Arts & Entertainment
Laughing with Lily
Tomlin on getting married, Ernestine and Edith, Lucy, Carol and more

Lily Tomlin’s live show updates her classic characters with modern situations. (Photo by Greg Gorman)
Lily Tomlin
Music Center at Strathmore
5301 Tuckerman Lane
Mar. 28 at 8 p.m.
Comedic legend Lily Tomlin plays the Strathmore Friday night. Last week she spent a delightful hour with us by phone from her Los Angeles home in — as is typical for the actress — a leisurely, rambling-in the-best-way conversation that few stars of her caliber make time for. Her comments have been slightly edited for length.
WASHINGTON BLADE: How has comedy changed since you began? This show revives some classic characters and bits, but do you find some elements might have been a scream in the ‘60s but fall flat today?
LILY TOMLIN: I imagine you wouldn’t find a whole lot that would still be relevant. I couldn’t say that in a totally general way but overall, I would say the humor then would have been relative to something that was going on then. We didn’t deal so much with universal truths in the sense of the human condition. We did a lot of snappy stuff that was going on at the time. When we were doing “Laugh-In,” Ronald Reagan was the governor and later he was the president so a lot of stuff we said was just Reagan and you’d be watching “Laugh-In” on some cable show or something and they wouldn’t say governor or president, they just said Ronald Reagan or Reagan, so much of what we said still applied when he was president. But in general, the values and taboos of society have changed a lot in 40 years.
BLADE: Is it hard, then, to take your classic characters and make them work now on stage in a way that doesn’t feel frozen in time?
TOMLIN: Well, it’s just what you choose to put in their mouths. The last job Ernestine had was working for Health Care Insurance Corporation denying health care to everyone and prior to that she had a reality webcast chat show all during the Bush administration so she could call the president and presumably she had a webcam so she could see what he was doing. She could call Cheney or anybody and talk about something that was going on at the time.
BLADE: You don’t think Ernestine would still be funny at the switchboard?
TOMLIN: No because we hardly even have switchboards anymore and people barely know what an operator is. But that overbearing bureaucratic dominance still serves in other places. She left the phone company because they were no longer, you know, powerful or omnipotent. She would have had to compete for business.
BLADE: What would Ernestine think of the revelations last year that Big Brother is listening in on everything?
TOMLIN: I’ve been trying to come up with a really great NSA sketch. The secret of it would be (slipping into Ernestine’s voice): “A gracious hello — this is the NSA, the only government agency that actually listens (snorts).”
BLADE: I’ve seen you use her in unscripted formats, too. I remember Ernestine being interviewed once by Joan Rivers. I have no idea if she gave you the questions ahead of time or not, but that would seem quite nerve-wracking to me — the pressure to be funny outside of the sketch format. Was it?
TOMLIN: Well, I know her attitude. It’s not like Ernestine doesn’t live somewhere in my body, she does. Certain characters are especially good for that if they’re really opinionated and fairly short sighted or self interested and don’t care about other people’s feelings. Then they probably improvise fairly well.
BLADE: There was an op-ed shortly after you got married in which a lesbian wrote “we came of age in a time when her one-woman shows changed how we understood ourselves as lesbians and feminists.” To what degree in the ‘70s were you aware or were you aware that your work was not just being enjoyed by lesbians but sort of exalted and claimed in a sense?
TOMLIN: Maybe claimed a little. My mother and dad are from Kentucky and even though I was born in Detroit, because I’m well known and presumably semi-liked in Kentucky, I don’t know for sure, but Kentucky sort of claims me in a way. Very often I read that I was “Kentucky’s own” or “born in Kentucky.” In fact, I put my hands in cement there in some Kentucky hall of fame or something. I told them, “But I’m not really from Kentucky,” and they said, “No one will care. They’ll be glad and they’ll hope you are from Kentucky.” So I’m sure lesbians and other feminists, if I was good and doing good stuff and strong and intelligent, I’d think they’d want to claim me in a sense that, well, you know, “She’s one of us” or whatever people might say in that kind of reference. I’m sure even Mrs. Duggar, if she had one kid that became president of the United States, she might single him out. In any other case, she might not. “These are my kids. Oh, this is Robert, my son, the president.” I don’t know how that stuff goes but even if it did, I’m grateful for it in a sense because, you know, I want to communicate with people. Very often I really want to validate people, validate humanity to some extent. We’re so invalidated in so many other ways and disregarded. Dismissed or thought of as just some lump mass of humanity that’s disposable and exploitable. Rotten to the core.
BLADE: How does comedy validate?
TOMLIN: Just showing what you love and human situations and human attitudes and you show the bad parts, but you show them in a way that we all possess them. We’re all really in the same spaceship together. Politicians, to me, are a separate entity because they’re in a place where they’re actually affecting our lives in profound ways and attempting to do so and not always with the absolute soul of integrity.
BLADE: I found (partner) Jane’s (Wagner) blog a few years ago quite funny when she wrote the blow-by-blow of trying to find the right hot dogs and sunscreen on the Fourth of July. If that was any indication of the interplay between the two of you on something as trivial as finding hot dogs, how on earth did you discuss and settle on when, how or if to get married? (Tomlin and Wagner were married on New Year’s Eve after 42 years together.)
TOMLIN: We didn’t talk about it for a long time because we lived together so long where that wasn’t even a glimmer of a hope or a possibility. … She and I would have liked to have been married and last fall, maybe October or November or something, I said, “You know, maybe we should.” We were both of the same mind … so we just decided to get married. I don’t know if you’ve been on our Facebook, but we made a little thing about it and showed where we went to the license bureau and we just wanted a nice, simple, sweet, quiet little ceremony so we went to Van Nuys, we went out of the way because we didn’t want to be usurped, our control of the situation, you know, “Oh, Jane and Lily were at the license bureau.” But there was so much there, that we made this little vignette of it and it shows us in front of the building. It’s just this old, one-story kind of flat motor vehicle kind-of place. There’s nothing grand or majestic about it, like some old courthouse from another era or anything. And then you stand in line with a bunch of other people and there were young people in tuxedos and bridal dresses. Then you go in another room and this woman who looks like Ruth Bader she has on a black cloak, and she takes them in there and marries them right on the spot. Families were there and they’re so dear. These couples getting married, and you think, “Oh God, help us, all these young kids getting married and you don’t even —,” you know, I worry about them like a mother. Do they have a place to live, any kind of a decent job, are they gonna have kids, and they don’t have any idea what it takes to raise those kids, the money it costs. So we get up to the window and we get our license and then we go outside and there was a hot dog stand with a little cart and a multi-colored umbrella, so we used that as our backdrop. It’s just like four little photos. Now you’re gonna go and expect like a feature film or something, but it was just our little way to acknowledge it. We didn’t post it till after we got married, which we did on New Year’s Eve.
BLADE: Does it feel any different? Was there any psychological shift or anything you weren’t expecting?
TOMLIN: I haven’t perceived it. Maybe there is, kind of. The nice part about it is that it’s out in the public. Not that that many people would have known we were together anyway, but when it’s reported that you’re married, it’s so kind of official. The best part is that Jane is from Tennessee and my parents are from Kentucky so we have southern families and my family more than hers were more fundamentalist …
BLADE: You were raised Southern Baptist, right?
TOMLIN: Well, my dad wasn’t really. He was a drinker and a gambler and I went to the bookie joints with him and every Sunday when I was a kid, because of all the fire and brimstone that goes on in the fundamentalist church, I would sit up in the kitchen with my dad. We had an old Formica table and I was maybe 5 or 6 or 7 and I was worried about my father not going to heaven. My dad would be having a beer and some sardines and crackers like on a Sunday morning and my mother is getting ready for church and I’d be up there in the middle of the table trying to get daddy to go to church with us. Argh. Anyway, my mother and dad are both totally individual and funny … so I would go to the bookie joints with my dad on Saturdays and to church with my mom on Sundays. Let’s see, where was I going with this — the best part of the marriage thing, aside from us being together, was that we heard from a lot of relatives, not my mother’s generation really, ‘cause they’re mostly gone, they would have been a little taken aback, but the next generation, we got lots of cards and messages from relatives that you never would have gotten even 10 years ago, congratulating us. Very loving, very sweet. So I thought that was the most miraculous part of it.
BLADE: You were on the “Merv Griffin Show” several times early in your career. Did you have any awareness at the time that he was gay?
TOMLIN: No, I don’t think so. Well, by the time I was in my 20s, I suppose I did. There were these rumors that young men were always kind of in his sphere somewhere so yes, I heard all that kind of gossip, especially being gay, other gay people fostered that kind of gossip. They were glad to hear about something like that. So yes, it was probably fairly well considered and I’m sure I was privy to that conversation at some point.
BLADE: I know the story about the Time magazine offer (in 1975, they offered her the cover if she’d come out) but then years later, like maybe in the late ‘80s or ‘90s you were doing stuff like “Celluloid Closet,” “The Band Played On” and “Will & Grace.” Was there a point where you decided to start saying yes to those kinds of projects that you might not have done, say, a decade before?
TOMLIN: I never would have said no to them but I might not have called a press conference to declare my sexuality. At that time, first of all, it gets to be a little bit grandstandy for someone like me. … I called Vito Russo and told him about the Time offer and said, “I just don’t know if I can handle it, I’m a little bit insulted, I’m a little bit everything,” because it was more like they just needed a gay person. It was like with the actor Cliff Gorman who was in “Boys in the Band,” he was straight but he was very worried about his career so whenever he gave an interview, he’s always make sure you knew he wasn’t gay. So we just flipped it around, you know, and when I did end up giving an interview to Time, we made sure they understood I wasn’t straight and we put a little bit about that on the album we were working on at the time, “Modern Scream.” And of course nothing was ever said about it, written about it, anything. The album wasn’t a big hit. It wasn’t like I was some big recording artist who sold a lot, but my early albums had been fairly successful because of “Laugh-In,” Ernestine and Edith. … I didn’t want to decline it, but I didn’t want to accept it, so I decided, “I’m not going down without throwing a punch.”
BLADE: Now at times, some up-and-comers use it in reverse — being out as part of their marketing campaign. For people who are genuinely talented, do you think that’s harmful?
TOMLIN: It depends on what kind of work they’ve done or they’re doing. Look at Neil Patrick Harris. He’s hugely popular and sought after, but of course, we knew him as a kid. But he’s a very good singer, actor, dancer and he’s got a lot of charm. Things have turned around so profoundly but the thing that terrifies you is if some right wing evangelist kind of person gets in, or we lose the Senate or we get a Republican president, you don’t know how far they will go to repeal something. There’s such a sense of celebration now and it’s kind of taken for granted but if some crazy person gets in there and there’s that limitation and philosophy where they spiritualize everything, they just nail down on these issues and they want to repeal any kind of progressive advance. It’s pretty scary when you see what’s going on in other parts of the world.

Lily Tomlin won the Mark Twain Prize for American Humor at the Kennedy Center in 2003. She’s in the region this weekend for a show at the Strathmore. (Photo by B. Patterson)
BLADE: Yeah, like what we saw in Russia during the Olympics.
TOMLIN: Right. We did a little thing — actually I wish we could have been in D.C. when we did it, but I say I was thrown in jail but thank God, I knew Ernestine and she got us out. So we make fun of it. We made a graphic where we show Putin bare-chested on a horse and Ernestine is riding bareback behind him.
BLADE: So your show isn’t just Lily’s greatest hits then.
TOMLIN: No.
BLADE: Do you enjoy working on the material?
TOMLIN: I do. We have some pieces that we still do that work well because I love them so much and I think they’re terribly funny. So it’s kind of a mix. We’re trying to do something worthwhile but that is also fun and hopefully thoughtful, hopefully even moving in some way at some point. How old are you?
BLADE: 39, but you know gay men often know pop culture before their time way more than straight men.
TOMLIN: Oh my God, yes. Paul, this photographer and musician who works with me, he kills me because there’s nothing that happens on a daily basis at our house, office or anything, that he can’t relate it to a Lucy episode.
BLADE: That’s a great quality to have.
TOMLIN: Oh, it’s so dear. I just scream laughing.
BLADE: What’s your favorite?
TOMLIN: Well, when I was a kid, “slowly I turn,” because it looked like the kind of performance piece I could do. The ballet class, too.
BLADE: You guested on “The Carol Burnett Show” right?
TOMLIN: Oh yeah.
BLADE: Lots of people are on sitcoms but you and Carol and a few others are known for certain characters. Did you feel comedic camaraderie with her?
TOMLIN: Well, I’d known her a long time. One very hot moment for me, one very happy moment, I was at CBS maybe I was doing my first special or maybe I was just guesting on some show like Glen Campbell or something. When I got “Laugh-In,” Glen Campbell was the first show I guested on and Carol, of course, shot at CBS. I was in the ladies’ room and she came in and threw her arms around me and called my name. That just made me very happy that she knew who I was and was so demonstrative with me. She’s an extremely dear person anyway.
BLADE: Did you know Lucille Ball?
TOMLIN: I read an article with her once and they were asking her about new young comedians, mostly girls, and when they got to me, she said, “I don’t get her.” My heart broke but later I met her and she told a very funny story, and acted it out for about 20 minutes, about how she had had to get a root canal the day of the Tonys. … To hear her tell it in person was just sublime.
BLADE: She seemed like she could be a bit of a tough customer. Crusty, maybe.
TOMLIN: Everybody says that, yeah.
BLADE: Maybe she felt more liberated as she got older. More candid. Do you ever feel that way?
TOMLIN: Not really. I have a hard time realizing I’m as old as I am. I don’t feel that old. I still feel innocent in some ways.
Movies
Intense doc offers transcendent treatment of queer fetish pioneer
‘A Body to Live In’ a fascinating trip into a transgressive culture
Once upon a time in the 1940s, a teenager named Roland Loomis, who lived with his devout Lutheran parents in Aberdeen, S.D., received a hand-me-down camera from his uncle. It was a gift that would change his life.
Small and effeminate, he didn’t exactly fit with the “in” crowd of his small rural town; but he had an inner life more thrilling than anything they had to offer, anyway, and that camera became the key with which it could finally be unlocked. Waiting patiently for those precious hours when he was alone in the house, he used it to capture images of himself that expressed an identity he had only begun to explore, through furtive experiments in body manipulation that incorporated exotic costuming, erotic nudity, gender ambiguity, and what many of us might call (though he would not) self-mutilation, including the piercing of his skin and other extreme forms of physical modification.
Young Roland would go on to become famous (or perhaps, notorious) in the decades to come, but it would be under a different name: Fakir Musafar, the focal figure of filmmaker Angelo Madsen’s documentary “A Body to Live In,” which opened in Los Angeles on Feb. 27 and expands to New York this weekend.
Like Musafar himself, who died of lung cancer at 87 in 2018, it’s a documentary that doesn’t quite follow the expected rules. Eschewing “talking head” commentators and traditional narration, Madsen spins his movie from his subject’s extensive archives and allows the information to come through the voices of those who were close to him: collaborator and life partner Cléo Dubois, performance artists Ron Athey and Annie Sprinkle, and underground publisher V. Vale are among the many who contribute their memories and impressions of him, while evocative photos and film footage create a hazy “slide show” effect to provide a guided tour of his life, his art, and his legacy. Less a biography than a chronicle of profoundly unorthodox self-discovery, it details his development from those early days of clandestine self-photography through a continual evolution that would see him become a performance artist, a central figure in the burgeoning BDSM culture, a seeker who espoused eroticism as a spiritual practice, the founder of a “Radical Faeries” offshoot for the kink/fetish community, and ultimately an elder and mentor for a new generation for whom his once-taboo ideas and explorations had essentially become mainstream – thanks in no small part to his own pioneering efforts.
It’s a fascinating, hypnotic trip into a culture which might feel disturbingly transgressive to those who have never been a part of it – yet will almost certainly feel like being “seen” to those who have. It opens a window into a lifestyle where leather, kink, BDSM, gender play, and non-monogamous “situationships” are not just accepted but viewed as natural variations on the spectrum of human sexuality; and in the middle of it all is Musafar, on a deeply personal quest to connect with the deepest part of his essence through the intense and ritualistic pursuit of an inner drive that keeps pushing him further. As one reminiscing cohort remarks during the film, it’s as if he is “trying to find an answer to a question that” he “cannot form.”
Indeed, it might be said that Madsen’s movie is an exercise in forming that question; bringing his own “transness” into the mix as he examines the various aspects of Musafar’s ever-evolving relationship with self, identity, and presentation, he evokes a timely resonance in which the imperative to make physical form match psychic self-perception becomes an irresistible force, and draws a direct line between his subject’s fluid ambiguity and the plight faced by modern trans people over the bigotry of those who think gender is strictly about genitalia. Perhaps the question has to do with whether we are defined by our identities or by our physical form – or if both are malleable, adaptable, and in a constant state of flux.
In any case, with regard to Musafar, “A Body to Live In” is unquestionably a film about transformation, not just of physical manifestation but of consciousness itself. In his journey from being little Roland, the outcast schoolboy with a secret fetish, to Fakir, the spiritual psychonaut for whom sex and gender are only walls that separate us from a true and eternal essence, he is embodied by Madsen’s reverent documentary as a being in the process of breaking free from the restrictions of physical existence, of transcending all such distinctions by letting go of life itself – something underscored not only by the section of the movie dealing with the impact of the AIDS epidemic on Musafar’s deeply-bonded community, but by his own words, spoken in a deathbed interview that serves as a connecting thread throughout the film. We are kept unavoidably aware of the mortality which – for Musafar at least – seems little more than a prison that keeps us from the unfettered joy of our true nature.
But while Madsen honors his subject as a pillar – and an under-sung hero – of contemporary queer culture, he also addresses the aspects that made him a “problematic” figure; in his life, he drew criticism over perceived cultural appropriation from the indigenous American tribes whose sacred rituals inspired the kink-flavored practices which facilitated his own spiritual odyssey, and which he popularized among his own acolytes to give rise to the still-controversial “Modern Primitive” movement that has been criticized by some for turning meaningful cultural traditions into an excuse for trendy fashion accessories. Even Musafar’s survivors, whose love for him exudes palpably from the stories and memories they share of him throughout the film, make observations that point to his flaws; yet at the same time, Madsen’s documentary makes clear that Musafar himself never saw himself as perfect, either – just as someone willing to endure the kind of suffering that most of us might find unbearable in order to get closer to perfection.
Of course, it probably helped that he enjoyed that so-called “suffering,” but that’s perhaps too glib an observation in the face of a film that so clearly makes a case for the deep and sincere commitment he held for his quest for transcendence; but it’s also a helpful reminder that his practices – which might seem macabre and twisted to the uninitiated – were also an experience of joy, an exercise in rising above pain and making it a vehicle toward enlightenment, and in achieving a deeper understanding of one’s own place in this confusing place we call the universe.
Full disclosure: “A Body to Live In” is an intense experience, replete with candid sexual conversation, frequent nudity, and graphic scenes of extreme fetish practices – like suspension by metal hooks through the skin – which might be hard to handle for those who are unprepared to be confronted by them. Even so, as dark and menacing as it might be for the squeamish outsider, the world revealed in Madsen’s eloquent portrait is full of treasures and steeped in dark beauty, and it’s hard to imagine a more fitting way than that to portray a queer pioneer like the former Roland Loomis.
Nightlife
In D.C. comedy, be sure to shop local
A thriving patchwork of queer-friendly stages in Washington, Baltimore
Most people know stand-up comedy from Netflix specials or late-night sets on Comedy Central. The reality is far different for local working comics like me. A few times a month, I might get paid $50 for a 10-minute set and my photo on a bar flyer to show off to the ladies in my scrapbooking club.
Still, it’s a joy sharing laughs about my well-worn Washington career arc — from conservative reporter to openly trans organic grocery store worker and nightclub comedian. Or, as I like to say onstage, from Fox to foxy.
Stand-up is hard. Offstage, it’s even harder. It took more than a year and nearly 80 open mics to land my first paid set. Since then, I’ve performed in coffee shops, bars, restaurants and even on a city sidewalk. I once performed in the Catskills, which felt like a big deal — even if it was a bigger deal in the 1950s.
As an older trans comic in Washington, I’ve found it nearly impossible to get stage time — or even the courtesy of a returned email — at the big, corporate-owned comedy clubs. Fortunately, there’s a thriving patchwork of queer-friendly producers in Washington and Baltimore creating shows that reflect the diversity of our communities, instead of straight male-dominated lineups that look like the cast of “Ice Road Truckers.”
“There are so many kinds of funny people, but a lot of barriers exist for women and queer people because it’s a very masculine culture,” said Dana Fleitman, who runs the Just Kidding Comedy Collective and is helping produce the Woke Mob Comedy Festival in April, featuring many women and queer comics.
Full disclosure: I’m not performing in the festival. But I am proud to be one of more than 50 women and nonbinary comics Fleitman and her colleagues have helped “train up” through an incubator program she first ran through Grassroots Comedy and now through Just Kidding Comedy Collective.
Another trans comic, Charlie Girard, who splits time between New York and Washington, runs an incubator program called Queers Can’t Take a Joke. He has trained more than 100 comics in Washington.
Girard has one rule: no punching down.
“The best comics speak truth to power,” Girard said. “Making fun of marginalized communities is simple lazy writing based on tired, old stereotypes.”
Ultimately, Girard wants to prepare students not just for queer rooms, but to find their voice and expand into all kinds of spaces.
Comics trained by Girard and Fleitman have gone on to produce or help run shows like Clocked Comedy, Backbone Comedy, the Crackin’ Up open mic and Funny Side Up. Several have found a home on Barracks Row at As You Are — one of my favorite places to perform. In Washington, comic Jenny Cavallero’s show Seltzer is a sober comedy night frequently featuring local queer comics.
In Washington, performer and producer Arzoo Malhotra, who runs Zoo Animal Productions, said it’s a critical moment to support community-based comedy producers, often the first hit by worsening economic conditions.
“We’re losing spaces faster than we’re creating them,” Malhotra said. “We are in the use-it-or-lose-it stage. If there’s a restaurant you like or a performer you want to keep seeing, patronize them now — because they’re going away.”
I’m also grateful for producers in Baltimore, which has a thriving queer comedy scene. Comic Hannah Alden Jeffrey’s monthly “The Really Cool Open Mic,” created for women and trans performers but open to all, regularly draws up to 100 people.
Hannah’s mic and Kenny Rooster’s “Dramedy” open stage have provided safety and opportunity when other stages felt out of reach. Comedians Michael Furr and Jake Leizear also produce shows regularly featuring queer comics.
“We started the REALLY COOL Open Mic because every other mic in town catered toward straight dudes that dominated the Baltimore scene,” Alden Jeffrey said. “Contrary to the lineups of many shows today, people don’t want to see a show of eight guys being bigots. Go figure.”
One of the most important moments for me came when I attended a free showcase at a well-known Adams Morgan club. Like other big venues, it hadn’t responded to emails from a new comic looking for a shot. I sat in the back row thinking maybe these comics were just way funnier than I am.
Then a straight male comedian — with hair even more gorgeous than mine — launched into a long joke comparing eating pizza to performing oral sex on a woman.
At that moment, I walked out feeling better about myself. I remember thinking: nope. I absolutely deserve to be on that stage, too.
Lots of us do.
Jamie Mack is a stand up comedian, speaker and writer. Follow them on Instagram at @jamiemack_blt or email [email protected].
Celebrity News
Liza Minnelli makes surprise appearance at GLAAD Media Awards
Laverne Cox’s fiery speech earned standing ovation
Last night’s GLAAD Media Awards had a few pleasant surprises in store.
Throughout the evening, which was hosted by “Mean Girls” star Jonathan Bennett on Thursday at the Beverly Hilton in Los Angeles, the audience was clued into the fact that a mystery guest would make an appearance. By the end of the night, it was revealed to be none other than “Cabaret” star and queer icon Liza Minnelli, who was in attendance to accept the newly-created Liza Minnelli Storyteller Award.
An emotional Minnelli told the crowd of queer attendees and creatives, “You make me so proud because you’re so strong, and you stand up for what you believe in. You really do, and it’s so nice to be here. I feel like a five-year-old!” Everyone then joined in a happy birthday celebration for Minnelli’s upcoming birthday on March 12, and the release of her upcoming memoir, “Kids, Wait Till You Hear This!”
Another moment that got the audience standing and cheering was when “Orange Is the New Black” star Laverne Cox took to the stage to call out how “what is going on right now in the United States of America is not right.”
She said, “Identify, I said this earlier, and I’m going to say it again, what dehumanizing language and images are. Call it out and don’t buy into it! So much of my struggle over the past several years [has been] trying to figure out how to combat this assault on my community, rhetorically. I do not want to have the conversation about my life and my humanity on the oppressor’s terms.”
That message was echoed by Bowen Yang and Matt Rogers when accepting the Stephen F. Kolzak Award for their “Las Culturistas” podcast and pledging to donate $10,000 to Equality Kansas after the state revoked transgender people’s driver’s licenses. “We cannot accept this award without condemning the rampant active transphobia from this administration,” Rogers said. “We are also here to let them know in advance that they are fighting a losing battle. When we gather in rooms like this, we are always going to have each other’s backs.”
Among the big winners last night were “Heated Rivalry” for outstanding new TV series, “The Traitors” for outstanding reality competition program, “Stranger Things” for outstanding drama series, “Palm Royale” (which was just cancelled after two seasons) for outstanding comedy series, “Come See Me in the Good Light” for outstanding documentary, “Kiss of the Spider Woman” for outstanding wide theatrical release film and a tie between “A Nice Indian Boy” and “Plainclothes” for outstanding limited theatrical release film.
Quinta Brunson received the Vanguard Award for her hit TV series “Abbott Elementary,” which features Jacob, an openly queer character played by Chris Perfetti. Brunson said, “Queer people have been a part of my life since birth. I have to shout out my uncle … who was the first example of representation in my life of queer people, who allowed me to be free. There are so many people in the room who changed my life.”
On the music side, Young Miko won for outstanding music artist, and KATSEYE won for outstanding breakthrough music artist. Demi Lovato even opened the show with a steamy performance of her single “Kiss.”
The GLAAD Media Awards will officially air Saturday, March 21 on Hulu.
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