Not My Father's Son

by Alan Cumming

It was all very feudal and a bit Downton Abbey, minus the abbey and fifty years later.

Memory is so subjective. We all remember in a visceral, emotional way, and so even if we agree on the facts—what was said, what happened where and when—what we take away and store from a moment, what we feel about it, can vary radically.

The God I had glimpsed moments ago turned out to be not so benevolent. He was the same old God, the one that quashed your dreams and kept you in line.

All I know is that I am the product of all the experiences I have had, good and bad, and if I am in a happy place in my life (as I truly am), then I can have no regrets about any of the combination of events and circumstances that have led me to the here and now.

I Skyped with Grant back in London, which offered little relief. It was great to be able to see him, not just hear him, and for this I am grateful to modern technology. But at the same time, seeing the one you love but not being able to touch, when their comfort is what you crave most, actually makes you feel worse, and more depleted, than if you had not seen them at all.

And tonight, as though the showbiz gods could tell that I needed levity and sparkle and wacky Euro froth, was the night of the Eurovision Song Contest!! Most Americans of course have never heard of this great institution, and I can only feel sorry for them. I know this because I spent almost all my down time between takes in the movie Spy Kids playing Eurovision trivia with Antonio Banderas, much to the bemusement of the crew in Austin, Texas. They looked at us as though we were members of a cult, and in a way, we are. It is part of my pop DNA, it is a rite of passage, a touchstone, and eventually it transcends its awful shallow shininess to become a communal nostalgic shrine to which we make our annual drunken pilgrimages. It’s like Christmas or Thanksgiving but without the family feuds and with a pretty racy bpm. I grew up with it, and I will almost certainly die with it, or perhaps from it. It gave us ABBA, people!! Celine Dion won in 1988, representing Switzerland!! I have often thought that if Americans were more exposed to this wonder there would not only be a huge surge in their understanding of British wit and irony, but they would perhaps be able to appreciate without shame the value of a good old-fashioned tacky pop song. I feel my American friends are so very worried about seeming gauche or vulgar when it comes to pop music. It’s only when certain styles of music are placed within the ironic context of retro that Americans can fully enjoy them. We Europeans have...

In sharp contrast to the way most trans people are depicted on-screen, Desrae was a very positive role model. That was what made me want to do the series, as well as the fact that I had just joined the cast of The Good Wife and had spent the previous few months in a suit playing an uptight politico named Eli Gold. Desrae seemed a nice contrast. I traded the suit for stilettos, happily.

the truth can hurt, but not knowing can hurt more.”