Six Days One June

Wednesday, August 27th, 2008

Late on Tuesday night I stumbled across the subtly gay-themed half-hour monologue, Six Days One June, starring Rhys Ifans, on BBC1. It was wonderfully written and offered a very different image of gay life to that most popular today, namely the glamorous, sexy, well-toned, often-laid and well-off club-goer. Instead, we saw a man under the iron rule of a possessive mother; a man who never could name his feelings, who was sad and isolated, living on a farm, and very lonely. His brief romance with a New Zealander temporary farm worker, lasting only six days in June, was presented as warm and loving—entirely natural in an unnatural world of strict rules and discipline.

Sex was not the focus, a refreshing change after the kind of material first established with Queer as Folk, and emulated ever since (even in Doctor Who, Captain Jack’s gay sexuality is still, while toned down for teenage audiences, outrageous, somewhat brazen, and crass—not that there’s any judgement from me on that behaviour per se, I can do all three, but it seems to be the only behaviour paraded in the media—we can be more than that, honest, just like straights!).

The farmer in the play was no pornographic reinterpretation of the manual labourer; this was no muscle mary, no escort. He was no teenager. He wasn’t pretty. He was real, but because of that, never could say what he was, though by the end of the play he seemed to hold out hope of discovering himself anew, in New Zealand. This came after murdering (with ergot) his tyrannical mother who, while never heard or seen, was a tangibly heavy presence throughout the monologue. Rhys Ifans was amazing, managing to maintain sympathy throughout while raising a few smiles along the way. The access granted to a disturbed, imprisoned, tortured yet creative and gentle mind was moving, and terrifying.

I speak to other gay men here, not however wishing to exclude other readers, as you may find what I have to say interesting as well. Do you, fellow gay males, like me, rarely give thought to the process by which you and others come out—at least, not once you’ve got past that period in your life? Do you, like me, rarely think about how the process of coming out must still be painful in a world where there is still an assumed heterosexual superiority, where children describe naff things as being ‘gay’, where queerbashing and stereotypes and even peer pressure still exist, where religion can kill, and where the successful gay comedians are still the camp gay comedians?

There are a lot of ’stills’ in that last sentence.

Last night’s monologue of the closeted and brokenhearted farmer gave me an opportunity to think, and to send a prayer out across the world, reminded as I was that others are at the start of a journey I began many years ago. I prayed for all those coming to terms with being different, that they would find the courage and determination to succeed, and do so with friends and family by their sides; that laws might be changed, to make prejudice and hatred a crime; and, more than that, more important than that, I prayed that hearts and minds be changed for the better, for all of us.

Basically, for most gay men and lesbians and bisexuals, coming out is shitty, painful, and really, really tough. Some have it better, but they’re not the majority. Hearts get broken, sometimes bodies. I imagine it is, perhaps, even more extreme a rebirthing for transsexuals. But last night’s play showed the consequences of not finding that courage, of not opening the door and being true to yourself. It’s far worse to try to be something you’re not, to deny who and what you are, than it is to come to terms, to reach a peace inside your head and take action to make life better. But of course, where the play was concerned, we could hardly blame the farmer. He was a victim of so much from the very start of his life.

I don’t often take the time to appreciate the good health of mind that comes from self-acceptance. But I am appreciating it right now. I pray we see an end to characters like the lonely farmer in the real world. Let’s not just get past coming out and do our damndest to forget the trauma—understandable as that is—but instead, let’s spread the word that coming out hurts, sure, but the world afterwards becomes a much more open place to live, and easier to get along with as well, if not in terms of people accepting you, in terms of you getting past what you are and getting on with living your life to maximum advantage and experience.

categories: lgbt