march 3.2000»
z
"My acting careen
has nothing to do
with my sexuality.
I don't want to he
a role model.
I don't want to bo
the Shirley Temple
of the gay world."
— Actor Rupert Evintt t i Playboy
magazine, Jaittiry 2100 issue
.
by
C hristopher D. C uttone
ienvenidos a Miami/
There are not, I think, words more beau
tiful to a Portlander in winter. Except per
haps, “Do you want to fly to Miami Beach
for a film screening, stay in a fabulous hotel and
interview a movie star.7’’
Does it matter who is the star in question? Per
haps, if it were someone truly awful— like Jen
nifer Love Hewitt or Charlie Sheen. But tell me
it’s the utterly delectable and openly gay Rupert
Everett, and that he’s starring in The N ext Best
Thing with none other than Madonna, and you
can add a few exclamation points to my answer!
So, of course, off I went to the gay mecca of
Miami Beach full of excitement and some
naive expectations. Being a press junket virgin,
I thought it would all be too terribly glamorous
for words. The weather was balmy, I enjoyed
the film, and Mr. Everett was positively charm
ing— but no matter how much it seemed like a
free vacation, it was a business trip.
My first clue should have been that, in
addition to packing clothes appropriate for any
contingency (including a whirlwind romance
with a certain sexy movie star), 1 had to do
research. 1 found out that Everett has written
two novels and has been in a host of films,
including An Ideal Husband, Inspector Gadget
and My Best Friend’s Wedding. I read two recent
interviews with the 40-year-old actor: his June
1999 tell-all in Us magazine and the less-
ironic-than-it-sounds Playboy interview from
January 2000. 1 also learned that John
Schlesinger, director of The Next Best Thing, is
a gay man whose credits include Midnight C ow -
boy and Marathon Man.
The hotel was, in fact, the most luxurious
hotel at which I have ever been— or am likely
ever to be— a guest. A bit austere, but so over
whelmingly well-appointed that 1 had no
choice but to spend a few moments on the toi
let as soon as the bellhop left me alone.
Young, gay and single in Miami Beach at
11 p.m. on a Saturday night, 1 nevertheless
went directly to bed so as to be at my best for
the next day’s screening and meet-the-star
cocktail reception. Room service breakfast in
bed notwithstanding, I intended to wield my
ruthless journalistic objectivity in reviewing
the film and felt that a night on the town,
however exciting, would be poor preparation.
The open-bar reception was at Liquid,
apparently Miami Beach’s hippest gay night
club— if only for the moment— which is oddly
located above a Payless Shoe Source and is dec
orated even more strangely, as if it were part
cave and part sci-fi horror movie set. The
event was a chance for me and my fellow
members of the press— 22 of us in all, the cho
sen elite representatives of the country’s best
Continued on Pqge 2 3
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