On November 7, one of the most highly-anticipated celebrity memoirs in recent memory finally arrived — years after it was first teased — and it’s chock full of tales the LGBTQ community will surely salivate over.
Barbra Streisand’s book My Name Is Barbra arrived in stores on Tuesday, and it took up a lot of space. The memoir comes in at just under 1,000 pages, which makes it an intimidating read for anyone who doesn’t identify as a super fan of the EGOT winner.
The book covers her decades in the spotlight, and she touches on many of the songs, shows, and movies that people still remember and love to this day.
Ahead of the release of My Name Is Barbra, People shared several excerpts that should get any Streisand lover — and even those who don’t already identify as such — interested in the book.
One short snippet published by the magazine shows the superstar speaking of her relationship with another gay icon — Judy Garland.
The two singers and actors spent some time together during their time as stars, but they are perhaps best remembered for their performance of a medley of “Happy Days Are Here Again / Get Happy” on Garland’s TV variety show.
If you haven’t that duet, check it out below, as it’s required viewing for all gay men.
Here is the excerpt in full:
“People were looking for some sort of rivalry between us. And when they couldn’t find anything, they made it up. I found Judy to be completely generous. We sang a medley of songs, taking turns, and she wasn’t just focused on herself. She watched me and responded to me. She would reach out and brush back a strand of my hair, like a mother. And Judy’s own daughter, Liza Minnelli, says that her mother’s first reaction on hearing me sing was to say, ‘I’m never going to open my mouth again.’ She was like that, very self‑deprecating. And deeply vulnerable.
“Judy and I became friends. We spoke on the phone, and she came to one of the rare parties I gave at my New York apartment (four in thirty‑five years). I think she arrived late. And I remember her saying something I never quite understood: ‘Don’t let them do to you what they did to me.’ I should have asked her what she meant, but I didn’t want to appear too nosy.
Six years after we did [The Judy Garland Show], she was dead at the age of forty‑seven. What a tragedy . . . and such a loss. She was an extraordinary talent.”
Filmmaker Dean Francis makes B-movie bunk occasionally look alluring in Body Blow, a queer neo-noir about a closeted cop who goes rogue. The journey from good apple to total outlaw, however, is more a short dash for Officer Aiden.
Tim Pocock (X-Men Origins: Wolverine), giving as wooden a performance as you'll ever see, stars as the suburbanite constable, still fresh to the force and reassigned to a unit in Sydney's gay district. Neon-lit and framed like an '80s music video by cinematographer Franc Biffone, it's an impressively seedy side of the city.
Seemingly everybody is in on some form of crime or corruption. That might include Sgt. Steele (Sacha Horler, not wooden but not convincing), the lesbian officer who recruits Aiden to go undercover as a gayer-looking, peak-era Jean-Claude Van Damme.
"I want people to enjoy themselves," says Gregg Araki of his newest blast of a film, I Want Your Sex, in which a starkly gorgeous Olivia Wilde plays a super-trendy abstract artist -- she makes vaginas out of chewed pink bubble gum -- who takes her latest employee, a doe-eyed innocent played by Cooper Hoffman, on a carnal thrill ride that blurs the line between sexual harassment and sensual awakening.
"I remember when we first started screening the film when I was still working on the edit," says Araki, 66, "and people were surprised by how friendly it was. The sensibility behind I Want Your Sex is fun and pop. I want to bring a little bit of joy into the world."
Jane Schoenbrun makes movies for the weirdos for whom movies are realer than real life. In their films, old films and TV shows are portals to another world, vehicles of escape for characters whose own lives are weighted down by alienation and dysphoria. In 2024's extraordinarily haunting I Saw the TV Glow, two such characters find solace in a '90s TV show called The Pink Opaque, whose nightmarish visions, filmed with campy zeal by Schoenbrun, cross over and become realer than the empty contours of their unfulfilled lives.
The filmmaker is deeply attuned to the way pop-culture obsessions can both alleviate and intensify loneliness. It almost feels like a self-fulfilling prophecy; you can easily imagine Schoenbrun's own films, beginning with 2022's eerie We're All Going to the World's Fair, serving this role, being treasured and passed around by alienated youth the way previous generations latched onto Donnie Darko or The Nightmare Before Christmas. Loneliness seeps through the pores of Schoenbrun's cinema, but so does the possibility of queer connection and self-actualization.
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