Fuck Baby Mama up the ass without a condom. The REAL good-time flick at the Tribeca Film Festival was SqueezeBox!, the rollicking documentary about the ’90s drag rock party at Don Hill’s, which flourished in the face of Giuliani‘s sickening “quality of life” campaign. The flick (which I just saw an hour ago–quick, run to the after party) moves seamlessly between concert footage, interviews, and gay-historical context, spiced up with the likes of Misstress Formika, the Toilet Boys, Jayne County, and swarms of other mascara-wanded rockers who broke down barriers at the messy, boozy, all-accepting hellhole. A highlight has one interviewer remembering an onstage performance which had him cheering and running at the same time. “I ran for the back,” he explains, “because I don’t need ass blood flying on me!” Well, I do! Alas, my two soundbites in the film are fairly unintelligible, and in one of them, I’m scratching my arm–and I’m not even a junkie! But that was the infectiousness of SqueezeBox. You FELT like you were!
Truth be told, I never had that great a time at the place–I felt pretty invisible there, and in fact only went twice–but as I said on camera, it was absolutely essential, both a throwback and a cannon-shot forward. So is the film, though there’s only a brief mention of Courtney Love‘s infamous drop-in. Rights problems? Yeah, she probably threatened some ass blood.