Charles in charge

>> The Life of Reilly is an intimate
look at a camp icon’s struggle

by MATTHEW HAYS

Gays now lord over daytime TV in such a serious way, it’s difficult to imagine a time when the only connection audiences had to homosexuality seemed to be mincing, screaming stereotypes on vapid game shows.

But there they were, in the ’60s and ’70s—quite unmistakably, in fact—appearing on various programs, delivering well-rehearsed, bitchy one-liners in a pre-Ellen media universe. There was Paul Lynde, Rip Taylor and Charles Nelson Reilly, the last of whom has become the focus of a documentary, The Life of Reilly, which captures an edited version of his one-man theatre show, Save It for the Stage.

For those of us who grew up in the ’70s, Reilly is instantly recognizable: on Match Game, one of a number of mind-numbingly dreary game shows, Reilly could be relied upon to wear campy scarves and faggy glasses, while lisping his way through his queer-mascot shtick. Many have argued—quite convincingly—that the visibility came with a degree of intended humiliation.

Sheer diversity of queer images on TV and in the media generally has meant that debates around minority representation somehow seem less urgent than they did, say, 15 years ago. But the discrimination that obviously gay performers like Reilly faced is never far from the surface in his extended monologue. Amid the revelations about his screwball family lies a brutal turning point, when one TV exec told him he’d never make it because they don’t let queers on television. And they didn’t, of course, unless they were ludicrous stereotypes, like Reilly would become.

Life of Reilly is poignant precisely because he clearly had so much talent—he’d already made it in the far-less-homophobic arena of live theatre, having won a Tony Award. But the limitations for queers of his generation was rough, and even though Reilly only once brings up his sexuality overtly during his rants, it’s always there.

The entire affair is given another layer of melancholia, due to the fact that Reilly passed away last May at age 76. I’m making it sound terribly sad—and it’s not, entirely. This doc is equal parts tribute to a fighter and survivor, and lament for what could have been.

The Life of Reilly opens
Friday, March 28

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