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This was the other remarkable detail of the night. It’s just a red long-sleeved polo sweater that she wears with a pair of gold chains, black loafers, and dark pants tucked into a creamy-looking pair of socks. She looks ready for bed, office and “Santa Claus 5” all at the same time. Soft, this sweater is as light as a T-shirt and maybe a little too big, but still hangs on its thin frame as if it’s on sale somewhere stylish. You want one. But who will wear it in a way that is better or more evocative?
The sweater is the color of clothing that his ancestors wore while performing stand-up at and near their peaks in 1983. Richard Pryor spends “Here and Now” in a dull green suit with a karate-belt at the front. The red shirt he is matching has two white buttons; shoes match. The vibe here breaks down radically from Carmichael’s. Pryor must contend with a rowdy New Orleans audience he likes to tame. The interruptions never stop. And Pryor deftly, ridiculously, gets the two-cent exclamation that comes in so much that he’s as much of a fountain as a superstar.
But what Carmichael’s red shirt really brought to mind was the red leather suit from Eddie Murphy’s “Delirious.” Murphy has zipped the jacket up to his belly button and invites you to grab the chain locket that adorns his hairless chest. A black disco belt hangs without a loop so that the metallic arrowhead fits into her crotch and acts as a penis. It’s pure show-off, as if a Ferrari had finally earned its desire to be Rick James. Murphy prowls on stage like a lion, prowling like a lion, and mauling like a lion. “Fags” is his opening move. He fearfully dreams of serving a gay Mr. T and portrays what kind of lovers the best buds would make in “The Honeymooners.” There is more. But also less so, at least given the enormous drop in my mouth.
I must have watched “Delirious” a dozen times before I turned 10. I knew what my deal was, and this “faggot” seemed to sum it up and poison it. I remember finding the middle section, approx. Murphy Being small is a rebellion. (In part, though, because he had found something about moments of joy in poor, Black childhoods that felt right to many other children.)
The care taken on “Delirious” is in a way settled. Murphy solemnly atoned For his homophobic arias 26 years ago and he called this material “ignorant”. in 2019. But a memory is a memory. And what I mostly remember is the suit, the red, the fire, the warning, the alarm: Don’t be like Mr. T. in Eddie Murphy’s porn. Still, it never occurred to me that, in a sense, all Murphy was doing in this section was to offer a true definition of the sex that men can have with each other. But in 1983, at the beginning of the AIDS epidemic, there was a lot of talk about the supposed abomination of this sexual relationship – gay people. Murphy plugs his electric shock into the outlet of a packed concert hall. He presents his targets with orderly, masculine personalities – snarling, grumpy, stupid. He was 22 at the time, and the thing that turned the house upside down during these jokes was a The homosexuality virus and how he could infect someone as certain as macho as Mr. T, suffocated in feathers and gold and vests.
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