Perhaps I’m more of an optimist than I realize. Last night, after watching with shall we say distaste the hokey ending of ‘Hollywood’, Ryan Murphy’s most recent and least accomplished opus, life turned around for me when I began watching the 1961 version of ‘The Roman Spring of Mrs Stone’. Though for the umpteenth time, it was nevertheless a mental cleanse, watching beauty and glamour and sin so wonderfully mixed. And camp- well, I’m all for it when it’s well done, and the characters are camp classics. In the opening segment, the voice over describes Karen Stone’s sojourn in Rome as allowing her to ‘explore the dark corners of her own nature.’
Thank heavens for those dark corners, and would that there were more of them. I think in subjective terms, of course, with my own coming out yonks ago very heavily influenced by the likes of Tennessee Williams whose undertones and innuendoes were only understood by the shall we say cognoscenti, and once understood, one had the feeling that one had joined a secret, and highly exclusive, club.
Subjective, yes, but with objective manifestations, or perhaps ‘manifestations’ is too strong a word. What was out there was out there, but required one to look for it. As Karen Stone, I too enjoyed the delights of the Piazza di Spagna, and the nearby Piazzale Belle Arti. It was great fun to cruise, and be cruised, whether one picked up or not. I must say, my first visit to Rome nearly forty years ago saw very much il dolce vita, sadly now winnowed away in the intervening decades the result of mass tourism, and an openness of expression that for those who espoused its practice did so in the mistaken notion that it would be a liberation of their own natures.
Well, yes, liberation and liberality, but what all this swept away was subtlety- the thrill of making eye contact and the lingering glance that followed, buying a drink in a bar- Harry’s Bar in the Via Veneto was my favourite- chatting up the barman, whether he was attractive or not, and then buying a drink for a comely patron a few stools away. Mind you, not everyone looked like a young Warren Beatty in the guise of Paolo, but one thing anyone can say about Italian men is that they are maniacal in their grooming. The character of Paolo was dead on.
Now I have to say, I have had fun in Los Angeles, not so much as Rome, but who would? I also have to say that I read Scotty Bowers’ memoir and watched Matt Tyrnauer’s documentary about him. Both though left me cold. Imagine, if you could, a now 80 year old Warren Beatty reprising his role in ‘The Roman Spring…’ and I think you’ll get a sense of what I mean.
As with Karen Stone and dark corners, I possess a nostalgia and fondness for which I cannot overstate. I too sought years ago to explore those of my own nature, and thrilled with delight with what I found there. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll argue to keep things as they were- I do yet find those corners vastly more titillating without too much exposure to the light.