My Trip Down The Pink Carpet

 

After a long and varied TV career, Leslie Jordan hit the big time with his Emmy-Award winning turn as Beverly Leslie on Will & Grace, as the bitchy repressed gay antagonist to Karen Walker – who was, in turn, the bitchy and possibly repressed gay antagonist to everyone else. The pint-sized and feminine to the point of uncanny gentleman induced hysterics in many of us - but seething irritation for what was perceived by some to be a tired and stereotypical construction in the rest.

If you were of the latter school of thought, Jordan’s one man show My Trip Down The Pink Carpet will covert you. Sure, at first, it's nothing but an incredibly self-indulgent collection of anecdotes from Jordan’s Hollywood experience, including a detailed retelling of that Emmy win, screeched at you in the later dissected 'gay accent'. Anchored with minimal prosthetics. And no interval

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STAGE: My Trip Down The Pink Carpet

But if it teaches us anything (besides the absolute ferocity of Faye Dunaway, who once took a shine to Jordan in the green room of a show they starred in together), it’s that, with hindsight, there was a true authenticity to Beverly Leslie. Because he came straight from the heart of Jordan, whose insanely energetic personality mirrors Leslie’s to a tee. He’s an absolute caricature of a human being, but it’s no pretence. Surely nobody could keep up a façade so faultlessly for 90 minutes, least of all a man approaching 60? Another 10 minutes and yes, he might’ve started grating, but as it stands, an hour and a half is the time it takes for Jordan’s zest for life – the highs and lows – to work its way under your skin.

What seems on the surface to be a lesson in vapidity conceals a beating heart. This isn’t a Hollywood kiss-and-tell; it’s the obstacle-laden story of Jordan’s sexuality, and one you’ll find yourself empathising with, at first in horror, but later in utter solidarity, time and time again.

His stories are laced with a searing honesty – no stone or hedonistic bad habit of yesteryear is left unturned, whether it’s Jordan’s battles with alcoholism, drug addiction, or countless sexual catastrophes (as a curious teenager, he’d call up the local masturbating pervert, while pretending to be a girl with ginger hair). He imparts true wisdom as he touches upon his darkest days: the death of his father when he was a child, his subsequent fear of men both gay and straight (“I was fascinated and repulsed!”), and his eventual induction into a rehabilitation group, comprised of the tolerant heterosexual men who would eventually turn him onto ironically his straightest path.

What make Jordan’s tale all the more poignant is his resistance from emotional gratuity – just as your tear ducts begin to burn, he’ll launch one hell of a zinger, or a disco classic will fill the auditorium and you’ll swiftly become distracted by some silly dance moves (keep your eyes peeled for his impression of your average drag queens’ miming abilities and repertoire of facial expressions).