The recently bereaved Andy Sipowicz comforted a distressed John with a hug in the last of the series of NYPD Blue, and I bawled my eyes out. If you don t know the series, then I m sorry, I can t help you. Might as well stop reading now.
John, the receptionist in this top-notch cop series, from the makers of Hill Street Blues, is one of the most exquisitely truthful characterisations of a camp gay man on television to date. Played wonderfully by Bill Brochtrup, his neurotic self-dramatisation is not unknown to me; his narcissistic obsession about how he might upset others, merely by existing, rings a bell too. He is the epitome of highly-strung. The triumph of his character lies in the fact that, finally, political correctness about representing gay men in mainstream television drama has been overtaken by emotional truth. It s not to say that all gay men are like him, of course. But his tissue-thin hypersensitivity is recognisably part of a gay sensibility to anyone with eyes, has only been the stuff of comedy or tragedy before.
The major step forward, of course, is that it wasn t John who was killed off in the shooting spree that resulted in Mrs Sipowicz s death. Traditional values would have him leaping in to take the bullet to prevent her from dying. As he s lying in his, possibly tainted, queer martyr s blood, Sipowicz is urged by his injured wife to comfort him; magnanimously, the hyper-masculine tough guy rises to the challenge, tiptoes through the gore, and pats John on the head. John, pathetically grateful that his life might mean something at last, naturally pushes it just that bit too far, and tries to hold the burly detective s hand; but then, just at that moment, he croaks. Sipowicz is spared the humiliation of overcoming his thing about queers, but is eternally grateful to the freak that spares the mother of his child.
But that s not what happened. The fate of the modern homosexual seems to be changing, in the minds of those who create our mainstream fiction. Instead, John does get shot, but only superficially, in his valiant attempt to prevent a murder; he manages to alert others, while dramatically propping up a wall, bleeding. But it s too late; the gunman is too determined. That s America for you. Another day, another massacre.
Shock! Horror! The token gay character didn t die gothicly, in his prime, his pathetic waste of masculinity demonstrably intolerable, yet again. Admittedly, he did get a bit melodramatic in the last episode what queen wouldn t, after all that trauma? but he was put in his place by that sensible Kirkendahl woman, and told not to assume that everything revolved around him. You can tell she s a working mum. But then Sipowicz turns up, tells him he s a hero, that he s not angry with him for his wife s death. Collapse of John into tears, and Sipowicz gives him a great big bearhug. Boo hoo hoo. It s a gay thing, believe me. Probably unresolved father stuff. Don t mind me.
John Inman, Kenneth Williams and Larry Grayson were the camp figures of my childhood television. They sent up their delicate temperaments and neuroses, for comedic effect. In film, Melvyn Murray as the tragic Jeffrey in A Taste Of Honey would send any effeminate man hurtling off a cliff in despair. To those who argue that I m making the mistake of confusing effeminacy for homosexuality, I can only say that I m not buying the ideology any more that says gay men are exactly the same as heterosexual men, except for whom they share their bed with. This ideology underestimates the importance of the emotional impact of bedsharing. It s not true to say that men and women are the same, when it comes to sex and relationships. I don t know why I ever thought so in the first place.
Why does it matter about how sensitive, camp, gay men are portrayed on television? Because, like it or not, our culture is influenced by the way it is mirrored in its media. The fact that, for a while, gay characters on television had to be guy- or girl-next-door types so as not to offend gay activists was understandable, but in the end unsustainable. Stereotypes, like clichis, are there because there is a grain of truth in them; but for the truth to emerge, we must engage our brains and see who s behind the caricature. It is through serious, intelligent dramas such as NYPD Blue that the complex variety of human sexualities and personalities can be portrayed, and the archetypally doomed queer can evolve into someone far more subtle and interesting. He s going to live, after all. n