Michael\u2019s Turn: Michael Jeter in The Fisher King
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The late character actor Michael Jeter had a profound effect on me as a child, but as with so many things, I didn\u2019t realize it until I was an adult. Twenty-five years ago this month, I saw my first Tony Awards broadcast. Amid all the spectacle\u2014ostentatious musical numbers; sternly enunciating grand dames of the thee-a-tuh (including host Kathleen Turner); Tyne Daly, then performing in a Gypsy revival\u2014one unlikely little fellow stood out. The Tennessee-born Jeter, a scrawny five feet four, with a push-broom mustache and balding pate, brought down the house with a number from the now largely forgotten musical Grand Hotel, a pas de deux in which he left his partner, the more conventionally strapping Brent Barrett, in the dust. For \u201cWe\u2019ll Take a Glass Together,\u201d Jeter, playing the sickly bookkeeper Otto Kringelein, showed off his amazingly limber footwork, his legs as bendy as string cheese.
His talent was extraordinary, but what made even more of an impression on me was that he didn\u2019t look at all like the kind of star I was used to seeing on TV and in the movies. His offbeat bearing\u2014he was the kind of actor Hollywood once cast only as a wimp or a pansy\u2014immediately let me perceive a difference between stage folk and the glamorous movie people I might see onstage at the Oscars, revealing the theater world as more of a refuge for the marginalized. Even to a show-tune-loving tween like me, Jeter seemed different, and his singularity became even more pronounced immediately after the performance, when he took the podium to accept the Tony for featured actor in a musical. Tiny and trembly and teary, Jeter took the opportunity to speak from the heart about his past struggles with addiction, briefly and without pretension. In other words, I was seeing something rather queer: a man comfortable in his own skin despite his differences and setbacks. This confession\u2014a coming-out speech of sorts\u2014was breathtaking for being so utterly unapologetic.
In his speech, Jeter, an out gay actor who would later become an outspoken, HIV-positive AIDS activist, was offering himself up with pride. A year later, I\u2019d see him do that again, in Terry Gilliam\u2019s whimsical 1991 hit The Fisher King. Like him, the role was small but unforgettable. As an unnamed homeless cabaret singer, he shimmies across the screen with boundless confidence, turning what might have been a grotesque, or at least merely humorous, part into something noble, even indomitable. He\u2019s hilarious in the role, yes, but because of his strength, not his strangeness. It often gets forgotten alongside all the other bravura parts in the movie, but it\u2019s a performance to applaud, especially during June, LGBT Pride Month. In a film unafraid of big acting, Jeter goes bigger than anyone, in a scene that\u2019s The Fisher King\u2019s equivalent of that Grand Hotel showstopper.
Jeff Bridges\u2019s Jack, a former radio shock jock on a quest for personal redemption, enlists Jeter\u2019s character to deliver a singing telegram to the workplace of Lydia (Amanda Plummer), a mousy, wary accountant adored from afar by Jack\u2019s traumatized homeless friend, Parry (Robin Williams); the message, to be delivered with balloons and great fanfare, is that she has won a free video-store membership. It\u2019s all an elaborate ruse to get Lydia to come to Video Spot, owned by Jack\u2019s girlfriend, Anna (Mercedes Ruehl), so she can meet Parry. The plan allows for one of the most eccentric scenes in a film filled with flights of fancy, as well as an opportunity for Jeter to strut his stuff, displaying his Broadway-honed abilities in a perfectly inappropriate setting. Though the scene was in the script, Gilliam allowed Jeter to come up with the musical performance himself. Dressed in drag\u2014in an outrageous tasseled red dress, blonde wig, and gold high heels, all inspired by Marlene Dietrich\u2019s character in Destry Rides Again, according to Gilliam\u2014Jeter bursts into the office and, after locating a suitably shocked Lydia, leaps onto a high counter and launches into a pitch-perfect medley of highlights from Gypsy\u2019s climactic number \u201cRose\u2019s Turn,\u201d the words absurdly changed to be about video rentals. (Jeter, a friend of Stephen Sondheim\u2019s, actually helped secure permission for use of the music\u2014one can only imagine the composer\u2019s bewildered delight at the version in the film.)
The humor of the scene stems from its various incongruities: a drag performer loudly impersonating Ethel Merman in a straitlaced workplace; lyrics about going to the video store (\u201cAll the movies you\u2019ll watch for free now! Dramas, westerns, comedies, wow!\u201d) belted out with Broadway bombast; and perhaps most hilariously jarring of all, Jeter\u2019s bushy mustache prominently poking out from all his glittery feminine regalia. Though it\u2019s a standout moment, it encapsulates the film\u2019s theme of the intermingling of New York City\u2019s usually strictly separated social strata. Just as the film hinges on an unlikely relationship between a formerly wealthy celebrity and a possibly schizophrenic homeless man, this scene is predicated on a delightful crosscultural phenomenon, in which a bustling office full of suit-and-tie midtowners stops cold for two minutes to marvel at one of the metropolis\u2019s marginalized. They are in thrall; he\u2019s in control.
Jeter\u2019s character has a fleeting but undeniable power over his audience\u2014including silent Lydia, who ends up frozen in her desk chair in a fascinating, legs-up pose that connotes both fear and arousal. Especially since Jeter was introduced earlier in the film as a sort-of damsel in distress (wailing after being minorly trampled by a horse) and the specter of AIDS is invoked through his character (\u201cI watched all my friends die,\u201d he tells Jack, while lying in his arms in a piet\u00e0 pose at a hospital after the horse-trampling scene), his strength here is all the more stirring. His costume may strike some as foolish, but he\u2019s nobody\u2019s fool, sauntering off whistling after his big finish, while Lydia and her dumbstruck coworkers watch his exit. It was a tough crowd, but he prevailed, with a smile on his face and a spring in his step. His bursting-at-the-seams performance is a reminder that pride is often hard-won.
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