Baggage: Tales From a Fully Packed Life by Alan Cumming

Author:Alan Cumming [Cumming, Alan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literary Collections, essays
ISBN: 9780062435781
Google: nqtDzgEACAAJ
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2021-10-26T00:33:13.778551+00:00

Soon I was whisked away to Radio City’s labyrinthian backstage and reunited with the Cabaret ensemble. I had little time to chat, though, as I had to be poured into my costume and have the pale body makeup applied along with the requisite bruises, track marks, and red glitter to my nipples.

Before long we were escorted down in a massive elevator to the stage level. The Lion King had just performed and as the elevator doors opened, we saw a large group of actors dressed as gazelles, zebras, and lions being herded off stage left. Publicists in ball gowns and headphones were ushering presenters and winners to the press room. The whole scene was Fellini-esque. We were walked to our marks, a stage manager casually told me to stand by, and then magically from somewhere I heard Rosie O’Donnell introduce us, followed by loud cheering and the opening notes of our song. I started to curl my index finger in a come-hither manner, a spotlight fell on it and glided up my body to my face. I hoped I was four bars in because I started singing, “Wilkommen. . . .”

Three minutes later it was all over. I watched it again recently and I was a little taken aback. I don’t think the Tonys had ever before seen an androgynous-looking man touching himself and both sexes of his equally scantily clad castmates. By that point both we in the show and Broadway in general were fairly used to the risqué and groundbreaking nature of the production. Now we were beaming it into living rooms across America and the scandal was reignited on a national level.

“Cabaret! The show that requires no Viagra,” quipped Rosie as we took our bows.

As soon as we came offstage, the ensemble members were whisked to a waiting bus to take them back to the theatre and I was rushed back upstairs to be de-sleazed and made to look like a respectable, proper actor once more. As I was being led back down through the corridors to my seat in the auditorium, I bumped into Tasha Richardson, who had just come offstage after winning Best Actress in a Musical. I gave her a congratulatory hug and she began to weep in my arms. She explained that her tears were for her late father, the director Tony Richardson, to whom she’d just dedicated her win saying, “This is for you, Papa. It is a Tony, after all.”

A photographer asked us to pose for a picture, someone in a headset apologized but said they had to take me away, and that little moment of intimacy was over. Now it was a race against the clock to get me to my seat.

The show was running long. I maneuvered that always awkward social interaction of telling the hired person who was in my seat (they are actually called, rather bluntly, seat fillers) that I was now back and they could go. I could hear Rosie O’Donnell address the audience and say

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