Bob Satuloff
in The New York Native
October 26, 1992
Winner of the Best Experimental Comedy Award at the 1991
Houston International Film and Video Festival and the Audience
Favorite Award at the 1991 San Francisco Lesbian and Gay
Film and Video Festival, Reno Dakota's American Fabulous,
at the Public Theater through November 3, makes a highly
persuasive case for documenting those extraordinarily entertaining
and anthropologically important gay men and lesbians who
are natural-born storytellers; for preserving their stories,
as well as their vocal and performance styles, for the benefit
of a wider audience than that to which their individual
life paths wouldbe likely to expose them. I'm not tlaking
about professional entertainers or performance artists,
but the gifted men and women whose lives are otherwise-ostensibly,
at least,-ordinary, those whose autobiographies rarely manage
to get written, but whose colorful, hilarious stories are
likely to be enjoyed at bars or at parties, then passed
along as a kind of gay oral history; these are the people
who, were we living tribally in the wilderness, would surely
be the ones best equipped to hold the rest of us rapt in
front of the campfire.
American Fabulous is a video portrait of Jeffrey Strouth,
a gay man from southern Ohio, as seen and heard from his
perch on the back seat of a 1957 Cadillac, as it tools around
the environs of Columbus. The part of the state in which
Strouth was born and raised isn't the midwestern Ohio of
Sherwood Anderson, but the region more likely to be identified
with its neighbor just across the Ohio River, West Virginia.
Raised in trailer parks with his brothers and sisters by
a drunken, often utterly crazed father and a put-upon mother
who has no trepidations whatsoever- when her husband becomes
too much to take- about experimenting with the occasional
murder attempt, Stouth's often bizarre life takes him from
working the graveyard shift with Valkyrie-like, big-haired
waitresses at a truckstop diner; to hustling, at age fourteen,
the beaches of Fort Luderdale, Florida; to a brief, penniless
existence in a Salvation Army residence in a one-horse Colorado
town after being physically attacked, robbed,and left naked
by the side of the road on the Utah flats in the middle
of the night by a psychopathic trick; to a period in which
he lived as part of a network of upscale junkies in the
East Village.
While the above may sound more tragic or distasteful than
it does wildly hilarious, and Strouth, who died of AIDS-related
complications in June of 1992, may not have been the sort
of person to whom one would have wanted to get all that
close, there's no disputing the man's ability to tell excruciatingly
funny, often hair-raising stories, and create verbal character
portraits that make their subjects come brilliantly alive.
Had he ever had the desire to become a monologist, it seems
clear that he would have been right at home on the stage
of P.S. 122.
Among the figures we get to hear about from Strouth's checkered
past are his mother, Betty Maxine, who, in one story, merrily
grows a batch of botulism to mix with her abusive husband's
dinner; "Miss Earl," Strouth's first gay boyhood
friend, dedicated to the roller derby and to getting himself
"the operation"; a 400-pound cook and weekend
drag queen whose pride and joy is his vast collection of
color-coordinated, polyester leisure suits, and a leather-clad
butch lesbian who turns her lover's long-awaited trailer
Tupperware party into a flapping fiasco that is the stuff
of legend.
I once believed, along with much of my filmgoing generation,
that movies were either cinematic (good) or static (bad).
These academic, artificial distinctions quickly disintegrated,
however, upon seeing Louis Malle's My Dinner With Andre
and Jonathan Demme's film of Spalding Gray's performance
piece, Swimming to Cambodia. As amazing as it may seem,
one person, as seen through the camera of a straightforward
director who is more interested in doing justice to his
subject than showing off his arsenal of cinematic tricks,
can engage and audience thoroughly. It's an intimate kind
of filmmmaking that will never be confused with what, say,
James Cameron or Tim Burton do for a living, like chamber,
as opposed to symphonic music. On its own, modest terms,
American Fabulous, a celebration and record of a unique
gay man, is entirely successful.
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