Alan Ilagan

To cap off a couple of posts celebrating the 20th anniversary of Truth or Dare, I’ve saved one of my favorite photographs of Madonna for today. Taken by Steven Meisel, I first saw it in the pages of my Bible at the time – Entertainment Weekly. I read the accompanying article so many times I could recite it from memory, and I pored over the photo spread so long that I could recreate it pose for pose. Stories and pictures like these taught me that it was indeed possible to craft your own myth, to become your own legend. Even if it was within the four walls of your childhood bedroom.

In further honor of the 20th anniversary of Truth or Dare, I give you these promo pix from that amazing era. Talk about an ass that just won’t quit. Imagine the behind-the-scenes (ahem) stories that accompanied this photo shoot. I wonder if he ever turned around to face the camera…

It was a bit like taking a bullet (or so I would imagine) when I realized that this month marks the 20th anniversary of Madonna’s Truth or Dare. The year was 1991 – probably one of the darker years in my life – and I was just coming around to Madonna again after being frightened away by her Catholic offenses. As with a lot of things, I was coming around in a major way, and Truth or Dare is what started and sealed the deal on my super-fandom.

I still remember that night vividly. It was just before summer really started – my brother and his friend Eric came with me (I promised them there would be boobies), and we went to the old Cinema 4 at the Amsterdam Mall, where the parking lot sparkled with glittered cement (no, really). There were about three other people in the theater, but I didn’t care – in fact, all the better.

No matter what is said about the Madonna the actress, the documentary was pretty damn good – and it left me feeling inspired and ready to take on the world (the mark of a good movie in my twisted book). It also offered a humorous, if completely calculated, look at the woman behind the myth, and I willingly and happily bought every conceit.

Unafraid to be daring or offensive, refusing to be cowed by men in uniform (whether that was policemen or the Pope himself), yet somewhat vulnerable and lonely, Madonna portrayed herself as a fully realized human being – a complex and hidden one too, no matter how all-access she claimed it to be.

At the time, I didn’t know who I was – and the person I feared I might just be (a gay man) was not even in the realm of possibility. Yet here was Madonna, watching as two men kissed, and daring to put it on big screens across the country, and a world I didn’t know existed (there was no internet as we know it in 1991) opened up before my eyes – a world beyond Amsterdam, NY – and beyond a wife and kids and a white picket fence. It was but a glimpse, but it was enough – and I’ve held onto the truth – and Madonna – ever since.

There are stories circulating that Madonna was offered $1 billion for a Vegas residency for five years, a la Celine Dion, Elton John, Cher, etc. Personally, I don’t see it happening, at least not for another twenty years. Madonna is not one to station herself in one city for more than a few months at a time, and her European sensibilities don’t quite align with Las Vegas.

She poo-pooed Vegas slightly in Truth or Dare (or at least allowed back-up singer/dancer Nikki to do so – screeching “Madonna’s Vegas Show” as she put a palm frond over her breasts), and even more-so in I’m Going to Tell You A Secret, as she decried the hot-dog eating fans at the Las Vegas stop of the Re-invention Tour.

While it would undoubtedly be a lucrative deal, there’s no way she would shackle herself down for five years at this point – by the time it was over she would almost be 60. I just can’t see it – not yet. (Though it would be amazing to see what kind of Vegas show she would produce.)

Believe it or not, the majority of my life does not make it into this blog. That which does is, luckily for you, edited to protect the world from my sometimes-too-blunt assessments and opinions. I also tend to leave the depressing and bothersome things out of here, because the world has enough of that. Unfortunately, that leaves a cheery image that is often at odds with what is really going on inside my head and in my off-line life. As Madonna sagely noted in Truth or Dare, “It ain’t all hunky-dory.”

That said, I am headed into Boston for a long weekend in which I hope to recharge my drained battery and pony up for the rest of the wedding reception preparations that seem inconceivable and impossible to execute. I’ve done a lot already, but it doesn’t feel like nearly enough. It should be old-hat for someone who’s had a zillion parties, but I’ve never had to plan something for over 200 people (I was thinking it might be lower, but who doesn’t show up to a wedding when they’ve RSVP’d affirmatively?)

My Mom is in charge of the food and drinks, and hopefully the tent as well. I am working on the rest – decorations, music, possibly flowers, table toppers, candles, guest book, desserts, and my outfit (which will require hours of more work). Andy still has not ordered his yet, but I honestly can’t worry about one more thing or I will go so crazy that I may miss the party entirely after being carted off to the loony bin.

For now I am taking a deep breath, loading up the Louis, and preparing to enjoy the silence of an empty Boston condo. It will be the first time I’ve been back since our ceremony, and it will be good to remember where it all began.

It’s no secret that I love Madonna, and have for about 25 years. She had me at “You’ve got style, That’s what all the girls say.” Yet within that quarter century of obsession, fanaticism, admiration, and occasional ambivalence, I’ve only dreamt of her three times.
 
The first was around the release of Truth or Dare – or a little afterward, in 1991. In the dream she was wearing the Dolce & Gabbana bejeweled body-stocking/corset number that she wore to the New York premiere for the movie, and she had brunette hair and smoky eyes. I forget what I said to her, but she seemed friendly and responsive to it, so “it was a good dream.”
 
The second one I can’t quite remember, but I believe it came around the time of her Reinvention Tour. I think she invited me and Andy to hang out after a show or something.
 
This third one was last night, and it was much more detailed and memorable. I was hanging out with Matthew Rettenmund (of Boy Culture and The Encyclopedia Madonnica fame) and we were at his house. This was both strange and fitting: strange in that I’ve never met Matt in person, fitting in that he’s the Madonna expert and go-to guy, as well as a kindred fan and admirer.
 
Anyway, in the dream Madonna comes into the room we’re in, and just plops herself down in a chair. Her hair is again a deep brunette, and piled in a loosely-curled mop on her head. She mentions that she has a new watch but nowhere to put it, so Matt comes out with a watch holder like they have in jewelry stores. For some reason she signs it, “Matt gave me this!” with a pen, and he is giddy.
 
At that moment, I take out a tissue and blow my nose. “Did you just stick your fingers in your nose?” she asks.
 
“I used a tissue! I’m not a heathen!” I reply indignantly. She is amused and laughs a little. Sensing my chance, I ask her the only question I can think of at the moment (and I know it’s lame, but it’s all I really want to know about right then): “So what’s the new record going to sound like?”
 
“I don’t know,” she says.
 
“Liar!” I say with a smile. She gives a little laugh.
 
“Seriously, I have no idea.”
 
And then, abruptly and too soon, the dream is over.