It’s strange, but logical, that film has become such a large part of our lives during these pandemic days even for folks who don’t identify as cinephiles.
Stranger still is the recognition that, as hungry as we are for film art, a lot of what we’re getting from the plethora of studios producing work now is leaving us dissatisfied. (Watch this space for more on this subject coming soon.)
Consequently, many of us are going back to the vaults and revisiting films from earlier days that we either missed when they came out or that came out before we were even born.
In the case of the former, it’s impossible to approach these movies with truly fresh eyes (is this ever really possible?) because we don’t just watch a movie, we experience it with all the temporal baggage (and the lack thereof) that accompanies being a human of a certain age.
Lauren Wiggins, a friend and former student of mine (USC class of ‘09 WGST) found this to be the case when she revisited the 1999 comedy, But I’m a Cheerleader, starring the intoxicating Natasha Lyonne (check her out in ORANGE IS THE NEW BLACK and RUSSIAN DOLL) and directed by the equally brilliant Jamie Babbit. We happened upon Wiggins’ blog post detailing this experience and wanted to share it, with her permission, with our readers (below). - CB
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You Can't Make This Up, #4: Discovering But I'm a Cheerleader in Small Town SC
A queer camp cult classic anniversary celebration extravaganza!
The year 2000 is a fine vintage for movies that I still love. Drowning Mona, Memento, American Psycho - all classics! With the exception of darker titles like, Requiem for a Dream, several of the best ones from that year were inspirational for young women. They were the kind of films that made teenage girls want to become something and trust their instincts. Center Stage left me to ponder if 14 was too old to start ballet lessons. Coyote Ugly taught me that I could be a badass bartender on the side and the compensation from that one job would surely bankroll my passions and cost of living. Miss Congeniality showed me that I didn’t have to be girly to make friends that were girls. Let me tell you, it was a real coming of age summer.
When I entered Freshman year of high school that fall, my cousin Tiffany took me under her wing. She was a cheerleader and she played soccer. She was a senior with a million friends, and she was about to get a car! Plus, she let me hang out when her friends were around and they said I was funny, which of course cinched a top spot in the hierarchy of cool Freshmen.
When we got bored in our three stoplight town, as all apathetic teenagers across the USA did; we flocked to the beautiful blue and yellow beacon known as Blockbuster. There, amongst the over-priced candy, we’d sometimes spend an hour selecting our film. One particular visit to our local Blockbuster, But I’m a Cheerleader caught Tiffany’s eye. She was chasing the Bring It On high from that summer, and the word ‘cheerleader’ was all she needed to read; certainly no reason to flip it over and read the synopsis.
Allow me to pause the story to tell you what But I’m a Cheerleader actually is. It’s a queer camp film directed by Jamie Babbit, which follows a protagonist who doesn’t know she’s a homo, as she’s forced by families and friends to go to ‘True Directions’, a conversion therapy camp run by Cathy Moriarty and RuPaul. And this past year, this movie turned 20 years old. Vintage queer camp.
Again, since I had proven my coolness, I was invited to come along to Tiffany’s ultra-cool friend’s house. Jessica did pageants, but she had the kind of sense of humor that made you think she was doing them ironically, like a joke that only she was in on. She was tall, her hair was always pretty, and she had an endless supply of Roxy t-shirts that I silently coveted. I studied them and all the hair products I had no idea existed strewn across her room, as we cozied up on a floor pallet with snacks.
Flags were quickly raised that this was not a movie about cheerleading, but there were pom-poms, so I kept my mouth shut. Just to see. I could be wrong. Nobody else had said anything yet, and in my angst, I quietly hoped they’d want to watch the whole thing.
We did end up watching the whole thing, mostly because up until the end of the movie, I think we were all still expecting that it would eventually work out to be the farce on cheerleading that we rented. After all, I might not have been the cinema hound I am today, but I knew about parody and the low-budget looks of the box were on par with a poster for a Leslie Nielsen movie.
The longer I waited for the movie to be more relatable for my cousin the cheerleader, the more it struck me that this movie was a kind I had never seen before. I had seen Rocky Horror Picture Show a million times with my mom, but that was blatant, flagrant queerness. This movie was speaking some new language, and even though I was missing a few words, it was a language made for me. The entire duration of the film evoked that weird feeling that was a bit like watching a sex scene with your parents, and we passed through the real moments that made us feel awkward by acknowledging the other movies we had seen these actors in.
“Holy shit, it’s Rufio! What’s that guy been up to?!”
“Is that Stokely from The Faculty?!”
“Oh, it’s the chick who dances with the vibrator in Slums of Beverly Hills!”
“Yeah, she’s the friend in American Pie too!”
I concealed my interest during the actual sex scene, but if there had been any doubt in my mind before I watched that very thoughtfully directed moment between two women, I knew I was gay then and there. I also wondered if my mom paid very close attention to our Blockbuster rental history.
I remember the first time I secretly studied it alone in my room. Not a euphemism. I wanted to understand the color coding but was so nauseated by all the blue and pink. I was equally repulsed at the pukey browns in the parents’ house, but I mainly took issue with the queer characters being stuck in these institutionalized style uniforms of what I felt were baby shower colors. It wasn’t until many years later that I got to talk to other queer people and unpack Dir. Babbit’s commentary on gender roles being artificially grown in a heteronormative laboratory.
Conversion therapy was back in the news a few months ago, for good reasons. If you haven’t heard, 370 religious officials signed a declaration to ban conversion therapy. In my mind, it’s unconscionable that anyone would still support such a crazy idea. I’m friends with deeply religious people, but I can’t imagine that they’d look at me and think there was any “going back” or some different life for me. Then again, I don’t know what they say when I’m not queerly taking up space in a room.
On the 20th anniversary of this excellent piece of film, I celebrate But I’m a Cheerleader, not only as my root and an instant classic in queer camp, but as something that made me begin to analyze everything I watched and listen out for the languages of the oppressed. After all, those are the tools I have now to truly own the space in the room.
Thanks for coming to my super gay Ted Talk.