Good Dog

by David Anthony Fox

Philly's Gay and Lesbian Theatre Festival kicked off in style with two benefit performances of Leslie Jordan's one-man autobiographical show, Like a Dog on Linoleum. What a great start! Gay one-man shows are in vogue right now (I reviewed another just weeks ago), but among them, Dog and Mr. Jordan set the gold standard.

Much of the charm is derived from Jordan's sublime oddness. Many will know him from his guest appearances as Karen Walker's nemesis on Will & Grace ("Well, well, well I thought I smelled gin and regret"), where he always kicks things up a notch. For those who don't know Jordan, he's difficult to describe but imagine a cross between Truman Capote and one of the Lollipop Guild munchkins. He's tiny (4 feet 11 inches), impish (at 50, he retains the look of a naughty choirboy) and deeply Southern. Jordan could be all the Steel Magnolia ladies at once! (He could also be Wilde's Lady Bracknell — when he says of someone that she was "as common as a yard dog," he might be Edith Evans describing the famous "handbag.")

Jordan's rural Tennessee roots provide some of his best material, as in a long riff about two sisters for whom he once worked — one a closeted lesbian dominatrix ("Latent!" shouts Jordan intermittently); the other, one of those boozy madwomen who populate the works of Carson McCullers and Tennessee Williams. Only in Jordan's hands, she's joyful good fun, as she asks him for two fingers of bourbon — making sure he understands the two fingers should be vertical.

Not all of Jordan's stories are specifically gay, though most of them venture into camp. But when he starts telling tales on himself — oh, my. It's hard to believe his little body has survived all it's been through, including addictions to cocaine, crystal meth, poppers, etc. — also endless backstreet sex with boys of ill repute.

But survive Jordan has, and not only is he standing — he's dancing. Perhaps the most likeable thing about Dog is its unrepentant joy. Note the critical moment when Jordan, whose Baptist roots taught him to fear the devil, arrives at West Hollywood's infamous Probe leather bar. Jordan gasps — he knows he's home. As with Elaine Stritch's one-woman theatrical tell-all, it's hard to see Dog as a cautionary tale, when the results of this to-hell-and-back journey are such fun.

So for me, the last five minutes, where Jordan describes a recent catharsis in Oprah-esque terms ("Happiness is a choice") come as a downer, though I should add there's no doubting his sincerity, and the audience eats it up. But I prefer to remember that moment at the Probe, and all that's come before it — sheer bliss.

Like A Dog On Linoleum June 10, Philadelphia Gay and Lesbian Theatre Festival, Mandell Theater, Drexel University