In 1971, Merle Miller published his seminal essay, ‘What It Means to Be a Homosexual’. Fifty three years later, the words and legacy of his pioneering literary declaration still bristle with urgency in James Corely’s dramatic adaptation, What It Means, performing at Wilton’s Music Hall, as the need for queer community, visibility and understanding are as felt as ever.
Corley’s wide-reaching and witty script takes us on a journey through Miller’s life, the forces that guided him, and the contexts in which his writing emerged. Littered with references to Kinseyan sexology, literary history and classical mythology, his inner monologue unpacks the conflicts around outing himself through his writing, how to respond to flagrant homophobia in the media, and whether ‘gay radicalism is for the young’.
It’s a heady, expansive piece that captures the character and reflective space of the typewriter desk. Richard Cant is spellbinding, dextrous and unrelenting in what is a true test of stamina. The breadth of thought combined with the rapid pace of Harry Mackrill’s direction makes for a huge challenge, with an offhand and fluid delivery that does justice to Miller’s endless reserves of inspiration, his many flaws and contradictions, and his sensitive, active mind.
Raised above the audience, Justin Arienti’s platform set subtly recreates the decor of Miller’s glass-walled country home in which he casts off the stereotype of the ‘quiet desperation of the sad gay man’. Questioning the idea of ‘causes’, he wrangles with the vexed question of whether and how to shed light on the prospect of a happy ending, of love and an end to loneliness. These questions cut right to heart of queer community and storytelling, pulled into sharp relief by the arrival of a Boy from Pittsburgh (a powerfully vulnerable Cavyan Coates), that switches the stakes from personal to political and dramatises the complexities of intergenerational inspiration.
This transition does feel a little sudden, and there are structural questions around how well this integrates with the solo performance, as well as a broader feeling that the script is perhaps too full for the wordy and jam-packed ninety minute performance. Some moments get lost to the pace, and at times the thread can be somewhat trickier to follow. In particular, the shifting between locations and times could be more effectively signposted with sound elements to transport and elucidate the journey of Miller’s story.
However, the subject matter is so thoroughly explored, delving into the mind of this brilliant forebear of post-Stonewall gay literature, that these issues can be forgiven. Above all, What It Means is a momentous testament to queer literary heritage, and a full-hearted statement of our need to continue speaking up.
What It Means is at Wilton’s Music Hall until 28th October
