"I was so glad that I didn't have to sing 'Broadway F*cking Baby' that I ended up having a really nice time."—Elaine Stritch tells a friend about a holiday party she went to. So if you want a happy guest, don't ask her to sing!
If you're like most people, one of your New Year's Resolutions was something about losing weight. While I have often kvetched about those last pesky five, 10 or 20 pounds, it may be time for some action. Last week, I did quite a bit of travelling. For one flight, I arrived at the airport uncharacteristically early, so I was able to go standby on an earlier flight. After I boarded, the doors closed and the pilot started the engines. Suddenly the engines stopped, the doors reopened and several airline employees got on board. They spoke excitedly with the crew ... while looking at me! After several tense moments, a uniformed person approached me and said he'd have to escort me off the plane. Why? "Well, Mr. Masters, it's a weight issue." Huh? "We're over our weight limit, so you will have to deplane." It has finally happened—I am too fat to fly! Next time I travel, I'll probably have to pay for two seats, or at the very least be forced to wear one of those seat-belt extenders.
But all my sturm und drang was worth it to get back to Boston in time to see Pippin at the American Repertory Theater on the arm of the dashing attorney to the stars Mark Sendroff. The moment the set and concept were revealed, I said to Mark, "Now that's a compelling argument for a Broadway transfer." The show is set in a circus-type environment, since it's about a group of players telling the story of Prince Pippin. This also means that the cast includes some stunning (and I do mean stunning) half-naked acrobats who also, as luck would have it, are able to sing, dance and act—so they're a quadruple threat! The show is ably stolen by the sublime Andrea Martin, whose performance quite frankly defies description; in fact, it also defies gravity—a Tony-winning turn if ever there was one. The Pippin of Matthew James Thomas may lack some charm or even presence, but I can shallowly tell you it gets better once he takes his shirt off. The Leading Player of Patina Miller is fine, but she never approaches the charisma of Ben Vereen or the terrifying stakes set by Sam Harris in Los Angeles. Still, this is such a fantastic production and incredible cast that I'm not surprised it will transfer to Broadway in the spring.
There is some news regarding the oft-delayed Ryan Murphy film version of The Normal Heart. As I predicted months ago, a deal has been signed with HBO. The film, with a script adapted by playwright Larry Kramer, will star Mark Ruffalo as Ned Weeks, Julia Roberts as Dr. Emma Brookner and Matt Bomer as Felix Turner. Rumor has it that some of the previously attached actors will still be in it, including Alec Baldwin as Ned's brother and Jim Parsons as Tommy Boatwright (the role he played on Broadway). Filming will begin in NYC this summer.
What's ironic about this news is that about 10 years ago, Larry rejected an offer from HBO to make this film—a deal negotiated by Barbra Streisand (who no longer had the rights, but was still trying to get it made). Larry not only insisted on a theatrical run, but he also wanted to be paid $1 million for the script. BTW, Babs' cast also included Julia Roberts and Mark Ruffalo. (Bradley Cooper was supposed to play the part of his lover.) When Ryan came on board, Larry went out of his way to say that he would be able to do what Barbra was unable to accomplish—which is somewhat amusing because it's a virtually identical deal. Maybe Larry is just showing us he has a sense of humor. After all, he recently told a reporter, "I'm sorry [Barbra] never got around to making the movie. But she can still sing our theme song!" That Larry Kramer is a laugh riot.
As you all know, Lady Gaga is a strong supporter of our community and has really embraced her role as a gay icon. After hearing so many stories about the difficulties facing her young fans, she's come up with a unique way to help. The upcoming leg of her Born This Way Ball tour will include the BornBrave Bus before each show. Gaga calls this an "ultimate tailgating experience," complete with individual and group counseling sessions on suicide, depression, bullying and mental health. It will also feature food, games and live DJs. It sounds like having a therapy session at Disneyland! Still, it's a great idea. But I bet follow-up appointments will be a bitch to get to!
Ke$ha has reaffirmed that she's not just a straight ally—she's a member of our community. In the February issue of Seventeen (which you know I read religiously), she says, "I don't love just men. I love people. It's not about gender. It's just about the spirit that exudes from that other person you're with." This comes as no surprise to moi, who quite vividly remembers Ke$ha admitting to having sex with a ghost—and I don't mean Whoopi Goldberg!
I was amused by our "Ask Billy" question this week. Gary in Houston writes, "What is this I hear about a nude photo of Channing Tatum that has been circulating? Is it real? Have you seen it? Can you run it?"
It's a fake ... pure and simple. And I must say that I'm both shocked and disappointed that such an obvious fake has been perpetuated by people who should know better. The photo in question is a well-known shot of Tatum in his underwear at a modeling shoot. The body (from the waist up) was cut out and placed on top of a nude model leaning against a jeep. Ridiculous. What makes this "news" even more ridiculous is that the only real nude photo of Channing Tatum was revealed by me, Billy Masters, years ago. Of course, you can see it on BillyMasters.com .
When my real nude of Channing Tatum is better than any fake out there, it's definitely time to end yet another column. Hmm, maybe I've stumbled upon a new career: debunking celebrity nudes. Obviously, the only site you can really trust is www.BillyMasters.com . If there's anything else I can clear up for you, just send it along to Billy@BillyMasters.com and I promise to get back to you before I get mistaken for Chris Christie on my next flight! So, until next time, remember, one man's filth is another man's bible.
