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Gay Cirque performer in peak shape after conquering addictions
Joe Putignano says his passion for gymnastics never went away. Even in the throes of heroin addiction, he replayed his old routines in his mind. (Photo courtesy Cirque du Soleil)
Cirque du Soleil’s ‘Totem’
Aug. 15-Sept. 30
Plateau at National Harbor
201 Harbor View Ave.
Tickets: $40-$153
cirquedusoleil.com
Cirque du Soleil gymnast Joe Putignano prepares for his character in the big top show “Totem” by donning a dazzling costume containing eight pounds of Swarovski crystals. When he enters the arena, he descends from the ceiling illuminated in light.
“Totem,” which opens at the National Harbor on Wednesday, is a story about evolution, combining the scientific theories and myth that humans have developed about it. Putignano’s character, the Crystal Man, is the spark of hope and light that begins the journey. He says the character embodies Charles Darwin’s quote, “Light will be thrown on the origin of man.”
As he performs, audience members can sense the intensity and passion in the movement of his body. Company manager Jeff Lund describes him as a “human disco ball.” Putignano says, “It is difficult, performing in a heavy costume is like running a small machine and it does take a lot of practice.”
However, the audience will not realize that less than 10 years ago, the spark in Putignano’s life almost went out. At age 17, he began using various drugs, including ecstasy, cocaine and later heroin, and would not be clean again until he was around 29. When he was 19, he quit gymnastics thinking he would never return to the floor.
“I felt I betrayed myself,” he says. “I never wanted to do a handstand or a split again. It was like a divorce.”
Lund, who has worked with Putignano for almost two years and is in charge of almost all aspects of “Totem,” says Putignano’s performances these days defy his background.
“He is a world-class athlete,” he says. “His story is a very inspiring one.”
Joe Putignano (photo courtesy Joe Putignano)
Putignano began gymnastics when he was around 8 years old, after watching the Olympic gymnasts compete on television. He says as he watched them, he knew he wanted to be doing this for the rest of his life.
He was immediately very good and began competing around the U.S. and went to the Olympic Training Center in Colorado Springs twice when he was 11 and 13.
“As a child you bend to the laws of passion,” Putignano says. “You can’t imagine as many people as passionate as you. Later you see that it is a sport and there are rules, and now everybody sees your imperfections.”
As a Boston native, he says competing in New England is different from competing with top gymnasts from around the country. For a young Putignano, the mounting pressure to reach perfection and to compete began to wear on him. Especially, as he describes, an injury can completely derail a gymnast from his path very quickly.
“We know that our art form is fleeting, we can’t take it for granted because it can leave you in a moment,” he says.
He says growing up with gymnastics made it feel like his church. Though he did not come out until he was 19, being gay and a gymnast was never an issue for Putignano. He says, “The floor has no sexuality.” But the increased competition felt like a violation of his sacred space.
Putignano began taking ecstasy and cocaine during the “’90s rave era” and eventually quit gymnastics when he was a sophomore in college.
“To be a gymnast, one has to conquer perfect precision and control over the physical capacities of the body,” he says. “To be an addict, one must surrender this control over to the underworld, and I couldn’t keep them both together.”
After walking away from competing, Putignano plunged into what would turn out to be a very dark 10 years. He moved to New York in 1999 and began using heroin. He says his experiences with the drug were full of “bitter irony.”
“The more I shot up to escape the memories of my once beautiful pure sport, the quicker I nodded out into a dreamscape of performing my old gymnastics routines,” he says. “I was shooting up to escape the memory of my failed destiny, only to be flooded into an unconscious heroin state where I performed my gymnastics skills over and over. If there was ever a layer of Dante’s inferno, this was it.”
In New York City, he worked various jobs like waiting tables and modeling. He tried to stop several times with no success.
“Eventually, I was getting older and hadn’t gotten any better and over the years I saw the tiny spark of light inside me dimming down to nothing,” he says. “That one thing which made me myself was going to burn out forever. The fear of losing this light kept me constantly chasing sobriety.”
As time went on, Putignano ended up homeless and overdosed twice where he was declared dead both times.
“At the time of my overdoses, I was so far from reality that I was actually strengthened by my experience because I believed I had beat death,” he says.
This cycle continued until he was 26, when he was in rehab for the fifth time. One day, he went up into his room and began doing headstands. Though it would be another three years before he was completely clean and intense training was required to get back in shape, his interest was rekindled. But sobriety did not come easily.
“When I started to audition for shows, I was still not completely clean,” Putignano says. “I would be three months clean and relapse.”
Putignano’s second chance in gymnastics came when he got clean and began performing at the Metropolitan Opera House and Broadway Bares. A pivotal turning point came for him when he was eventually hired by Twyla Tharp to perform in her Broadway show “The Times They Are A Changin,’” based on Bob Dylan’s music. This was important to Putignano, as he was rejected from the show twice before being hired.
“It was such an important point in my sobriety. Tharp is an icon in the dance world,” he says.
While performing on Broadway and the Opera house, he connected with Robert Lepage, one of the creators of Cirque du Soleil. Lepage knew Putignano’s background and asked him if he would like to be part of show. Putignano says it is not a coincidence that his character should represent hope and light in the world.
“For myself, my character represents my sobriety, my hope, my faith and the relentless power of the human spirit,” he says.
Now six days a week, he brings that light to others through the 4,000 pieces of reflective glass. And just like Putignano, Lund says the costume is far more durable than it seems.
“At the end of the night, it gets thrown in the wash with everything else,” he says. “Sometimes pieces will fall off, but we have people who will reattach them when it happens.”
With a tight performing schedule and around six years of sobriety under his belt, Putignano says remaining sober is still a challenge.
“I would love to say that touring has been easy for me in sobriety, but the truth is, it isn’t,” he says. “Some humans are like trees and they need to stay close to their roots. My sober network is in New York City and it has been difficult without them.”
Despite the challenge, he has remained clean so far and he is able to use his experiences to be an emotional support for other performers. He says since he has been in dark places himself, he can be empathetic to others’ emotional struggles.
Lund describes the “Totem” performers and crew as one big family. Nationality and sexuality do not matter there, he says.
“For me as a manager, I try to avoid making lines between artists and technicians and so on, “ he says. “I know in other companies it may be like that, but I like my entire crew to be connected with each other. This is made easy since we are on the road together for so much out of the year.”
What keeps Putignano going is the thought that many who have been in his position have not received a second chance.
“I have to continue to carry the torch for the dead, for those who didn’t get a second chance and I have to do everything in my power to bring hope to the hopeless,” he says. “I was once the hopeless.”
Another Cirque show to open in Baltimore
“Dralion,” Cirque du Soleil’s acrobatic show that fuses influences from the East and the West, is opening in Baltimore on Aug. 22 and runs through Aug. 26.
The name of the show represents the different parts of the world combined— it’s the combination of the dragon, representing the East, and the lion, representing the west. It mainly draws on the 3,000-year-old tradition of Chinese acrobatics combined with the more modern Cirque du Soleil twist, according to the website.
In the show, the four elements of nature come to life. At first they are separated and have their distinct colors. Air is blue, water is green, fire is red and earth is ochre. When they are combined balance is achieved.
“Dralion” is one of Cirque du Soleil’s arena shows, and is performing at the 1st Mariner Arena (201 West Baltimore St.) Tickets range from $40 to $165. For more information, visit cirquedusoleil.com.
Arts & Entertainment
In an act of artistic defiance, Baltimore Center Stage stays focused on DEI
‘Maybe it’s a triple-down’
By LESLIE GRAY STREETER | I’m always tickled when people complain about artists “going political.” The inherent nature of art, of creation and free expression, is political. This becomes obvious when entire governments try to threaten it out of existence, like in 2025, when the brand-new presidential administration demanded organizations halt so-called diversity, equity and inclusion (DEI) programming or risk federal funding.
Baltimore Center Stage’s response? A resounding and hearty “Nah.” A year later, they’re still doubling down on diversity.
“Maybe it’s a triple-down,” said Ken-Matt Martin, the theater’s producing director, chuckling.
The rest of this article can be found on the Baltimore Banner’s website.
‘La Lucci’
By Susan Lucci with Laura Morton
c.2026, Blackstone Publishing
$29.99/196 pages
They’re among the world’s greatest love stories.
You know them well: Marc Antony and Cleopatra. Abelard and Heloise. Phoebe and Langley. Cliff and Nina. Jesse and Angie, Opal and Palmer, Palmer and Daisy, Tad and Dixie. Now read “La Lucci” by Susan Lucci, with Laura Morton, and you might also think of Susan and Helmut.
When she was a very small girl, Susan Lucci loved to perform. Also when she was young, she learned that words have power. She vowed to use them for good for the rest of her life.
Her parents, she says, were supportive and her family, loving. Because of her Italian heritage, she was “ethnic looking” but Lucci’s mother was careful to point out dark-haired beauties on TV and elsewhere, giving Lucci a foundation of confidence.
That’s just one of the things for which Lucci says she’s grateful. In fact, she says, “Prayers of gratitude are how I begin and end each day.”
She is particularly grateful for becoming a mother to her two adult children, and to the doctors who saved her son’s life when he was a newborn.
Lucci writes about gratitude for her long career. She was a keystone character on TV’s “All My Children,” and she learned a lot from older actors on the show, and from Agnes Nixon, the creator of it. She says she still keeps in touch with many of her former costars.
She is thankful for her mother’s caretakers, who stepped in when dementia struck. Grateful for more doctors, who did heart-saving work when Lucci had a clogged artery. Grateful for friends, opportunities, life, grandchildren, and a career that continues.
And she’s grateful for the love she shared with her husband, Helmut Huber, who died nearly four years ago. Grateful for the chance to grieve, to heal, and to continue.
And yet, she says of her husband: “He was never timid, but I know he was afraid at the end, and that kills me down to my soul.”
“It’s been 15 years since Erica Kane and I parted ways,” says author Susan Lucci (with Laura Morton), and she says that people still approach her to confirm or deny rumors of the show’s resurrection. There’s still no answer to that here (sorry, fans), but what you’ll find inside “La Lucci” is still exceptionally generous.
If this book were just filled with stories, you’d like it just fine. If it was only about Lucci’s faith and her gratitude – words that happen to appear very frequently here – you’d still like reading it. But Lucci tells her stories of family, children and “All My Children,” while also offering help to couples who’ve endured miscarriage, women who’ve had heart problems, and widow(ers) who are spinning and need the kindness of someone who’s lived loss, too.
These are the other things you’ll find in “La Lucci,” in a voice you’ll hear in your head, if you spent your lunch hours glued to the TV back in the day. It’s a comfortable, fun read for fans. It’s a story you’ll love.
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Theater
Minimal version of ‘Streetcar Named Desire’ heading to Dupont Underground
Director Nick Westrate on this traveling take on Williams’s masterwork
‘A Streetcar Named Desire’
Produced by The Streetcar Project
April 20-May 4
Dupont Underground
19 Dupont Circle, N.W.
Tickets start at $85.
Dupontunderground.org
An aggressively minimal version of Tennessee Williams’s “A Streetcar Named Desire” is poised to run at Dupont Underground (April 20-May 4), the nonprofit cultural space located in a repurposed, abandoned 1949 streetcar station beneath Dupont Circle.
The Streetcar Project’s production performs in site-specific spaces. It’s almost entirely without design elements. There is no steamy, cramped Vieux Carré apartment. You won’t see Blanche’s battered trunk exploding with cheap finery, faded love letters, and demands for back property taxes, or the familiar costumes.
Co-created by Lucy Owen (who stars as Blanche DuBois) and out director Nick Westrate in 2023, this traveling spare take on Williams’s masterwork about a fragile woman on the margins in conflict with her brutish brother-in-law seems a reaction to necessity. It’s also an exploration of whether, like Shakespeare’s “Henry V,” it can subsist on language alone.
With little distractions (even Blanche’s cultivated southern belle accent has been daringly stripped away), the spotlight shines almost solely on text. “This play holds that,” says Westrate, 42. “I remind the actors that the while there is plenty of movement, language is really the only game in town.”
New York-based Westrate, who’s best known as an esteemed actor with New York and regional credits including Prior Walter in János Szász’s production of “Angels in America” at Arena Stage, describes “Streetcar” as “the most perfect play on earth” but not one he thinks of acting in (“I’m not right for Stanley Kowalski or Mitch”) though he agreed to direct.
“These days if you’re not a not a movie star or an established director, you’re not likely to do “Streetcar.” So, for us, we have to be able to do it with almost nothing, on the New York subway if necessary. And that’s kind of how we built it.”
Westrate first experienced Dupont Underground while attending a staged reading. He was so obsessed with the space as a prospective place to take the production, he found it hard to concentrate. He says, “With its long, curved track and tunnel, Dupont Underground is a terrifying, beautiful room that carries so much metaphorical weight, so much possibility for our production.”
WASHINGTON BLADE: Is finding the right space for this “Streetcar” part of the thrill?
NICK WESTRATE: Whenever I enter a weird room or pass by an abandoned CVS, I try to figure out how we might do the show there, especially places that are dilapidated, architecturally odd, or possibly haunted. And each space we use, lends something to the production. The Rachel Comey store in Soho was a very Blanche coded space. And an artist’s workshop on Venice Beach in California with its huge saws and metal hooks lent raw imagery. The scenes between Blanche and Stanley near the end were absolutely terrifying.
BLADE: More recently that same bare bones production has played in more traditional spaces like the Wheeler Opera House in Aspen and San Francisco’s A.C.T. Is it hard to now go to Dupont Underground?
WESTRATE: Each time we do this we have to crack open the play again because the staging is entirely new, but we’re used to performing in unusual spaces and Dupont Underground rather takes us back to form. As a former streetcar station, it’s the most appropriate space we’ve had yet.
The cast will literally act on streetcar tracks and go without dressing rooms but they’re game, and because they have history and authorship over the work, the sacrifice is more meaningful than if they were just some hired guns.
BLADE: Audiences have an expectation, especially with a work they’re likely to know. How do they react seeing such an unadorned take on Williams’s American classic?
WESTRATE: For the first 10 or 15 minutes, they’re unsure. Then, you can pretty much see the audience members’ brains click in and their imaginations turn on. It’s like they’re scratching an itch that they didn’t even know they had.
BLADE: Did you and Lucy foresee gaining this kind of momentum behind your vision?
WESTRATE: Absolutely not. Lucy had a philosophy that we’ll just walk through open doors. Early on, we were given spaces and artists filled the seats, and increasingly we’ve begun to rent some spaces and attract more regular theatergoers.
We basically sell tickets in order to pay a living wage to artists involved. There isn’t some big institution or commercial producer who’s getting a lot of money from this. Audiences of all types seem to respond to this mode of making theater.
BLADE: In presenting “Streetcar” intermittently, usually with the same cast over three years in wildly varying venues, have you learned more about a piece that you already loved?
WESTRATE: Mostly I’ve come to realize that Blanche is the smartest character I’ve ever read in a play. She’s like Hamlet – tormented by dreams and terrified of death. She’s skilled at wordplay and always ahead of everyone else in the room. Also like Hamlet, people think she’s insane and she uses that to her advantage.
Blanche is certainly the Everest of roles for actresses and watching Lucy sort of break it apart in a different way than you’ve ever seen, and knowing that I’ve helped to facilitate this performance has been one of the great joys of my career.
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