The Beauty President
In 1992, an activist drag queen ran for President to raise awareness of the Aids crisis.
Do you ever do that thing where lots of people recommend something and you avoid it, for some spurious reason, only to discover, when you do get round to it, that it’s fantastic, and all those people were right, and you’re an idiot?
I’m going through that right now with Elizabeth Gilbert’s book Big Magic.
I’d been avoiding it because the only thing I knew about the author was that she’d also written Eat, Pray, Love, a book which sounds – sounds! I’ve never even read it! – incredibly naff.
But it turns out that: 1. Elizabeth is entertainingly self-aware about how much hate her most famous book attracts, and 2. Big Magic is terrific.
Among lots of interesting thoughts about the creative process, she shares her theory of how inspiration works.
Ideas, she believes, float around looking for someone to bring them to life. I
f you’re open enough to receive them, and brave enough to act on them, the idea becomes yours. If not, they’re free to float off and find someone else.
Her theory applies very neatly to documentary makers. These stories are literally out there – the challenge is to pick the right one at the right moment.
Which brings us to Whitney Skauge, and The Beauty President (2021). Whitney was working as a researcher at Breakwater Studios when they came across an article headlined, “Drag Queen Runs For President.”
It explained how in 1992, amid the Aids pandemic, activist Terence Alan Smith ran for President in his drag persona, Joan Jett Blakk.
The story captivated Whitney. They knew it wasn’t right for the project they were working on, but went to their bosses with a pitch to make it as a standalone piece.
“I said – I can't stop thinking about it. I think it's a really important story. I think it'd be really great film. Here's how we could do it…”
Thrillingly, they agreed. (Breakwater has form here, it’s run by Ben Proudfoot, who won an Oscar for The Queen of Basketball).
It’s a brilliant telling of a fascinating story, weaving different strands of queer history together. Now, it seems so obviously right for a short film.
But it only exists because Whitney found it and claimed it. Brave enough, and open enough.
I spoke to Whitney over Zoom from their home in California. You can see more of their work on their website.
Why did you want to tell this story?
I'm really interested in stories from underrepresented communities, because I'm from underrepresented communities, and growing up, I never saw a representation that I could relate to.
Historically, not everybody gets the Harvey Milk treatment, not everybody is a Marsha P. Johnson. Those people are amazing and they deserve everything they've gotten.
However, the queer community is not a monolith, and there's so much depth to our experience. And I felt that Terence, and his story, and his political activism, could inspire other generations of queer activists.
I think we're still discovering a lot of our history. This felt like a really big responsibility to make sure we could reach more people for impact.
And I think there's something to be said about the fact that Terence was still alive and he could talk about this experience, rather than it being a retrospective piece. He's still alive, he's still here, and he has something to say.
For me as an artist, I really can't strip my identity from my art. Everything I do is driven by how I exist in the world, how people perceive me in the world, whether or not I perceive myself that way.
The second I walk outside my house, there is an identity that is placed on me, and there are stereotypes based on that identity that are placed on me, and I really can't do anything about it. So it's like, let's just use that.
What were the biggest challenges?
It was shot during Covid – that definitely didn't hinder us creatively, but you do have this extra element of anxiety and fear, like, oh man, was I too close?
From a personal angle, this was the biggest opportunity I'd ever received as a filmmaker. So I definitely put a lot of pressure on myself which looking back on it, was a little unnecessary.
But I think that's how I have to work sometimes – to blow things out of proportion in terms of the pressure that I perceive I'm under. And then you just go into this different zone as a creative where you're like, alright, this is all or nothing.
It was essentially like grad school for me in terms of being a filmmaker. I had to be really open to feedback in a way that was a lot different to me to sending a Vimeo link to my friends and being like, what do you think?
I think the biggest question that came up with Terence's story was the validity of it. What was the point of his presidential run? Did he steal votes from people? Was it all a gimmick?
I never saw it as that. I really understood it as an activist play to bring visibility to a massive crisis that was happening to a community that nobody cared about.
Was it fun? Yes. Was it campy? Yes. Does Terence have a really specific sense of humour? Yes.
However, I don't think any of that negates the progress and the noise that he made to bring awareness to something that was very serious, and very urgent.
When I was editing the film, I had to strike a balance. I wanted to make this as serious as possible while honouring Terence's very bright, very lovely, very fun personality.
What would you do differently if you made the film again?
While I was making it, I put that pressure on myself. I was in my head to the point of tears sometimes.
But now I have a little bit of space from the actual making of the film, I really do look at it and I'm like – nailed it. That's exactly what I wanted to do.
And it's great because I don't often feel that way as a creative. I think it's very hard to not be nitpicky about your work, like that transition's not the best. Or why did I make the credits like that?
I think because we really were trying to hit the 10 minute run time, I had to make a lot of tough decisions. I don't think I left anything on the table.
What are you most proud of?
I love Terence so deeply in my heart. The second I met him, I was like, you're my uncle that I never knew. I talk to him at least once a week still. And that relationship is so important to me.
And I'm just really happy that when he watches that film, he feels proud of it. He feels accurately represented
It does bring up a lot of emotions because it reminds him of that time, and it reminds him of all the grief that he's still holding from those losses. So it’s emotional for him to watch the film, but I think in a cathartic, therapeutic way.
And I’m proud that people are learning about who he is, and still asking him to do different things that maybe wouldn't have happened.
I definitely can't take credit for his reintroduction. But I do feel that because the film is him in his own words, it helps you build that direct relationship with him which has helped sustain interest in his story.
He always says that it’s mind-blowing. Because for him, being alive is truly mind blowing.
He thought he was going to die at a very young age and now he's in his 60s, you know? And something that he did 30 years ago still matters to people, still helps and inspires people.
How did this film change you?
Well, I certainly have to thank Breakwater Studios because this is absolutely something that broke my career.
It was like Pokemon cards, you know – I went from that first Pokemon card to that second Pokemon card in this process.
I went from Whitney the filmmaker who does things on the weekend and edits in the darkness of their apartment to, oh, Whitney is a filmmaker that can work in a studio, that can take notes, that can do panels, that can speak about their work without being shy about it.
And it would not have happened had Breakwater not believed in me. So having that type of validation from people that I really respected and admired was instrumental in how I view myself as a filmmaker.
On a personal level, getting this relationship with Terence has just been one of the biggest joys of my life.
I don't have a big family and I don't specifically have a lot of Black relatives that I'm in touch with. So being able to be in communities so often with Terence has been really healing for me in a lot of different, personal ways.
This interview was incredibly hard to edit, because Whitney spoke with such clarity and insight, and our conversation ranged over so much ground. It’s quite long, but honestly it could have been the same again.
Thanks to Whitney and you for reading. We’ll see you in a couple of weeks.
Ugh. Guess now I finally have to read Big Magic. ;)