Sue Katz: Consenting Adult

Remembering dear Kay Bourne

The community has lost one of its most unique journalists, historians, and humanitarians – Kay Bourne. As the arts editor of Bay State Banner for many years, she met and interviewed every Black artist and dancer and writer and actor and playwright who passed through Boston – from the ascending to the legendary. She was admired by the entire arts community for her generosity and the depth of her commitment to artists of color. As Abe Rybeck (photo below), the founder of The Theatre Offensive and an international giant of queer theatre, said, “Kay was a great example of someone who used their privilege responsibly and creatively.” Abe also called her a “true mensch,” which is exactly what I felt when I first became friends with Kay.

Kay carved out this extraordinary space for herself and used her pen and remarkable personality to promote the many talented people who became her friends. She collaborated with some of them, notably shows about Black theatre that integrated essays by Kay with photos by her gifted bestie Craig Bailey.

Kay won copious awards and many honors – and she never failed to share the spotlight. At one major event she insisted that I set up a book display table with the talented Bonnie McIlvaine, another writer friend of hers, and she lauded both our work from the podium, encouraging people to get right over to our table to buy our books, as she accepted her honor.

Kay’s archives are a massive, precious history of the Black presence in the Boston arts scene and a testament to the depth and width of her respect for the talent of so many people, some of whom were being underpromoted and under-estimated.

I was often her driver, after she could no longer drive herself, and as a result I got to go to the most wonderful affairs. I hung out at her Brookline home a number of times, a temple to the many Black artists she supported.

And my house is full of the presents she sent me – books she thought I’d love and the most wonderful Jane Austen doll – my fave author. A Jane Austen doll!!

But I only learned of Kay’s death a couple of hours ago when her carer called me. “I used to read her mail to her,” the young woman told me, “and we would laugh over the cards you sent her.” I have the Valentine I got for Kay sitting right here on my desk, addressed, stamped, waiting for next week - too late - to be mailed. Goodbye, friend.

The Prom – film review

Many friends raved about The Prom as just the kind of light fluff with content that we all crave, but – forgive me – I found it annoying. All the glitter and jazz hands failed to camouflage the apologetic born-that-way vibe that straight people adore.

The story: Four failed actors (Meryl Streep, James Corden, Nicole Kidman, Andrew Rannells) decide to take up a cause in order to make themselves seem sympathetic. They pick Emma (a constantly smiling Jo Ellen Pellman) from Indiana, who isn’t allowed to take her girlfriend to the prom and who is abused by both the high school kids and the head of the PTA (Kerry Washington). Her school principal (Keegan-Michael Key) supports her; he is the film’s only consistently warm-hearted and charming character.

The critic Jennifer Heaton nailed it when she wrote: “This adaptation of the Broadway show is like a supermarket celebrating Pride with a rainbow cake or your straight work colleague throwing around drag slang they don't understand.” Moreover, it is obvious that the film was directed by one man and written by two, because they understand little to nothing about lesbians, who are minor plot devices anyway. For example, the (cliched) gay Corden character decides he will make baby-butch Emma into a dazzling woman for the prom – and puts her into a pastel tulle dress, high heels (which she has never worn), makeup and flowers in her hair, and then they all crow about how gorgeous she is. She looks exactly like all the straight girls. It is a brutal case of debutchification which every poor dyke has experienced to their distress.

Each song sounds exactly the same as the next; the dancing is choreographed by someone who missed hip-hop altogether; and it feels like a homogenization of every musical from 1964. At an extremely long 2h 11m it’s about 2h 11m too long. Complete with evil mothers instantly forgiven via a hug, it is banal and boring.

The Trailer

Uncle Frank: Film Review in 110 Words

A perfect Pandemic film, Uncle Frank propels us away from our present stress and drops us into 1973. Innocent Beth goes north to attend NYU where her Uncle Frank teaches. She discovers that he lives with his life-partner Wally. Via a road trip, they all end up back in the South for the funeral of Frank’s nasty-assed father (Beth’s grandfather) and the site of Frank’s devastatingly traumatic first teenage love. It is sometimes tough to watch, especially if you grew up with a vicious parent, and the joyful ending is excessive. The acting is superb, the film is often funny, and I highly recommend its bittersweet portrayal of loving support.

The trailer: