There were many remarkable sights at last week's Democratic National Convention, but an African American drag queen seeking the party's presidential nomination was not one of them. The 1992 DNC at New York's Madison Square Garden, however, was different.
Joan Jett Blakk's brief, spirited turn on the convention floor was the fruition of a well-planned cloak-and-dagger operation. Once Blakk, accompanied by a cameraman, had gained access to the site, she used a bathroom to change into a stars-and-stripes bodice, red, white and blue make-up and plenty of chunky jewellery. When the announcer declared "The name of the next President of the United States of America is…", Joan Jett Blakk started a chant of her own name. (Bill Clinton managed to see off the challenge.) Two hours later, she was on stage at the club Disco 2000. "Boy, you should have seen Tipper Gore's face," Blakk told the audience. "I'll show her family values."
The record of Blakk's excursion was part of Drag Show Video Vérité, a compilation of archive drag performance material that screened earlier this summer at Lincoln Center, an arts complex more usually associated with ballet and legitimate theatre than gender-busting finery. The programme was curated by Joe E Jeffreys, a young writer and researcher who teaches at New York University's Tisch School of the Arts. "I'm a drag historian," he said in his introduction. "Please do not be alarmed."
Having collated amateur film and video dating back more than half a century, Jeffreys now has his own DV camera "to capture drag in its native New York habitat."
Jeffreys' own videos covered contemporary acts such as Rose Wood, who flaunts rubber tits and a real dick, pulls an ostensibly used condom out of her ass and fits much of Jack Daniels bottle up it; Glenn Marla, a large female-to-male transsexual performer who acknowledges "I find formal wear challenging"; and up-and-coming LaJohn Joseph, late of London's Royal Vauxhall Tavern and currently resident in New York.
But Jeffreys also edited the earliest footage on show, which dated from 1956 and featured Dorian (aka Rick Colantino), a platinum-blonde bombshell modelled after Anita Ekberg. Dorian was seen in various test shoots and such zesty amateur productions as "Dominita" and "She-Man", which begins with a psychiatrist warning the audience that "the people you are about to see may shock you, may frighten you."
Ranging across New York's unique drag heritage, the rest of the line-up offered much to stimulate and provoke, if not shock or frighten. There was 8mm footage from 1965 of the 82 Club's Adrian performing a version of Salomé's dance of the seven veils. Full of sensuous movement, saturated pastel tones and a surprisingly convincing severed head of John the Baptist, it could be said to anticipate Pink Narcissus. Adrian's allure was strangely enhanced by slightly protruding upper teeth.
Other clips underlined the longevity of many performers, even those associated with a particular period. The Warhol Factory was represented by recent footage of Holly Woodlawn crooning "hello" in leopardskin, and there were excerpts from this year's tribute to genderfuck pioneers The Cockettes as well as the premiere of a new video by their partial descendant Taylor Mac. A decade-spanning medley of half a dozen different performances of the standard Call Me Drag Queen included turns from the British troupe Bloolips and San Francisco's seminal Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence.
The programme was preceded by a slideshow of drag portraits from the past three decades, accompanied by drag concert pianist Jacqueline Jonée, herself accompanied by a stuffed dog in a tiara. It was followed by a small drinks party attended by representatives of scenes old and new. LaJohn Joseph reported that the friend's apartment where he was staying was covered in pizza boxes and components of ongoing costume experiments. "She was coming back and I was in the kitchen naked, making fake blood…"
Adrian – who these days goes by Henry – was present too, small and somewhat wrinkly with cropped white hair, piercing eyes and a pleasant manner. He wore a loud Hawaiian shirt and large turquoise rings. The teeth were the same. The 8mm can containing his Salome footage had lain unopened in the back of a wardrobe for years, he explained in excitable, Spanish-accented tones. John the Baptist's head, which came from a friend who worked in props, had a similar fate. "I still keep it in a closet in a silver bowl," Henry said. "I take it out every now and then. 'Hello, John!'"
