I get very confused about drag.

Often, I dislike it intensely.

It’s because there seems to be no middle ground. Personally, I have no interest in fetishistic men dressed in women’s clothes, lip syncing badly, and, more often than not, spewing content that is misogynistic and vile.

In my own defence though, I have also enjoyed drag when the performers have been capable, talented, funny, and suitably gorgeous (see, I am fickle), and who manage to avoid the downward moral slide into the pit of crude, misogynistic parody. We have had a good number of these quality humans in Aotearoa over the years: Carmen Rupe, Bertha the Beast, Lilith LaCroix, Buckwheat, Miss Ribena, Kita Mean, Polly Filla, and a few others.

The Kiwi drag I’m taking about seems to have identifiable components (lip syncing), is immensely popular in some quarters (clubs), and has no doubt changed a lot over the years too.

Being transgender, I am often accused of appropriating ‘all things woman’, so I might be overly sensitive in this area.

I might be, but I don’t think so.

I first came across Panti Bliss (Rory O’Neill) when on holiday in Dublin in 2014. We chatted online for awhile and I was impressed. His anger connected with mine, manifested itself in the same way. Although the source of our shared anger seemed superficially different, both were anchored in radical Irish politics.

I traded the opportunity for a catch up with Rory for a road trip North to Clochán an Aifir (the Giant’s Causeway), for a different narrative, stories about legendary battles between Fionn mac Cumhaill and the fearsome Scottish giant Benandonner, and for exploring my own radical roots by making a pilgrimage to Derry where the horror of Bloody Sunday and the call of the Bogside had become irresistible, to Armagh, Omagh, to the Falls Road in Belfast, and to the Milltown cemetery.

So that was a chance to meet up that went begging, an opportunity I regret not taking.

Scroll forward eleven years and Panti Bliss turns up in Tamaki Makaurau Auckland with her new show If These Wigs Could Talk and tickets appear in my inbox. Simultaneously, I am contacted by every Irish friend I have (lots) to try to make a time when we can all go to see the show together. My Irish friends (I have heaps) are a metaphor for why Ireland still doesn’t rule the world because, even after I’d come home from having the most fantastic night I’ve had in a very long time, my Irish friends, (all of them) still hadn’t agreed on the best night to go and see the show.

My advice to them is to ‘stop acting the maggot’ and make a bloody decision. You’ll regret it if you don’t.

Seeing a performance at The Wintergarden at the Civic is always very special and last night was no exception. Front of House were fabulous and, with me tottery on my pins, I was kindly escorted to the lift by a gorgeous young chap who was incredibly helpful. It worked for both of us because, given the rabbit warren of corridors under the Civic, had I got lost I could have been missing for weeks without anyone noticing, wandering the passageways like Quasimodo looking for the lift, but the care and courtesy of that young man in his crisp, fresh uniform, avoided that latent disaster. The same happened after the show where Supervisor Caitlin did the same, but in reverse, and she even got me a chair so that I could be comfortable waiting, it seemed for days, outside the main doors for my ride to arrive.

The central city is a nightmare of construction, road cones, barriers, diversions, detours, and bypasses, as we all vanish further and ever deeper into City Rail Link hell.

It’s a CBD bad dream, please avoid at all cost.

But enough about that, what about the show?

Panti is the drag name of Rory O’Neill. It’s short for ‘Pandora Panti Bliss’ and Panti is a real celebrity.

Yes, I know drag queens all think they’re celebrities – some even are – but Panti really is famous, not just in her home county of Mayo in Ireland, but all around the world. She has a book ‘Woman in the Making: A Memoir’ which Amazon describes as “the story of Rory O’Neill’s journey from the fields to becoming Panti Bliss, the voice of a brave new nation embracing diversity, all the colours of the rainbow, and, most of all, a glamorous attitude, the story of a misfit who turned his difference into a triumphant art form; of coming to terms with HIV; of political activism; of ‘Pantigate’, and the speech that touched a million lives.” 

See the show, it’s all there, but first of all remove from you psyche any vestige of a conviction that you know what drag is all about. Whatever your preconceived idea, you’re probably wrong, and after 75 minutes you’ll be delighted to have been so mistaken.

Drag like this is actually fabulous.

Panti is often described as ‘The Queen of Ireland’ and, again, that’s because she actually is, and there’s even a 2015 movie of that name that is all about her to prove it.

Check out the internet and you’ll find other taonga like her TED talk, Panti Bliss: the necessity of normalising queer love, and Jacinta Parson’s radio interview entitled How Panti Bliss got her name.

They’re both absolute treasures, you’ll be glad you took the time.

There’s also video from the Abbey Theatre’s recording of Panti’s noble speech that touched a million lives, the one that went viral. The 10 minute clip caught the attention of tens of thousands in the online communities and became a rallying call especially for those who supported marriage equality, with prominent tweeters and rights activists including Stephen Fry, Graham Norton, Dan Savage, and Dara O’Briain, retweeting the speech to a combined audience of millions, while Irish Times columnist Fintan O’Toole has described the clip as ‘the most eloquent Irish speech since Daniel O’Connell was in his prime’.

Even the Material Girl has reportedly seen the clip.

The Wintergarden can be a bit of a black hole, albeit a nice one. In front of the stage three sets of chairs are placed in a chevron shape. The stage set up is simple, a bar table, a stool, and a bright pink neon sign, in cursive hand, that says simply ‘Panti’.

The show opens with a smart bit of ‘warm up the audience’ connecting: ‘who’s the youngest’ (someone is eighteen) and ‘who’s the oldest’ (at 80 that would be me). She has an energy that is infectious, she’s all class. There are no songs so no lip-syncing (that’s a mercy), and the entire show is wonderfully biographical and loosely held together by the notion of how drag has changed over the years. That’s important, certainly, but it’s the episodes dropped out from her life and told with mischief, rage, and gut-wrenching laughter, that are the most memorable.

Having said that, truth is, the show is anything but loose. It’s taut, the narrative is beautifully integrated with seamless segues, and it’s all deeply personal. Panti is the epitome of the traditional Irish storyteller, and the Wintergarden is her seanchoíche, her safe space to ‘unpack’, to expose her scars, to laugh things out, to induce us to recognise ourselves in her stories, and I did exactly that for the full 75 minutes. There were long periods when it was like witnessing someone far more attractive than me, and far more capable, unpacking my existence and massaging it into appetising portions for general consumption. Was it just me who felt like that? I seriously doubt it.

It’s a superb piece of (almost traditional) live theatre, there’s a beginning, a middle, and an end, a vibrant narrative that just happens to be told by a drag queen, one who has been there and back, and there and back again, just to check that the agony she experienced the first time round was real, just as grisly (and bizarre), and just as rich in comic potential as she’d thought it probably was in the first place.  

It’s one seamless story, unique, queer as fuck, inhabited by outstanding characters, it’s moving and outrageous, serious and riotous, all at the same time, mixed together, and turned on its arse. It’s gorgeous arse. Of course it is.

There’s a weekend in Vienna with important people. We meet Roderigo and what plays out is fabulous and funny. Roderigo is a recurring character. We know him and love him. We also meet Anderson. We don’t like him quite so much. He’s recurring too. Theres a lot of talk about marriage equality and a fair amount of headshaking at the idea. She says that’s a no from her.

Age is a recurring theme. At fifty-six Panti is gorgeous, and why not? If she’d said she was twenty-six I’d have believed her.

Anyone who lived life in the pre-homosexual law reform era would understand her anger and why she was so pissed. Great stories about County Mayo Pride and serious hate from Nazis, Destiny Church on steroids. Are we experiencing déjà vu from the ‘50’s all over again. Only worse. The ‘50’s had no internet so there was no-one in your socials twice a day, every day, each and every day, with death threats – ‘you’re a pedo’, ‘you’re a groomer’, ‘you’re a danger to women and girls’, ‘I know where you live’, ‘why don’t you kill yourself.’

If These Wigs Could Talk might not be quite what you’re expecting. It’s certainly drag, but not as you know it, Jim. There’s the idyllic childhood in Ballinrobe in County Mayo with talk of Destiny and the parade in Ponsonby ‘Street’ to ensure that the show has moments of domestic relevance, the whole thing is like sharing craic in a local club.

I am in awe of her sublime craft, playing the crowd, teasing us, comic timing to die for, enough of a sense of improvisation to maintain an intense interest, we hang on her every word, we roar with laughter as if on command.

We’re also left in no doubt that Panti’s had enough. She’s not putting up with it. Not anymore. She’d had enough twenty years ago. We understand. I’ve had enough too. We cheer like banshees.

We follow how drag has changed. The changes are subtle, nuanced. There’s the boy with gold nail polish. He’s so very today. The room has plenty of audience members, however, who remember that nauseating mothball smell of the closet.

We learn about GAG, about Sarajevo, Tokyo, how she became a beacon for marriage equality in Ireland.

Her Dad was a veterinary surgeon, sartorial, there’s a fun story about having the wrong belt. Using a necktie. In his nineties now, Dad has ‘holes’ in his brain. I am moved. There’s one of those silences you can taste. His Mum is featured in the film. She gets letters from gays whose mothers were not supportive, who left the country and never returned rather than face that familial distaste we all know so well. She’s replies to all of them, doesn’t divulge the contents to Rory, and he never asks. I think I love Mrs O’Neill an awful lot. The silence of mothers.

Panti’s life is fighting fascism and hate full on, with charm, honesty and wit, changing queer culture one homophobe at a time, evolving the art of drag, and talking about it. Always talking about it. If These Wigs Could Talk is her story, and it’s as fabulous as she is.

Rory O’Neill is a radical activist and the finest of fine actors. What’s not to like?

Panti is magnificent.

If These Wigs Could Talk is a ‘must see’, but get in quick, or all the remaining seats will go to my Irish friends if, indeed, they ever get their decision-making act together.

This is not a given.

If These Wigs Could Talk is on at the Wintergarden until 23 February.

Some links mentioned above:

“The speech that touched a million lives.” 

Panti Bliss Noble Call Speech | The Queen Of Ireland

“How Panti Bliss got her name”.

How Panti Bliss got her name – ABC listen

“Panti Bliss: The necessity of normalising queer love”.

Panti Bliss: The necessity of normalizing queer love – TED”

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