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Jackie, oh! By Johnny Ray Huston CAROL BURNETT WAS Jackie Curtis's spiritual godmother. Robert DeNiro made his acting debut in Curtis's play Glamour, Glory, and Gold. Harvey Fierstein places Curtis's writing on a par with Woody Allen's. As yet another friend of the subject notes in Superstar in a Housedress: The Life and Legend of Jackie Curtis, the 6'2" Curtis was undeniably the "brains" of the Paul Morrissey-era Andy Warhol drag constellation, an unholy trinity that also featured fellow women-in-revolt Holly Woodlawn and Candy Darling. Yet celebrity by proxy doesn't guarantee a book by, or about, a Warhol superstar. Curtis's many poems and plays remain scattered throughout realms far more obscure than the dustiest library corner, while resident bombshell Darling – more apt to pick up an eyeliner pencil than an ink-filled pen – has had two tomes posthumously published. One hopes Highberger's documentary helps remedy that situation, because it showcases abundant alliteration-motored wit: Curtis's reading of the poem "B-Girls" could teach better-known authors valuable tricks about writing and reciting. Like the recent Warhol-related doc Pie in the Sky: The Brigid Berlin Story, Highberger's movie is a biography for nonreaders. Pie had a living, ranting subject to grapple with; in contrast, Highberger gathers a colorful bouquet of admirers – Fierstein and Lily Tomlin (who also narrates) are two of the milder blooms on display – to sing the praises of a late, great cult figure. The production values aren't on the level of Bill Weber and David Weissman's recent portrait of the Cockettes, whose trailblazing antics Highberger downplays. But that's a tiny quibble. Superstar gives Curtis a long-overdue, luxuriant tribute. John Curtis Holder grew up in a Lower East Side slum, raised by his grandmother Slugger Ann, a gruff and combative taxi dancer turned bar owner. "Don't ever let anybody tell you you're handsome – because you're tall, gaunt, awkward, scary-looking, and lucky," Slugger Ann told the boy who eventually became Jackie Curtis, according to Steven Watson's book Factory Made. If the sad-eyed Holder took that advice, the speed-fueled Curtis ran from it to a world that recognized unconventional beauty. Penning an entire play – Heaven Grand in Amber Orbit, which took its title from two horse names in the daily racing form – on a train ride from Indiana to Grand Central Station, Curtis packed more than one celebrated existence into a time period many would consider a half-life. Few druggy first drafts wind up being praised by Newsweek, but the budding playwright was an odd talent at a time when mass media gave space to them. Curtis was the absolute opposite of the fembots and Ken dolls produced by the Warhol-rip-off "reality TV" programming of today, and Superstar in a Housedress lovingly catalogs Curtis's many moods and modes. They include a mania for tearing fabric (having bullied Halston into designing a gown, Curtis couldn't wait to rip and re-tailor it), a flair for unconventional personal hygiene (bypassing deodorant, Curtis sprayed dresses with Raid), and a questioning, questing sense of identity. For a few years, a weary Curtis jumped genders to become James Dean, mimicking Dean's iconographic Broadway-era bohemian image. Shortly before death, Curtis enlisted Francesco Scavullo to produce head shots for another guise, an elfin actor named Shannon Montgomery. "Who are you?" Curtis asked in one musical number. If a quicksilver approach to self makes a definite answer difficult, early death renders it near impossible. Instead, Highberger revels in the colorful personalities of the company Curtis kept, hoping it will rub off on Superstar's straightforward talking-head approach. The gambit pays off more than once. A bauble-laden Sylvia Miles turns an interview about Curtis into an opportunity to showcase how, "from every angle," she's a "fully dressed female." Fierstein and antique specialist Alexis del Lago enthusiastically revive a catty feud. " 'There's Nothing like Being Dull,' by Jackie Curtis," Darling says with a sigh in Morrissey's Flesh, pretending to have grabbed that title from a '40s movie star mag she and Curtis are looking at, rather than from her own mind – a mind sparked by scene-stealing impulses. Darling had to keep her wits about her, because Curtis, however reticent during that film debut, was a larger-than-large life force. Far from dull, Curtis was brilliant – smart enough to know you never hold a winning hand when you hold a man, a lesson this doc takes to heart. The superstar in a housedress has finally gotten the treatment, and the billing, she – and he – deserves. 'Superstar in a Housedress' opens Fri/6 at the Castro Theatre, 429 Castro, S.F. $5-$8.50. (415) 621-6120. |
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