PLENTY OF HEART IN "HEARTSTOPPER"

I recently read a book called Let’s Get Back to the Party by Zak Salih. More than anything, I appreciated the setup: two gay childhood friends who’ve drifted apart, now at midlife, both single, one intrigued by the sexually freer (AIDS-unaware) generation that preceded him, the other marveling at the openness and freedoms taken for granted by the generation that follows. (In truth, the premise is better than the telling.) I suppose I’ve, on occasion, looked in either direction as well. What would life have been like if my coming out years weren’t mired by the omnipresent leeching of the AIDS specter? Conversely, what if there had been established rights and freedoms with marriage a viable option and coming out being a stage to navigate without so much drama? 

 

It’s the relative normalcy of coming out for a younger generation that unfolds endearingly in the eight-episode series “Heartstopper,” adapted from a graphic novel by Alice Oseman and currently streaming on Netflix. Coming out still has its share of angst, particularly since the series is set in a private English high school for boys. The fusion of angst and adolescence will always be. New zit? Drama. Crush in danger of being revealed? Drama. I think I’m gay? Okay, still exponentially more drama. The easiest way to survive high school may always be fitting in rather than being different.

 

The two main characters are Charlie Spring, an outed gay student in grade ten, who is considered a geeky outcast, and Nick Nelson, a popular, seemingly straight grade eleven student who is the star of the rugby team. It’s a familiar scenario; for me, it’s reminiscent of the 1986 movie “Pretty in Pink,” but many other shows and books may come to mind. The difference, of course, is this is a teen romance in which both leads are male. Imagine having this as something to watch (repeatedly) to find hope, connection and courage while coming to terms with one’s identity.

 

Nick & Charlie

If there’s a twist, it’s that Nick’s sexuality isn’t so clear. Liking boys isn’t something he sensed and repressed at six or ten or twelve. Charlie awakens altogether new thoughts in Nick. What is this attraction? Is Nick gay? Bisexual? The bisexuality bent is refreshing since, while it’s long been part of LGBTQ, it hasn’t been given its due. I still hear people derisively dismiss bisexuality as a temporary phase or stepping-stone for people regarded as still having a foot in the closet. 

 

Being a high school story, there has to be a bully and in this case it’s Harry Greene, one of Nick’s rugby mates, a rich kid who loves to ridicule Charlie and Charlie’s geeky friends. In Harry’s mind, it’s always done in jest. If the laugh should come at someone’s expense, it’s perfectly all right when the person is clearly beneath him. 

 

Nick and Charlie’s worlds would never intersect but for being seated side by side for one of their classes. A friendship forms but Charlie’s feelings seem to go beyond that. It’s the standard situation of This is crazy…What could a guy like him possibly see in me? Of course, there’s the addendum: What could possibly happen between a straight, popular jock and a gay geek? We’re told many times that Nick will only hurt Charlie, particularly since Nick is so entrenched in the macho-infused rugby scene. But Nick never seems to even feign to be a tough guy or a ladies’ man akin to, say Danny Zuko in “Grease.” As a viewer, I never doubted Nick’s sweetness, but then I’m not a high school kid, imagining a dozen doomsday scenarios and interpreting a blank face as conveying a four negative emotions. I can recall this kind of customary teen angst if I let my memory stretch back that far. Frankly, I’d never want to relieve adolescence, no matter how much progress may have been made in terms of LGBTQ acceptance. Gone are the days of phoning someone to be your date to the homecoming dance. (The drama was amped for me living in East Texas where football and dating culture were on steroids.) In “Heartstopper,” there is lots of texting and staring at phone screens, hoping for a response that doesn’t always come. It’s slightly less direct than hearing a voice convey rejection or indifference, but the waits and the worries are still as crushing.

 

  Tao and Elle

Beyond Nick and Charlie, “Heartstopper” has other characters exploring LGBTQ identities. There’s Elle, a Black trans friend who transferred from the boys’ school to a safer, if not more welcoming, private school for girls. She is eventually befriended by two classmates who are a budding lesbian couple, Tara and Darcy. Charlie’s best friend is Tao, a protective, loyal and lippy classmate whom Elle has a crush on. Elle’s identity is not a plotline; rather, it just is. She’s not a spectacle; she’s a person. I suspect her storyline will expand now that Netflix has renewed the series. 

 

Season 1 consists of eight episodes which I breezed through which is not typical of my viewing habits. It’s hard to turn away because it’s so refreshingly charming. You want to root for every character, even perhaps Harry Greene and Charlie’s past, still-closeted fling/boyfriend, Ben. As a bonus, Nick’s mother is played by much-lauded actress Olivia Colman. There’s not much for her to do—indeed, her scenes were filmed over the course of two days—but she manages to convey steadfast support and concern just like Harry Dean Stanton in “Pretty in Pink.” There’s also a Black gay art teacher whose classroom always seems to be empty and who offers Charlie lite advice while always seeming to be on the way out. The room is both a safe space and a spot for Charlie to hide from dealing with his life. A bonus in the series is its fun, hip soundtrack, something like the music was in—yes, again—“Pretty in Pink” back in the day. A song that stood out for me was “Why Am I Like This?” by Orla Gartland.

 

 

“Heartstopper” is the kind of show for which the term “feel-good” was coined as a descriptor. It goes down easy and left me with a smile after each episode. It’s worth a watch.   

 

 

I’M OUT or WHY BROADWAY’S REVIVAL OF “TAKE ME OUT” DIDN’T STIR ME

I didn’t do it, I swear. The day after Evan and I saw the revival of “Take Me Out” on Broadway, pictures surfaced on Twitter of the star appearing naked in a particular scene. Our seats were in the balcony, allowing for decent viewing but most definitely not close enough for clear footage of an impressive extra limb, even when flaccid. Smartphone photography remains a work in progress. (Truly, it’s a shame someone opted to create a bit of a frenzy online by posting the clip. As tickets were scanned upon entering the theater, our phones were required to be shut down and placed in locked carrying cases that weren’t opened until after the show. An actor shouldn’t have to worry about his performance being whittled down to a certain appendage, ogled on social media. It’s both undignified and unnecessary. If people really want to see dangling dicks, they can find plenty of free porn on the internet.)

 

Truth is, a man’s naked body on stage isn’t a big deal. “Hair,” premiering on Broadway in 1968 was supposed to shatter that taboo. I suppose it remains uncomfortable or at least a novelty to theater viewers. What appears before them is not contained on a screen. The naked body and the viewer are in the same big room. It makes the cast of “Cats” seem ridiculously overdressed. 

 

It’s not just the star, Jesse Williams, who appears naked. “Take Me Out” is a play about a superstar player coming out as gay and most of the scenes are set in the locker room with players dressing and undressing in front of their lockers or saying their lines in a communal shower which appears and disappears as needed. All the players strip down at one point or another, most more than once. 

 

To be sure, these actors had well-sculpted bodies, easy on the eyes. Still, whenever there is nudity in a play, TV show or movie, my first thought is about whether it’s gratuitous or integral to the telling. Being a reserved person, most of the time I conclude it’s unnecessary. I feel sorry for the actors. I’m (usually) uncomfortable for them. I want the scene to end. Let’s move on to a scene where the main character suffers a career-killing shoulder injury (enough baseball talk, thank you) and tries out for a bit part in “Cats,” fully customed, of course. Keep it authentic. 

 

As a tangent, I’ll add that, while Jesse Williams can certainly be proud of his body, my eyes were fixed on him more in other scenes when he wore form-fitting ath-leisure. Alas, the clothes were not listed in the credits of the Playbill. Guess I’ll forgo an Amazon shopping spree and stick with my frumpy hoodies and saggy jeans.

 

I can make an argument defending the nudity in “Take Me Out.” I won’t go so far as to say it’s necessary, but there was a point to it. First, it might be silly to have guys standing around in full uniforms in every scene. It’s a locker room. I’m writing this at a café after having just finished swimming laps. I was in a locker room before and after my swim. There was lots of nakedness. It just happened to be the sort one feels a dire need to turn away from. I don’t need to be inundated with previews of how saggy my ass will look in—what, twenty-five years? Or is it only ten?! Grab your towel, guys, and cover up!

 

I think the nudity was supposed to convey a sense of exposure and vulnerability, the players’ posture and openness to “shoot the shit” changing once it’s revealed that one among them is gay, the straight players implicitly blaming the newly out gay teammate for instilling a sense of modesty and self-consciousness when their modified decorum is really brought on by homophobia. Sure, I can understand that argument. It’s another way to shine a spotlight entrenched man culture. That being said, I’d have preferred it if the play had been set in a dugout and perhaps a bar. I don’t think a single line would have to be amended. Still realistic settings even if it didn’t have players feeling vulnerable in their nakedness with a gay guy in their midst. How much jock-related homophobia do I really need to see?

 

And that leads to the bigger problem I had with “Take Me Out” which originally ran on Broadway in 2003 and won the Tony Award for best play. (It received four new Tony nominations last week, on the same day the nude footage appeared on Twitter, including best play revival and three acting nods, one to Jesse Williams.) Nineteen years ago, the so-called playing field for queer people was considerably more of a minefield. At the beginning of 2003, Netherlands was the only country in the world that had legalized same-sex marriage. “Will and Grace” was a hit TV show, but Sean Hayes, who played Jack, wasn’t out. The U.S. military was still thick in its muted tolerance of gays with its “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy as a means for allowing members to avoid being discharged. In 2003, a baseball team’s unease about a player being openly gay fit with what was going on in society as a whole. Coming out came with complications.

 

As a revival, the discomfort and outright homophobia that players think and feel in “Take Me Out” feels woefully dated, but it’s not presented as a period piece. There aren’t 2003 references in the script. I took it as playing out in 2022. The homophobia in sports—among fans and players—remains largely unchecked. Most gay athletes are still closeted, especially in team sports. It’s a milieu for Neanderthals. It exists, but so much of the rest of North America and Europe has moved on. I’m past the point of seeing portrayals of jocks feeling ogled by a gay teammate and hoping we can learn from it. These jocks are clunky and a play depicting them comes off as just as clunky.

 

Admittedly, there were many in the audience who found the play impactful. People, presumably straight, gasped at expressions of hatred and intolerance, as if they’d not heard these things, as if they thought everyone had moved on. Obviously, not everyone has, but the people I choose to associate with certainly have.

 

Nudity had no part of my wanting to see “Take Me Out.” I simply wanted to see a gay play. I wanted to appreciate the writing. I wanted to identify with gay characters. By intermission, I was wishing we’d chosen a different play; indeed, a different revival. It heartened me when Evan leaned into me and whispered, “Would it be bad if we just left?” My guy was equally apathetic. (I think I would have enjoyed “How I Learned to Drive” with Mary-Louise Parker and David Morse much more. Alas, my trip to New York wasn’t long enough, my pockets not deep enough.)

 

As I’d mentioned last year when country music singer T.J. Osborne of the Brothers Osborne came out as gay and kissed his partner after winning an award on a televised awards show, I was happy for him on a personal level, but I’m so far beyond the point of congratulating sectors that have clung to the Dark Ages when someone finally frees himself from the shackles. A fictional baseball player coming out, naked or not, doesn’t get my attention.