While they often presented themselves as bodybuilders’ publications, their chuckle-prompting titles — Torso, Adonis, Honcho, Mandate — didn’t lie. Gay men’s magazines of decades past were bought by gay men who wanted to look at the erotic illustrations of well- built male bodies therein. Because any- one known to possess such material in the homophobic 1950s and 1960s could experience serious consequences, men hid the magazines under their mat- tresses. These illustrations have now inspired a traveling exhibition, Stroke: From Under the Mattress to the Museum Wall. Curated by notable erotic artist Robert W. Richards and orig- inating at the Leslie-Lohman Museum of Gay and Lesbian Art, the popular show contains 24 original illustrations that ap- peared in gay magazines from the 1950s to the 1990s. It also looks at how gay men, forced into the closet during those decades, used these pictures to explore their sexuality intimately. It additionally serves as a showcase for the artists in- volved. On view are works by two dozen top artists of the times, including Touko Laaksonen (Tom of Finland), Antonio Lopez (Antonio), and David Martin.More
Our national pastime is paranoia, not baseball. In the mid-1970s, when the Watergate revelations and a wave of conspiracy theories about JFKs assassination fueled a mood of queasy distrust, the country hit its pre-9/11 nadir. Martin Scorseses chilling 1976 adaptation of Paul Schraders demonic script, Taxi Driver, channeled every ion of free-floating suspicion and anxiety into a Vietnam-vet cabbie prowling a broke, decaying New York City. Presented in a dazzling, newly restored print that shows off the films uncanny mix of sleek style (underscored by Bernard Herrmanns knockout score) and sewer ambience, Taxi Driver reminds us that Robert De Niro was once Americas greatest living actor. Sporting the scariest Mohawk ever seen east of the Mississippi, and steeped in a bitter brew of resentment and frustration, his Travis Bickle leaps off the screen and into our nightmares. Schrader, for his part, was at a despairing low point; his impetus was personal, not political. It was my first script, and it was written as self-therapy, Schrader recalled not long ago. It wasnt really written to sell; it was written to exorcise certain things I was feeling and thinking. Thirty-five years later, the film especially in this new 35 mm print - can still scare the shit out of the unwary moviegoer.
May 7-9, 7 p.m., 2011