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The king, or maybe that should be queen, of all drag shows, New York City's 10th annual Wigstock festival, provides the setting for this lively and frequently funny documentary. Some 30,000 fans showed up, many of them suitably adorned with impossibly huge wigs, and roving cameras did a fine job of capturing the celebratory atmosphere. It goes without saying that those who find men performing as women fascinating will revel in what the camera captured. Several drag performers prepping for their star turns on the Wigstock stage are profiled, and some of them speak about what possesses them to admittedly make spectacles of themselves. There are also quirky interviews with construction workers building the festival's stage, jaded neighbors in the East Village, and even some encounters with bemused New York City cops. The film features very professionally shot performance footage of such characters as RuPaul, Deee-Lite, Crystal Waters, and even a pair of dueling Tallulah Bankhead impersonators performing "Born to Be Wild," but the real star of the production is the hip sense of humor the filmmakers brought to the project. At times the interviews with people attending the shows and passersby in New York who simply shrug it all off come close to upstaging the guys in size 14 heels singing and dancing their hearts out onstage.
--Robert J. McNamara
The "Lady" Bunny has been organizing New York's drag festival for a decade now, and what began as a small wigs-and-heels gathering in Tompkins Square Park has grown into a major get-your-hot-dogs-here event. Barry Shils's record of the 1993-94 celebrations captures some of its style and playfulness-Joey Arias singing a Billie Holiday tune, Jackie Beat outfitted as the heir to Divine's designs, Lypsinka strutting across the stage like an escapee from a fifties Amana Radar Range demonstration. What's on-screen, though, could pretty much have been captured on anyone's camcorder, and the editing and directorial cues seem to have been taken from public-access television. The performers have character; the movie doesn't. -Bruce Diones
Copyright © 2006
The New Yorker