P.S. Burn This Letter Please

In 2014 a box of old letters was discovered in a Los Angeles storage unit, offering a glimpse into a little-known part of pre-Stonewall LGBTQ history in New York City; now documentarians Michael Seligman and Jennifer Tiexiera have used the contents to explore the world it revealed—that of drag queens and female impersonators in the Big Apple during the 1950s and 1960s. The letters were addressed to someone simply called Reno, and through five years of detective work the directors not only identified the recipient—a man who went to California and became an important figure in the Hollywood scene—but were able to track down eight people now in their eighties and nineties—Lennie, Robbie, George, Michael, Jim, Henry, Claude, Tish, and Terry—who either wrote some of the letters or knew those who did. Though the excerpts from the letters, read expressively by actors against attractive animated backgrounds by Grant Nellessen, are engaging, it is the interviews with these eight, lovingly illustrated with archival stills and buttressed by commentary from historians, that bring the milieu vibrantly to life. They offer a treasure-trove of anecdotes about the scene that centered on several clubs, usually mob-controlled, where many of the letter-writers performed; one, Club 82, was managed by the wife of Mafia boss Vito Genovese, and attracted large audiences of celebrities (a photo shows John and Jackie Kennedy at a table, and an especially funny story involves one performer throwing away sketches sent backstage by an appreciative Salvador Dali). And while intimations of exploitation by the mob are not ignored, Terry recalls that when Anna Genovese learned of the financial barriers to her transitioning, she not only sent him to her own doctor but covered the cost of the procedure. There is also an abundance of information about elaborate drag balls, where attendees vied with one another to achieve the most stunning effect (many center on a performer who took the pseudonym Josephine Baker), along with a sidebar on the Harlem drag scene, where blacks and whites happily mingled in celebration. While sad undercurrents are always present—reminders of the oppression of gays that was still official policy, and inevitable mention of the AIDS epidemic of the eighties which carried off so many—there are also upbeat, humorous moments, such as tales about Baker’s theft of a fan of white ostrich feathers, and about two other queens purloining a bunch of wigs from the Metropolitan Opera. Of course, the mere fact that the eight interviewees survived to tell their stories, even the melancholy ones, is uplifting. Though a tad overlong, this alternately funny and touching remembrance of a nearly forgotten era in LGBTQ history is recommended. Aud: P, C. (F. Swietek)