Swimming against the stream of the majority has never been easy—no matter where you live. In North America, being a person of colour, LGBTQ+ or having some sort of disability has always been a challenge. Those of us who can identify with any of those categories can attest to the veracity of that assertion.
In 1974, the need for the gay community to have a place to feel safe, be open and honest and perhaps most importantly dance with each other was largely alleviated when Studio One opened in West Hollywood. Modelled not only by name but also designed after one of the movie capital of the world’s sound/set studios, thanks to the vision and business smarts of a group of determined owners courageously led by Scott Forbes, a safe refuge was born. Once established, it soon became the place to go for queers of all kinds and their admirers (including not a few of Hollywood’s vrai stars whether admittedly out or not).
Saltarelli’s lovingly crafted portrait of times past and otherwise impossible memories of enjoying, playing, loving, drugging, drinking and—perhaps most importantly—being comfortable in one’s own skin—is a deft celebration of looking society in the eye, balanced with the scourge of AIDS internal racism (which knows no sexual leanings) alongside a hope for better days to come.
Leading viewers through the trials, tribulations and history is an all-star cast of those then and now, including Bruce Vilanch, Chita Rivera, Lance Bass, Felipe Rose (Village People) and Joan Rivers (a fearless supporter of gay rights) sharing their stories and reflections.
Naturally, historically, what really catches the eye (all those bare-chested, sweaty men dancing up a storm) and the ear (a lively original score from Kerry Muzzey and Jake Simpson, effectively intertwined with hits from the era) are the pulsating scenes from Studio One and the Backlot stage that undoubtedly will rekindle memories and emotions from viewers of a certain age and, hopefully, inspire the next generation of lavender men and women to more thoroughly know their past and understand what so many sacrificed to make current LGBTQ+ lives a lot more bearable than things used to be.
One unforgettable moment occurs when a long-ago employee at the club shares a picture of 105 fine-looking men, then reports, “Only two are still alive today”.
That thought certainly hit home with me, for if I’d not come out “late” (first to myself then to others), I could well have been within the ranks of the permanently missing.
The future seems equally uncertain: the “wise” West Hollywood council approved a developer’s plan to demolish the historic site, vaguely promising that this iconic phoenix might yet arise from the ashes sooner than later. Perhaps.
In the meantime, a viewing is recommended to see/experience what was a literal arena of tolerance, understand its demise (even disco couldn’t last forever), but, more importantly, look now at all of our fellow inhabitants on the planet with much more compassion than disdain. JWR