Move Over, Margaret Cho

"I've decided that I don't care if I come across as the biggest fag-hag in the land," Cathy Crimmins writes in the introduction to her book, How the Homosexuals Saved Civilization. It's a good thing she doesn't care, because that's basically how she comes across. She makes the ladies on Will and Grace look like homophobic Bible-thumpers in comparison.

With her funny, accessible style, Crimmins delves into gay men's contributions to American society (she excludes lesbians as they're more "domestic"). She's an amiable narrator for the book - you could picture yourself having these discussions with her over Cosmos at lunch.

Unfortunately, she decides that her personal stories and wide-ranging yet shallow grasp of pop culture are enough. It seems as if only the most basic research was done in preparation. Footnotes, a bibliography, and/or literary references would give it more credibility. I understand she's intentionally avoiding an academic tone, but even an index would be appreciated. It doesn't help that she contradicts what little research she's done: in the first chapter, she claims the word "homosexual" was coined in 1869; by the last chapter, it's mysteriously bumped to 1867.

Crimmins takes us through American culture (mostly post-Stonewall riots of 1969): language, community, celebrations, rituals, food, fashion, sex, art, film, television, music and theater. The subtitles alone are hilarious, such as "Groin Control to Major Tom: The Father of Glam Rock, David Bowie" and "He's Dead, but We Can Still Have a Party: Gay Advances in Mourning Rituals."

With such a charming companion by our side, it's frustrating when her information and arguments are inconsistent. Her conclusions may be correct, you're just not sure how she got there, as in her chapter on movies and television. She concludes that The Wizard of Oz is "absolutely wholesome and absolutely queer at the same time" by describing how it has inspired nationally touring karaoke shows attended by straight families as well as gays. Fine, but what about the actual content of the movie? Most people understand how it's wholesome; it would be fantastic if she enlightened us about it's "queer"-ness. Strangely, she doesn't.

The section on film's classic leading men is dubious. Apparently, in her book, almost every remotely well-known actor was gay or bisexual, but never backs this up with actual evidence. An unconvincing paragraph on Montogomery Clift is thankfully followed by two effective pages on Cary Grant. Unfortunately, since the book was originally published before Brokeback Mountain arrived on the cultural radar, one can only wonder what Crimmins would have made of its impact (although couldn't she have included an addendum to the recently published paperback to cover such an important milestone?).

For the TV section, she introduces the subchapter on awards shows by saying "gay men have made major contributions." She then describes Bob Mackie's (designer of Cher's legendary, over-the-top Oscar gown) influence on Carol Burnett's famous Gone With the Wind satire, a totally irrelevant digression. What does that have to do with award shows? Where was Crimmins' editor? By the time she steers back on course, her two examples for gay men's contributions are comedian Bruce Vilanch writing some of the funniest lines for Academy Awards hosts (a perfect example) and Alan Carr producing the infamous Rob Lowe/Snow White skit. It's blatantly counterproductive that one of the most "horrible, laughable" moments in Oscar history is half of her argument's evidence.

Crimmins' chapter on gay men's contribution to music is equally inconsistent. Her analysis of Cole Porter's timeless, daring lyrics and influence on heterosexual romance is lucid and fun. She consults intelligent scholars and texts to explain gay undertones in heavy metal (including political science professor Kenneth Quinnell's humorous but oddly thought-provoking question: "Is it a coincidence that the head-banging motion just happens to be the same motion as providing oral sex to a guy?"). But she completely flummoxed me when she described rock as an "essentially effeminate form". Excuse me? Rock music is sweaty, oversexed, athletic, aggressive and arrogant - masculine qualities that defy "effeminate" descriptions.

She also claims to have discovered a "gay presence" in rap. This is an especially intriguing idea considering rap music's notorious homophobic nature and Kanye West's recent, risky suggestions that rappers stop using those lyrics in their acts. But Crimmins never elaborates whatsoever on that notion. What a cocktease.

This isn't to say Crimmins doesn't make good points. Thanks to houseware and fashion collections from designers Todd Oldham and Isaac Mizrahi, respectively, Target has easily surpassed dowdy competitor Wal-Mart to become the department store for fashionable straight people of various incomes across the country. And it's funny to think how so many young, straight men flock to Abercrombie and Fitch, a company that bases its marketing campaigns and overall aesthetic on gay photographer Bruce Weber's homoerotic images of practically naked buff college jocks. From contributions culinary (chef James Beard and critic Craig Claireborne making it okay for straight men to cook and use exotic ingedients) to theatrical (Tony Kushner's Angels in America went from being a "gay" play to a post-9/11 vision "interpreting loss and renewal in American culture"), Crimmins has a lot to say about what breeders owe queens.

Altogether, this is a fun, breezy book that would be a good introduction to gay men's cultural contributions for those that would not pick up a heavier, more academic tome (although those are the very people who wouldn't even pick up this title, either - it's the very people who should read this book that won't). It's just too bad that Crimmins didn't write something on the "grand scale" she claims this subject demands. If she had, she would truly be paying tribute to the gay men she so clearly admires.