I need to take a moment and pay some serious respects to the fabulous Cockettes. They have become one of my latest obsessions, alas, 20 years too late. I watched the documentary right after Christmas and my delight, as a result, may have been the best gift I could have given myself.
If there is one thing to love about American culture, it is the peculiar and delightful knack for nurturing some of the most endearingly theatrical sub-cultures. San Francisco in the late sixties and early seventies provided the perfect medium for many of them. The Cockettes were definitely the most lovably notorious.
To love the Cockettes is to love San Francisco, (as well as New York City for sending so many of its creative adventurers out west). This gorgeous city provided the ideal backdrop for the troupe's fantastical lifestyle that was, basically, life as theatre. The Cockettes sashayed out of the city's thriving commune scene...it was a lifestyle based on sex, drugs, fabulous second hand clothing, and gender bending with a dash of Marxist ideology.
Weissman and Weber's documentary plunges the viewer deep into the communal culture of San Francisco. These were not merely drab, tofu- and- tamari, individual little bastions of commie peaceniks. They were all part of a thriving network of communally minded folk who did their best to take care of each other. One commune might distribute vegetables, another might be known for the members' mechanical expertise, and bartering was the currency. They had names like Hunga Dunga and Kaliflower...in fact, Kaliflower, thanks to it's attic "drag room", hosted the nascent stirrings of the troupe that would eventually call themselves the Cockettes. Of course, Cockette House (one of several buildings which served as home to members of the troupe) was the hub of creativity, expression, and hedonism of every flavor.
From within the beautiful infrastructure of San Francisco the echo of its gold rush past can be discerned. The maritime city was (and is) a delectable melting pot of cultures, not the least of which was (and is) Chinese. The gorgeous Victorian flats that undulate with the hills throughout the city loom solidly in the documentary footage, making the antics of the Cockettes, as they cavort in their communes, seem almost anachronistic. The mood and style of the Cockette shows had a vaudevillean, saloon-like quality. These echoes and influences of the past also made themselves known through the the performances of the Cockettes, who slinked around on stage as bearded, technicolor geishas in their version of Madame Butterfly, or as hairy brothel madames in their own masterpiece, Pearls Over Shanghai. Members of the troupe had fantastical names like Hibiscus, Scrumbly, and Goldie Glitters. The scene was wondrously surreal, deep fat fried in glitter, and as purely joyous as the most ecstatic, lysergic, dream.
So, what the hell happened to the dream? By the way, liberal drug use and extremely casual sex are not essential components of the dream, although they may be for some. It did not completely fade along with the Cockettes, of whom it could be said,"This world was never meant for ones as beautiful as you". The dream echoes, throughout certain avenues of popular culture (think Alice Cooper and Motley Crue to Devendra Banhart and Bat For Lashes). It was the dream of pushing boundaries for no other reason than to have fun. It was the dream of exploring one's inner life and expressing that through fabulous regalia. It was an absurdist elixer delivered as a momentary remedy to the drab horror of what was the supposed American Dream. Nothing like a little "sexual anarchy" to liven up the culture. The Cockettes were drag queens of a sort, but they were not all men, nor were they all gay. There were many women who were Cockettes and, having no need to explore their feminine aspects, became fanciful creatures who transcended gender, becoming transsexual versions of themselves. So it wasn't all about sex, shock, and celebration of one's feminine side. If it were possible to distill the Cockette philosophy, you might be left with the concept of living with passion in the right here, right now.
And that is the grand lesson that Americans can use right here, right now. America produced these harbingers of the higher-self and perhaps it is time she paid more attention to her more eccentric offspring other than to point, giggle, then look back thirty years later with cheap sentiment.
So many Americans are in the ideal position these days (see Time Is Honey) to re-examine the status quo. Is it working for individual Americans and their loved ones? Isn't it time to abandon the idea that "this is just how things are done"? Should America seek out another absurdist elixir to heal the drab horror she experiences today? Does the culture need to "raid the drag room" and reinvent to its highest self?
Certain tenets of conventional wisdom will always have their place and yet others must evolve with time. Dare I summon the use that tired nugget of corporate jargon; thinking outside the box? Great advice for pretty much any quibble, but I wish someone would take that fucking box to the curb to be recycled.
Let us now hail and entreat the fabulous Cockettes. You are the Angels of Light, purest of muses, lusty slaves to art and art alone. Thou art the horny hobgoblins of uncut Marxist thought practiced with the visceral passions of the bourgeoisie. Deliver us from boredom, despair, the abyss. With a wink from one glitter encrusted eye, remind us of our humanity and souls. Help us break out of the suburbs of our superegos and venture to the west coast of our desires, hills rolling like ocean waves, still abuzz with gold rush and always eager to embrace the new. The new is what America has to look forward to. May she recognize this time!
-Anything I ever learned about the Cockettes came from the Weissman and Weber documentary The Cockettes and Midnight At The Palace; My Life As A Fabulous Cockette by Pam Tent. I highly suggest indulging in both.
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