. And it's nice that the film might introduce the band to a new generation, but there are some queers among us who got to live through Queen the first time. My guest this week is Jim Provenzano, author of the novel Now I'm Here, which tells the story of two small town boys who fall in love to the soundtrack of the late 70s. Jim's a product of that time as well, and grew up in a time of innocent homoeroticism, and at times, dangerous disobedience.
We'll have that conversation in a minute. And I hope you'll join us for the next Sewers of Paris live chat, with the delightful Dave and Alonso of the Linoleum Knife family of podcasts. It's next weekend, and it's a little earlier than usual: Saturday December 8 at 8pm pacific, 11am eastern.
Head over to SewersOfParis.com to see clips of the stuff we talk about on each episode of the show.
The Sewers of Paris is listener supported -- click "support the show on Patreon" join the folks who make the show possible.
And for more queer podcasting, check out Queens Of Adventure to hear drag queens on an epic Dungeons & Dragons quest. And we'll be doing our next Queens of Adventure livestream on Saturday December 22, so head over to QueensOfAdventure.com for details.
Thanks again to Jim for joining me. Check out JimProvenzano.com for all of his work. And if you're in San Francisco, he'll be part of an upcoming celebration of the music of queen on Thursday, December 6th. It's a live show called Now We're Here, and it features acoustic performances of more than a dozen classic Queen songs interpreted by Bay Area musicians.
It's nice to see Queen and Freddy Mercury a topic of conversation these days, my recommendation is that you see the film that really captures their music and their aesthetic. I'm speaking of course of 1980's Flash Gordon, featuring a soundtrack composed entirely by Queen.
The movie both terrible and an absolute gem, a work that cuts corners in some areas and spends lavishly in others. The look is a bizarre 70s fantasy-futurism, the plot is absurd, and some of the performers are upstaged by their hair. But the music is magnificent, not to mention the sheer misplaced extravagance. It's giddy and weird and rarely makes sense, but at no point can you predict what will happen next.
Where bad movies are concerned, I have high standards -- you don't need to waste your life inflicting every single movie like Zardoz and Lost Horizon on yourself. Some films are so bad they're just bad. But Flash Gordon is a stupid delight -- not as queer as Barbarella, but a camp pleasure nonetheless. The over-the-top music, starting with the perfectly gaudy theme, set the tone for an experience that is wonderful and ridiculous. It takes an incredible talent to make such an incredible mess.
How much do you know about the people who paved the way for you? We all benefit from foundations laid by those who came before, but so often -- and particularly for queer people -- those forebears are lost to history. But my guest this week is dedicated to shining a light on the incredible queer pioneers who led unimaginably fascinating lives and blazed the trail we now walk. You might know Jaymes Mansfield from her appearance on Drag Race Season 9. And these days you can catch her on YouTube, where she's become one of the internet's leading drag historians with her series Drag Herstory, shining a light on the people and stories that you won't believe you've never heard about before.
We'll have that conversation in a minute. First, a quick reminder -- I hope you'll join us for the next Sewers of Paris live chat, with special guest, performer Timmy Roghaar. That's this weekend -- Saturday November 24 at 2pm pacific. There's a link at the top of the Sewers of Paris twitter feed.
The Sewers of Paris is listener supported -- click "support the show on Patreon" join the folks who make the show possible.
And for more queer podcasting, check out Queens Of Adventure to hear drag queens on an epic Dungeons & Dragons quest. That’s at QueensOfAdventure.com.
Thanks again to Jaymes for joining me. I cannot recommend her series Drag Herstory highly enough. They're well researched, insightful, educational and entertaining. I thought I knew a lot about queer history but I've learned so much by watching this series.
In particular, check out Episode 2, "A Brief History of Drag Queen Music," a fascinating look at artists like Sylvester and Divine. I also felt a particularly satisfying frisson of nostalgia from Episode 6, "A Brief History of Drag Queens of the 90s."
So far there are 19 episodes in all, and after every single one I find myself thinking, "why haven't I ever heard about this before?" Drag is one of the far-flung frontiers of queerness, where you can find some of the most daring experiments into gender, performance, and art. So of course, some drag has often gone over the head of mainstream audiences and even other queers, disappearing into obscure history.
That's why I'm so glad we have Jaymes to excavate those forgotten or just under-appreciate creators who blazed a trail over the last century. Folks like Charles Busch, Lily Savage, and the performers of Finnochios never became household names, in part because they came along at a time when one didn't discuss gender outlaws in polite society. But today, it's clear that they were visionaries whose work not only withstands the test of time, but outdoes many of the icons we're familiar with today.
We owe it to those pioneers to remember them. And we owe it to ourselves to indulge in their art.
Thanks to everyone who supports The Sewers of Paris on Patreon -- with your pledges I'm able to release monthly bonus episodes like this one. This week we'll be going beyond The Sewers of Paris with someone for whom I am truly grateful. Kate Kendell is the outgoing director of the National Center for Lesbian rights. Over the last 22 years of history-changing moments for LGBTQ people, she's not only had a front row seat, but she's been one of the key figures pushing those moments forward. I'm so excited to bring you this conversation, ranging from the moment she discovered live theater, to proudly working for the most hated organization in Utah, to becoming an LGBTQ community leader, and what she sees next for queer liberation.
And BTW, I hope you'll join us for the next Sewers of Paris live chat, with special guest, performer Timmy Roghaar. That's this weekend -- Saturday November 24 at 2pm pacific. There's a link at the top of the Sewers of Paris twitter feed.
Head over to SewersOfParis.com to see clips of the stuff we talk about on each episode of the show. And for more queer podcasting, check out Queens Of Adventure to hear drag queens on an epic Dungeons & Dragons quest. That’s at QueensOfAdventure.com.
Thanks again to Kate for joining me. I'm just so inspired by the work she does. In fact, Kate was one of the people who inspired me to become an activist. I was living in San Francisco in 2004 when the city began issuing marriage licenses to same-sex couples on Valentine's Day. My bus went right past City Hall on the way to work, and I remember seeing the couples lined up around the block. And I remember seeing the photo on the front page of the Chronicle -- Mayor Gavin Newsom, now the incoming governor of California, marrying lesbian pioneers Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon, and in the background Kate Kendel looking on overcome with emotion.
I'm torn on what to recommend this week. If you want to relive that incredible time, you should definitely look up some of that news coverage from 2004, featuring stunned activists and couples racing to marry. Or look up the infamous clip of Kate Kendell swearing on live TV in reference to Proposition 8. Or you might want to check out my book, Defining Marriage, which includes stories from couples who lived through that time as well as Kate's experience fighting Prop 8.
But I think my main recommendation this week is going to be a Shakespearean sonnet that Kate mentioned, Sonnet 116, which begins, "Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments." Often read as a declaration of same-sex love, it was set to music by Rufus Wainwright -- you can find that with a quick YouTube search -- and it's absolutely lovely. "Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove," the sonnet goes. Out of all of humanity's attempts, over the centuries, to explain in words what love is, I think this might be my favorite.
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