Columns

Comrades, at the time this article was written, Ellen Page (best known for her role as an irritating prego-hipster) had recently burst forth from the closet in a cloud of rainbows, glitter and k. d. lang records. Oh, good for her; I know a thing or two about being locked in a small enclosed space for years because society judges you “unusual” or “guilty.” Now we have two famous lesbians called Ellen, however, I doubt the career of the diminutive one is going to be as auspicious as that of the blonde one who used to be really funny. Guys, Ellen D. was never a leading lady - sure, she had a sitcom; but said sitcom tanked after she revealed she liked boobs more than dudes. Remember Rupert Everett? At one point in the mid-90s he was the next big thing, picking up BAFTA and Golden Globe nominations for that piece of celluloid vomit My Best Friend’s Wedding. Then he came out and the next big thing was reduced to doing voice roles in Shrek sequels (a study in diminishing returns if there ever was one).

So while we’re all celebrating a millionaire’s life becoming a modicum simpler, take a moment to visualise that her career is now in the hands of one Ron Jeremy, who will then proceed to roundly fuck it. Even the great Jodie Foster kept her proclivities down on the level of “open secret,” and only revealed her Sapphic leanings when having fell into that “woman in her late 40s” career nadir. Likewise, Ellen P. is less common in movies than ever before; in fact, the last time I saw her in anything, she was playing some public speaker at a gay conference – such a tedious film. Lamentably, the public don’t want their actors on-screen pretending to be something they’re not; no, they want actors pretending to be something they are . Evil producers are acutely aware of this, so while they applaud an actor’s courage with one hand, they’ll gently push them into roles like “Jane, the sassy lesbian best friend!”

“Neil Patrick Harris!” you may cry. “Please, his last big screen role was the Smurfs 2!” I retort.