Running Up That Mountain....

With all the commentary floating around on the web, publications, and podcasts about the Oscars and their outcome, what is one more....really?

Before I tout my opinions and comments, let me begin by saying that the selection of movies nominated this year were superb. It has been at least 5 years or more, in my opinion, that the movies being represented at the Oscars tackled such an array of topics and did so with such intelligence, intellect and style. Everything, from Memoirs of a Geisha to Brokeback Mountain, Transamerica to Munich and Crash to King Kong, had elements of a well made film. I couldn't have been more proud or pleased with the year in cinema at 7:59 p.m. on Oscar Night. By 11:37 p.m., however, I was humming a different tune.

"C'mon, baby, c'mon darling, Let me steal this moment from you now.
C'mon, angel, c'mon, c'mon, darling, Let's exchange the experience, oh..."

"And if I only could,
I'd make a deal with God,
And I'd get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
With no problems."

One of my favorite songs from the 80's, is Kate Bush's "Running Up That Hill." I loved it then. I love it now. I am not quite sure if I liked Kate's song when it was popular or if I liked it when my parents began to allow me to go to the skating rink. Henry's Skateland was my local rink, and Henry was always a few years behind the trends in music. In fact, I remember going back there just for shits and giggles in 1997 when I was 20 and they were still doing couple skate to "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now," by Starship. The first time I was allowed to go to the skating rink without an adult chaperone, was in the third grade. I was nine years old.

Henry's Skateland was where a lot of my "firsts" happened. I was first introduced to popular music (even if it was two years late). I was in my first fist fight. Henry's was where I first kissed a girl. I sent her a note on a napkin, which was passed through a mutual girlfriend, that asked if I could kiss her on the lips behind the bushes 10 minutes before our parents picked us up. She wrote back yes with a bubble-letter exclamation point ending with a heart. Henry's was also were I experienced my first break up.

Some of the music that still haunts me to this day, from that time in my life, includes "Wild Boys" by Duran Duran, "Owner of a Lonely Heart by YES, and "Running Up That Hill by the chilling Kate Bush. (come to think of it, I still have a thing for voices like Kate's. maybe this is where it all started?)

I used to love that song. I even recall taking the sheets from my bed and twirling around like Stevie Nicks. In fact, I think for little while, I probably thought it was Stevie Nicks. At nine years old, I did not know why I wanted to make a deal with God. But, that was my favorite part of the song. If I only could make a deal with God and swap places. Maybe it was the word "swap"? A word that a nine/ten year old can understand. I didn't know myself well enough. I just knew that I wanted to make a deal with God.

I grew up fairly religious. When I say fairly, I mean faux-religious. My family wasn't devout.

But, they knew the basics of Christianity and followed the structure of religion.

Lie=go to hell

Masturbate=go to hell

Sex before marriage=go to hell

Breaking a commandment=go to hell

Being a big homo=go to hell

You know the basics that I'm talking about.

So, my point is, I believed in God. Wholeheartedly. But, even at nine, ten, and eleven years old, I felt my life was an uphill battle. I felt that if God was a forgiving and kind soul, that even she would swap places with me. Even with all the running I could muster, it wouldn't get me over the hill unless I made a deal with God. I am not sure why I felt my life was so hard in fourth or fifth grade. It wasn't until fifth grade that my faggot first happened. At such a young age, I needed to blame somebody. So, I blamed my father. He was abusive, mean and distant. He was the source of my uphill battle. Or so I thought? It's frightening to think that my sexuality might have been the source of my painful connection to Kate Bush's song. I have always said that I never had a clue in the world until I was twelve or thirteen. And even then I did not exactly identify the clues as "gay." But, maybe I did have all the clues in the world. I was just oblivious to them.

Here I sit, at nearly 29 years old, still loving that same Kate Bush song, stilling hoping for that deal with God, and in no need of clues. I am fully aware of who I am. If there are any clues to pay attention to, they are clues of my happiness or un-.... Not of whether or not I am gay.

So, I think...What does it mean that Brokeback Mountain did not win the Best Picture Award? It means everything and nothing to me. It means nothing, because it is just an award. It means nothing because I don't need one singular movie to take one giant step for gaykind. It means nothing to me because it is only one year in the lifetime of cinema that lies before me. It means nothing because Crash is a terrific movie.

However, it means everything to me because if this movie had been released when I was eleven, or for any eleven year old now, then the eleven year old me would have sat in front of that television on Oscar Night completely star struck. The eleven year old me would have begged my parents to allow me to stay up later than ten o'clock just to see the famous people. The eleven year old me would have never seen one movie nominated and would not have cared. The eleven year old me would have thought Jon Stewart was smart, funny, and sexy. The eleven year old me would have thought that the montage of cowboy movies made to look gay was weird. The eleven year old me would have never known that Brokeback Mountain was about anything remotely gay. The eleven year old me would have never known that there was a performance out there by an actor that told it like it is. A character that shows how painful it is to give in to your truth, your desire. The eleven year old me would have gone to sleep never knowing that a movie like Brokeback Mountain existed. The eleven year old me would have went to bed thinking, yet again, that gay is funny. Just like Uncle Arthur from Bewitched and Meshach Taylor from Designing Women. The eleven year old me would think that gay can only be made fun of, not taken seriously. That even though the word gay was never mentioned, there is something about these people they poke fun of, that is just like me. The eleven year old me would never know that gay is not about high heels or make up. That gay is not about fashion or musical theatre. The eleven year old me would never know that Brokeback Mountain was about the painful struggle to cope with what was going on inside you. That Brokeback Mountain was about giving into that battle. That Brokeback Mountain was about being a man. Men torn between what they think and what they feel.

The eleven year old me would be scared to death to be himself for another ten years.

At the same time, the eleven year old me would see heterosexuality in every movie. The montage of love stories wouldn't include one of two men. The eleven year old me would never see heterosexuality or race made into a ridiculous montage of "fun." The eleven year old me would see it celebrated. The eleven year old me would eventually know to put his penis in a vagina when the time came. The eleven year old me would know to fondle her breasts when the time came to go down on her. The eleven year old me would know that a woman doesn't come the same way a man does. The eleven year old me would know what my life was supposed to have in store for me.

The eleven year old me would never know what Heath Ledger portrayed as Enis when he disgustingly and reluctantly gave into that kiss. The eleven year old me would not be prepared to experience a similar kiss 9 years later with some boy I barely remember in the elevator of my college dorm. The eleven year old me would never know it would become a struggle. The eleven year old me would touch a man the way he saw men touch women. The eleven year old me would never know that gay is more than flamboyance and tragic deaths. The eleven year old me would never know that other people like me would get married and have children but painfully repress who they really are, or at least who they really desire.

The eleven year old me or any other eleven year old, would never know this or anything else remotely familiar, because...Did the Oscars do their part in the year 2006 to educate, motivate, elevate, or eradicate? No. No. NO! Considering the beautiful material that was delivered to them, the Academy and the media were oblivious to how human they could have made me* look. Brokeback was not about a cross dresser. Brokeback was not about gay rights. Brokeback was not about femininity. Brokeback was not about coming out. Brokeback was not about AIDS. Then why in the hell do we leave the Oscars not knowing the slightest thing about what Brokeback Mountain is about. Oh, that's right!

We know it's the "GAY COWBOY MOVIE!!!" (insert echo)

They had their chance to speak to the eleven year old boy in IOWA. They had their chance to treat a gay man, or even a straight actor playing a struggling man, with dignity and respect. They had their chance to focus on the subject matter of Brokeback Mountain with intelligence and modernism. They had their opportunity to introduce their nominees with courage and pride. Possibly describing Heath Ledger's performance as groundbreaking, raw, and the genuine capture of a human experience. Acknowledging that this role was not only the role of a gay man. But the role of a MAN. A MAN. A MAN so torn between society's definition of right and wrong.

Did they? No. No. NO!

Instead they made quick jokes. Crazy puns. They made montages of old westerns that meant something to our ancestors and made a mockery of it. Our ancestors that couldn't give a rat's shit about a movie like Brokeback Mountain. Our ancestors who treat those western films as some of the best movies ever made. Therefore, not only discrediting the meaning and importance of those movies to our elders, but discrediting the Oscar nominated movie Brokeback as well. A montage that is solid proof of many's choice to remain blind to the realities around them. A montage that sends us years back. A montage that is an excuse for a middle american man of 50 something to say..."I can't go see that movie. I can't stand to watch two men kiss or whatever it is they end up doin'."

I don't blame him. If I were 29 years old in 1976, and the media world treated topics of sexuality the same thirty years later, I wouldn't grow much in my thinking either.

Imagine if you will, I am eleven years old when this year's Oscars is airing. All that I know of "gay" is flamboyance, drag, limp wrists, and the tragedy of AIDS. I go upstairs to my bedroom, having no concept of the movie Brokeback Mountain and very little concept of myself. I go to my shelf of cassette tapes. I pull down Kate Bush's Hounds of Love. I think, briefly, about the clips they chose to show of Brokeback Mountain. The clip where Enis says, "...if this thing takes hold of us in the wrong place, at the wrong time..." The clip where Alma says, "...Jack Twist? Jack Nasty!"

I hum along with Kate.

"And if I only could,

I'd make a deal with God,

And I'd get him to swap our places,

Be running up that road,

Be running up that hill,

With no problems."

And, with no clear, conscious understanding of the uphill (upmountain) battle I would face for years to come.

*me -- a gay male.

also see this past post