Last night on Larry King Live, a female viewer phoned in to ask the vivacious but wheezing 60 year-old Liza Minnelli one very important question: “Are you a Christian?” Liza smiled, flicked her four inch-long lashes and said simply “Why yes! I’m Episcopalian.” And that was that.

A dead silence followed. Larry became tight, frowned — like he was trying to pinch one off. And Liza, well, some chemical seemed to have peaked — so she sat there and beamed at the camera. Even more silence. Tick. Tock. I imagined the head of the woman caller exploding.

Poor thing, she couldn’t merge the crazy contradictions: Liza (with a Z), daughter of a homosexual father and substance-abusing mega-Star mom. Liza, married (at different times) to several homosexuals herself — abusing drugs and alcohol like Mama — and making decadent movies like Cabaret and The Sterile Cuckoo. A Christian? Too much, simply too much to imagine.

On the surface we are a Christian tribe. Or at the very least we advertise One Nation Under Godâ„¢. But admit it, in our heart of heart’s we’re lusty pagans. Our real spiritual center is Hollywood, with its Academy of Oscar. We quote prophecies from Box Office Mojo.com and contemplate the mysteries of the Trinity: Jennifer, Brad and Angelina. We have many idols before us — some true (read: gifted and talented performers), some false: (hookers, hustlers and Anna Nicole.)

But which witch is which? (read the full article)

How ass-backwards are these people! Only Magritte’s La Reproduction Interdit (right) can capture the twisted logic that now dominates the Bush Administration’s “management” of science. You’d have to go back to the time of Galileo to find so much religious meddling and censorship.

According to an article in the current New Yorker, politically connected fundamentalists are prepared to wage the same war on an H.I.V. vaccine that they are waging on stem cell research, evolution, and, more pointedly, a critical vaccine against the Human Papilloma virus or HPV.

A vaccine exists against the HPV virus that would dramatically reduce the number of cervical cancer cases. The religious right opposes it as a mandatory childhood vaccination. Why? Because cervical cancer serves as a powerful “disincentive” to premarital sex. And in their malignant, Apocalypse-centric view of things, human misery is preferable to sin — especially the human misery of the “Other”, the non-Born-Again non-Christian. (read the full article)

We have never seen bitching like this!

Usually when the cameras are on the Oscars contenders — for the sake of example, let’s say the Best Actress hopefuls — everybody smiles when their names are announced and registers flutters of humility at the huge applause.

Then in the pin-drop silence, they assumes their game face.

This game face is a marvel of disciplined acting — part cat with ears pricked casing a blue jay and part hint of finding it all so unnecessary because, gee whiz, just being nominated is enough.

The envelope is torn, the judgment is rendered, and the losers all go into little celebrations. Oh, how enthusiastically they nod yes and applaud, as if, really, they voted for this very person over themselves. Only the winner gushes tears as she sweeps through a rush of glad-handers and pop-up huggers to have a proper mental breakdown in front of the microphone. (read the full article)

No, better than a Rock Opera!
Better than a Jerry Herman musical!
Brokeback Mountain — On Ice! (read the full article)

My ex-boyfriend Harvey is an artist and illustrator. One of the first presents he ever gave me was a copy of an illustration he drew for one of the slick porn magazines, Honcho or Inches.

In the picture, a prisoner crouches naked at the feet of a prison guard in thigh-high boots. They both have huge erections.

Underneath the picture, Harvey hand-wrote a loving inscription that cemented our bond. It said:

“Suck my big dick you filthy scumbag.”

I immediately taped this treasure over my desk, where it remains to this day. It turns me on and it makes me laugh. (read the full article)

My heart sank. Not when Brokeback lost the big one — I was prepared for that. It was the audience’s response to Jack Nicholson‘s announcement — that exhalation of relief, that thunderous applause — now that’s what chilled me.

Unruly and wry, Nicholson — who, as he told Oprah‘s Gayle King, voted for Brokeback — had telegraphed his opinion even as he was announcing the winner. I love how critic Troy Patterson from Slate described it:

“Crash … provided presenter Jack Nicholson with a good opportunity to present Jack Nicholson. He pronounced the syllable with just the right note of surprise, combining incredulity with reassurance and saying warmly, with his eyebrows, ‘That’s Hollywood.’”

Right. Hollywood.

After the ceremony, Brokeback screenwriter Larry McMurtry told reporters that Crash took the top honor because most of the 6,000 members of the Academy live in Los Angeles, where the film was set. “Americans don’t want cowboys to be gay,” McMurtry explained.

Actually Larry, America doesn’t want actors to be gay. (read the full article)

The tension is mounting, as they say on Oscar eve. And there’s one movie everybody keeps talking about. Brokeback Mountain has become a tourist trap for gay writers: Everyone goes there, everyone says the same thing. It’s like a ride in Disneyland: all the dolls nod at the same time and in the same place.

So Nightcharm asked some of our favorite writers, artists and Charmed Life subjects to tell us something we haven’t heard about the film.

And dammit, they did! (read the full article)