A gay boy discovers his inner Faye Dunaway
At my Filipino all-boys school, I never got cast in flashy roles -- but "The Eyes of Laura Mars" taught me to shine
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I went to an all-boy’s Catholic school in the Philippines. Every year we put on a Christmas pageant and every aspiring actor longed to be cast in the Nativity scene. In seventh grade, I desperately wanted to play the role of Mary. But as usual the part went to my arch-nemesis Lito.
In every production with a female character, the teachers always cast the most effeminate boy with light skin. And that was Lito. He played Alice in “Alice in Wonderland”; I played the plant. In the Hungarian fairy tale production, he played the princess and I played the tambourine while he danced. I had a theory: Teachers chose him over me because he was in the closet. Those of us who were out were relegated to supporting roles.
Our drama teacher, Mr. Dominguez, announced that we would present not just the Nativity scene but also the scenes leading up to the birth of Christ. I was given the part of the innkeeper’s wife, a small but pivotal role. I would be the one to tell Mary and Joseph that the inn had no vacancy but they could use a stable in the back. I was the bearer of bad news.
For wardrobe, Mr. Dominguez told us Joseph and Mary would be given costumes. Lito sparkled at the news. He’d get to wear a blue crepe tunic with an invisible zipper and a vintage veil made of Egyptian cotton. As for me, the teacher said to improvise.
When I told my mother I needed a costume, she invited me to look in her closet. In truth, I had already spent many afternoons there. My mother’s closet was a sartorial paradise. She was the Donna Mills of Manila. Her clothes were divided into sections. My favorite was the evening wear section where she kept her couture piece, an exquisite opera dress made of chartreuse taffeta with a hand-painted picture of a woman being dressed by her maid.
She surveyed her collection, but she couldn’t come up with an ensemble. She took me to the mall, but nothing piqued her interest. Instead, we went to see a movie.
We saw “The Eyes of Laura Mars,” where Faye Dunaway stars as a fashion photographer who has premonitions of crime scenes. Just like the innkeeper’s wife, she was the bearer of the bad news. And she had a unique style: Laura Mars always wore a skirt that had four openings so she could spread her legs as she took pictures at different angles.




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