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GLAAD Media Cover-Up: LaBelle Breaks Wind
March 26, 2007
By now,
four days after the event, we’ve perused no
less than thirty articles about the 18th
Annual GLAAD Media Awards held on Monday
night at the Marriott Marquis here in Gotham—and
NOT ONE article has been honest about what
really went on that night. Instead, we’ve
read stories about how Patti LaBelle and
Jennifer Hudson were the toast of the
night—when the truth of the matter is closer
to a smackdown.
Of course the night had already started on a
note of controversy given GLAAD’s
uncompromising position not to include gay
media such as Here and Logo in their
nominations and awards. In spite of
widespread criticism for such a stance,
GLAAD was unrelenting—this year. Perhaps
it’s a matter of how the bylaws of the
organization are written—after all, the
acronym stands for Gay and Lesbian Alliance
Against Defamation—and it’s probable that
gay media are not going to be defaming our
community, and therefore, why bother
rewarding them? Right? Well, not quite, not
for everybody, and bless Kate Clinton who,
in accepting her Pioneer Award, chose to
make mention of the matter and express hope
that GLAAD will, in the future, alter its
exclusion of gay media for commendation.
So there we were, in the rather unremarkable
ballroom of the Marriott Marquis—Mormon
design at its finest, we could’ve been in
Salt Lake, or Detroit—video screens
a-plenty, given the capacity crowd, and some
tables so far from the stage so as to get
only a glimpse of the service entrance. “Oh,
look, there goes—a waiter…”
Obviously, the thrill of possibly doing Tom
Ford in the men’s room had sold out the
house. Mr. Ford was there to receive the
Vito Russo Award—and oh, that Vito were
still around to savor the delectability of
Mr. Glamourpuss receiving an award named for
Mr. Russo, the man who deciphered the
subliminal gay messages within the film
industry.
Fortunately, our table was next to the stage
entrance—where we witnessed every presenter
and award winner waltzing by—Whoopi,
Julianne, Rosie, Tom, Cynthia Nixon, John
Waters—but more interesting than the fact of
their presence was counting the members of
their entourage—and ultimately determining
that those celebrities with the most
confidence and dignity needed no more
entourage than their partner. Bravo to Tom
Ford and Kate Clinton—for showing us all how
to do it when it’s our turn: recognize the
one you love and walk arm-in-arm with him or
her. Ms. Hudson, on the other hand…. We
counted no less than twelve people
surrounding and following and leading Ms.
Hudson to the stage…. But then again, once
we heard her at the podium, well, perhaps
it’s understandable…. More on that later…
First, a shout-out to our most excellent
dinner partner, Jesse Garcia, star and
heartache of the year’s most endearing film
Quinceanera, who proved himself a sparkling
conversationalist even as he prepared a
speech to present the award for Outstanding
Spanish-Language Variety Program. Needless
to say again—as anyone who saw the film
knows, but let’s say it again anyway—the boy
has it in spades. As do the writer/
directors for that film, Wash Westmoreland
and Richard Glatzer, also seated at our
table, and who also gave us that delightful
film The Fluffer (and are at least partially
responsible for that term’s entrance into
the vernacular). Congrats to all three of
them for winning Outstanding Film in Limited
Release—and especially to them for doing so
with such grace and dignity.
Which bring us to the final part of the
evening—the not-so-graceful. Patti LaBelle
was to receive the Excellence in Media
Award—presumably for her unflagging support
of the gays and her work in the fight
against AIDS (she serves as spokesperson for
the National Minority AIDS Council)—and
earlier in the week, GLAAD had announced
that Jennifer Hudson had come on-board to
present the award to Ms. LaBelle (and hello?
Has anyone else noted the amazing symmetry
in such a selection? Think about it: in
1967, Cindy Birdsong left Patti LaBelle and
the Bluebells—to replace Flo Ballard who’d
been dumped from the Supremes—and here we
have the Oscar-winning actress who played
Effie White, the Flo Ballard-esque character
who was dumped from the Dreams in the film
Dreamgirls, a fictionalization of the
Supremes story, giving an award to the
songstress who’d been dumped. What goes
around, and around—or something like that,
anyway.)
So, there we were, and there went JHud and
her entourage of sixty-two, and then came
JHud to the stage—but apparently, she
couldn’t read the teleprompter—“Effie can’t
read, y’all”—and no one had thought to give
her a script of the speech she was to
read—and so she stumbled over words and
shielded her eyes—and was generally
endearing in a Billie Dawn/Jessica Rabbit
kind of ditsy way.
But then came Ms. LaBelle, barging onto the
stage before JHud had finished what had now
become an extemporaneous speech, whereupon
LaBelle proceeded to tell JHud that it was
no problem that she couldn’t see the
teleprompter, because neither could she read
“that shit”—and in fact, she said, people
like the two of them didn’t know how to
read, because, “You know why? We don’t need
to.”
And while some of the audience took a
collective gasp, LaBelle thundered on,
commencing a performance which had her
trading rings with JHud as she attempted to
imitate the Madonna/Britney MTV kiss, before
then proceeding to tell JHud that she didn’t
know her before tonight and she thought she
was a bitch.
Furthermore, she could see now that JHud was
no Beyonce. “When I saw this heifer coming
out, she killed everybody. They said Beyonce
who?" In fact, LaBelle said, “I see me in
you,” because, everyone always said Patti
LaBelle was ugly when she was coming up. “We
the same, girl.” And that was why, according
to LaBelle, that JHud was the recipient of
tonight’s award.
What? Wasn’t LaBelle the one getting the
award?
Onward, LaBelle plowed, digging deeper and
deeper—and now the audience was riveted.
This was a true-to-life meltdown, far better
than Lauren Bacall’s collapse at the podium
at the Oscars, and better than the footage
of Paula Abdul on some morning show, and
better even than Elaine Stritch telling a
capacity crowd of MacDowell Colony
supporters that she loved George W. Bush.
“They’ve always loved me,” LaBelle said,
referring to her LGBT supporters, “though I
don’t know why.”
She didn’t know why we loved her, and even
when people around her would tell her she
shouldn’t love us, she said we still loved
her, and for forty-five years we’ve been
loving her and, then turning back to JHud
again, she says, “I thought you were a
bitch. You’re no Beyonce.”
Where was our tape recorder? We glanced at
Jesse, and at Richard and Wash—who were
equally spellbound.
Whereafter, LaBelle went on—and on, about
how some people didn’t like us gays, and how
Jesus teaches her what’s right and “I
thought you were a bitch,” she said, once
again to JHud.
Who, incidentally, was standing alongside
LaBelle, still holding onto LaBelle’s
award—but perhaps imagining how that crystal
award might shatter if dashed at LaBelle’s
feet.
And then, as a few at the front tables began
to shout, “Sing, sing” (well-known insider
code for “Shut up, shut up”), LaBelle
suddenly opened her mouth wider and started
singing, “Nobody knows the trouble I’ve
seen,” motioning to JHud to follow—and to
her credit, Ms. Hudson did follow, and werk
it out—louder and longer than LaBelle—who
strolled over to stage left to the other
mike to finish the verse.
Whereupon the stage lights went down and the
sound went off—even as LaBelle continued
talking her talk and motioning to JHud.
Meanwhile, in the ballroom, an announcer
came on the intercom to direct us to the
after-party (where we would find a somewhat
stunned deer-in-the-headlights Junior
Vasquez), and slowly we filed out of the
ballroom, past the teleprompter which still
read, “Patti LaBelle: THANK YOU, EVERYBODY.
THANK YOU FOR THIS HONOR.” Words left
unspoken—when too many others had been.
With luck, and subterfuge, all of the above
will soon find its way to a YouTube screen
near you. You won’t want to miss it.
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