By Stephanie Zacharek
By Amy Nicholson
By Stephanie Zacharek
By Simon Abrams
By Michelle Orange
By Alan Scherstuhl
By Nick Schager
By Amy Nicholson
It would be the easiest thing in the world to write off But I'm a Cheerleader -- the story of a teenager discovering her sexual identity through a program designed to repress it -- as a Saturday Night Live sketch somewhat awkwardly inflated to feature length. But when you start looking deeper into the real-life stories that inspired this satirical take on gay and lesbian "recovery" therapies, it's not so easily brushed away, for many of the most absurd things on view here are absolutely true. Director Jamie Babbit and screenwriter Brian Wayne Peterson haven't attacked their target as effectively as they might have, but Cheerleader still underscores the fact that gender roles are ideological in nature. And that has led to considerable discomfort on the part of reviewers who wouldn't want to touch the issue with the proverbial ten-foot pole.
Cheerleader centers on a bubbly high-schooler named Megan (Natasha Lyonne) who hasn't really given much thought as to why she's starting to find the other girls on her cheerleading squad so alluring. But her parents (Bud Cort and Mink Stole, of all people) have certainly gotten wise to their offspring's libido. That's why they've had her carted off to True Directions, an intervention program designed to turn budding gays and lesbians into perfect, conformist heterosexual citizens. Run by a woman with the suspiciously plain-wrap name of Mary Brown (Cathy Moriarty) -- whose demeanor suggests what Martha Stewart might be like if she gave in to her inner dominatrix -- True Directions looks like a candy-colored Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. Pinks (for girls) and blues (for boys) predominate in this oversized hellish doll's house. And instead of Conrad Veidt's Cesare the Somnambulist, the chief factotum is an out-of-drag RuPaul. He's in charge of getting the boys in properly masculine shape -- through sports-- while Moriarty's Mary sets the girls to work cooking and cleaning.
Happily, Megan finds a true direction that True Directions didn't have in mind when this very "femme" young miss meets the perfect "butch" in the snarlingly cynical form of Graham (Clea DuVall), a girl whose sexual orientation no amount of reprogramming is going to alter. In no time at all, love is in bloom and revolt is in the air, as the girls proceed to reveal True Directions for the teetering house of cards that it is. Nothing unusual about this. In fact, third-act "love conquers all" revolts against whichever powers may be are standard operating procedure for comedy. Similarly standard-issue yet entertaining nonetheless are jokes about boys who throw balls "like a girl," as well as raunchy gags involving Mary's stud-puppy son Rock (Eddie Cibrian), whose butchness fails to belie the fact that he's gayer than RuPaul in drag.
Still, all of this takes a back seat to the Megan-Graham love match and its striking parallel to the true story of Exodus International, an "ex-gay" ministry whose founders met, fell in love and abandoned the organization they helped found in order to fight it. One Nation Under God, a 1993 documentary by Teodoro Maniaci and Francine Rzeznik (now available on home video), recounts the saga of Exodus and the network of ex-gay ministries it created, which to this very day continue to drain the finances of misguided parents and the brains of their hapless offspring. As such organizations are religiously affiliated, they have no worries about either paying taxes or being investigated for fraud. Moreover, once the psychobabble and the thin veneer of piety are peeled away, ex-gay methodology is a fairly simple affair. Just regard same-sexuality as "acts" separate from the individuals who commit them, get said individuals to refrain from said acts (or at least claim that they do) and -- voilà! -- you've got yourself an ex-gay.
Not too high a standard there, you know. In fact, as I'm not having sex right at this moment, I could very well claim to be an ex-gay, too. Of course, my "ex" status probably won't last the afternoon, but I'm sure that wouldn't matter to the likes of fundamentalist powerbroker Janet Parshall or advice-dispensing physiologist "Dr." Laura. We live in a culture where hypocrisy rules, appearance is everything, and "Do as I say, not as I do" is the glue that holds together the fraud of "don't ask, don't tell." But getting to the bottom of that requires a very different sort of movie. And it's most definitely not a comedy.
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