Arts & Entertainment
Coronavirus claims iconic LGBTQ playwright Terrence McNally
Succumbed to complications from COVID-19 at the age of 81
The theatre community, already hard hit by the coronavirus pandemic, has been dealt a painful blow with the news that Terrence McNally, the 4-time Tony winning playwright whose work portrayed a rich range of human emotional experience and broke barriers in its depiction of gay life, has succumbed to complications from COVID-19 at the age of 81.
McNally, who was a survivor of lung cancer and lived with chronic COPD, died on Tuesday at the Sarasota Memorial Hospital in Florida.
Born in St. Petersburg, Florida, McNally grew up in Corpus Christi, Texas, where his New York-born parents instilled in him a love for theatre from an early age. After earning a BA at Columbia University in 1960, he developed a relationship with author John Steinbeck, who hired the young playwright to accompany his family on a worldwide cruise as a tutor to his teenage sons. Steinbeck would later enlist McNally to write the libretto for “Here’s Where I Belong,” a musical stage adaptation of the author’s classic novel, “East of Eden.”
During his early years in New York, McNally also developed a relationship with fellow playwright Edward Albee, whom he met when the two shared a cab; the pair were essentially a couple for four years, during the period in which Albee wrote “The American Dream” and “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?,” two of his most important works. It was a romance that would cast a shadow over McNally’s early career, when some critics dismissed him as “the boyfriend” after the premiere of his Broadway debut, “And Things That Go Bump in the Night.” The play, which was McNally’s first effort in three acts, flopped due to poor initial reviews – attributed by author Boze Hadleigh in his book, “Who’s Afraid of Terrence McNally,” to homophobia from conservative New York critics – even after subsequent critical reaction and audience response proved to be more favorable.
After the failure of his initial foray onto the Broadway stage, McNally rebounded with an acclaimed one-act, “Next,” which featured James Coco as a middle-aged man mistakenly drafted into the army and was directed by Elaine May, and was presented Off-Broadway in a double bill with May’s “Adaptation” in 1967. Several other one-acts followed, and the playwright gained a reputation for tackling edgy subject matter with sharp social commentary, biting dialogue, and farcical situations. He also attracted early controversy for featuring onstage nudity (from actress Sally Kirkland) for the entire length of his kidnapping drama, “Sweet Eros.”
Success came his way in the seventies, when he racked up an Obie award for 1974’s “Bad Habits,” and a Broadway hit with “The Ritz,” a risqué farce set in a gay bathhouse where a straight middle-aged business man unwittingly goes into hiding to escape his wife’s murderous mafioso brother. Adapted from his own earlier play, “The Tubs,” it was subsequently turned into a 1976 film version (directed by “A Hard Day’s Night” filmmaker Richard Lester), starring original stage cast members Jack Weston, Jerry Stiller, F. Murray Abraham, and Rita Moreno (reprising her Tony-winning role as bathhouse chanteuse Googie Gomez), as well as featuring a blonde-dyed Treat Williams in an early appearance as an undercover cop.
After another series of career setbacks, McNally rebounded again in the eighties with more Off-Broadway acclaim for his play, “Frankie and Johnny in the Clair de Lune,” which starred Kathy Bates and F. Murray Abraham. The playwright has said that it was his first work after becoming sober, telling the New York Times in 2019, “There was certainly a change in my work. It’s hard to know who you are if you’re drunk all the time. It clouds your thinking. I started thinking more about my people — my characters.”
It was in the nineties, however, that McNally blossomed into a master playwright, with plays like “Lips Together, Teeth Apart,” which placed AIDS squarely in the backdrop of its story about two married couples spending a weekend on Fire Island, and “Master Class,” a tour-de-force one-woman show about Maria Callas which featured Zoe Caldwell in a widely acclaimed performance.
It was also during this period that McNally wrote “Love! Valour! Compassion!,” an expansive play about a group of gay friends who spend three successive holiday weekends over the course of a summer together at a lake house in upstate New York. Transferring to Broadway after a successful debut at the Manhattan Theatre Club – with which McNally had a long association, and where he developed several of his important works – in a production directed by Joe Mantello, it was a pastoral, introspective, Chekhovian drama that offered deeply-drawn, non-stereotypical portrayals of gay characters confronting the various issues in their lives and their relationships; it was also a snapshot of life at the height of the AIDS crisis, exploring the ways in which the spectre of the disease was an unavoidable part of day-to-day life that encroached upon every aspect of gay experience. McNally’s script, bolstered by the richly human performances of an ensemble cast that included Nathan Lane, John Glover, John Benjamin Hickey, Anthony Heald, and Justin Kirk, countered the potential for moroseness with warmth and humor, and the play is now widely seen, alongside plays such as Tony Kushner’s “Angels in America” and Paul Rudnick’s “Jeffrey,” as one of the most important theatrical works of the AIDS era. A film version in 1997 reunited most of the original stage cast, though the notably straight Jason Alexander replaced Lane in the role of Buzz, the most outwardly flamboyant of the play’s eight gay characters.
It was in the nineties when McNally also established himself as an important figure in the musical genre, contributing the libretto for John Kander and Fred Ebb’s “The Rink” (a short-lived musical drama starring Chita Rivera and Liza Minnelli) before going on to collaborate again with the legendary score composers on “Kiss of the Spider Woman,” their musical version of the Manuel Puig novel about the unlikely friendship that develops between a political revolutionary and a gay window dresser as they share a cell in a Mexican prison. The musical (which also starred Rivera) was a smash hit and won McNally his first Tony (Best Book for a Musical) in 1993.
In 1998, he won another Tony in the same category for the libretto of “Ragtime,” a widely-acclaimed musical adaptation of the E.L. Doctorow novel exploring racism against the backdrop of the turn of the 20th Century with a score by Stephen Flaherty and Lynne Ahrens.
His other two Tonys were for “Love! Valour! Compassion!” and “Master Class,” in 1995 and 1996, respectively.
In his later career, McNally courted controversy once again with “Corpus Christi,” a 1998 “passion play” that queered the biblical story of Jesus and the Apostles by reimagining them as gay men living in modern-day Texas. At the time, the production was met with protests (McNally himself received death threats), although reviewers found its content to be surprisingly uncontroversial, with Jason Zinoman of the New York Times calling it “earnest and reverent” and “more personal than political.”
Other notable dramatic works included “The Lisbon Traviata,”
“It’s Only A Play,” “A Perfect Ganesh,” “The Stendahl Syndrome,” “Mothers and
Sons,” and his last, 2018’s “Fire and Air.” He also wrote librettos for the musicals
“The Full Monty,” “A Man of No Importance,” “Anastasia,” and “The Visit” (also
with Kander and Ebb, and also starring Rivera), and for the operas “Dead Man Walking,”
“Three Decembers,” and “Great Scott.”
He also wrote for television, including an Emmy-winning teleplay for the 1988 AIDS
drama “Andre’s Mother.” For film, he wrote the screenplays for the film
adaptations of his plays, “The Ritz,” “Love! Valour! Compassion!,” and “Frankie
and Johnny at the Clair de Lune” (retitled as simply “Frankie and Johnny”).
Besides his Tony and Emmy wins, he also earned three Drama Desk Awards, two Lucille Lortel Awards, and two Obies, as well as a Pulitzer Prize nomination.
In addition to his four competitive Tonys, he was awarded a Special Tony Award for Lifetime Achievement in 2019.
He was also the recipient of two Guggenheim Fellowships and a Rockefeller Grant.
McNally is survived by his husband, Thomas Kirdahy, whom he wed in 2010 after a long relationship. Other survivors include a brother Peter McNally, and his wife Vicky McNally, along with their children and grandchildren; also listed among the survivors are Mother-in-Law Joan Kirdahy, sister/brother-in-laws Carol Kirdahy, Kevin Kirdahy, James Kirdahy, Kathleen Kirdahy Kay, and Neil Kirdahy.
a&e features
Transmission DC breathes new life into a storied sound space
A fresh home for boundary-pushing culture on H Street
Late last year, phoenix-style, a fresh home for boundary-pushing culture arose on the H Street corridor. Transmission DC – a queer, trans, and POC-owned, operated, and centered community-focused venue – powered on in the former home to the Rock & Roll Hotel (famously, not a hotel, but very much rock & roll). Transmission (1353 H St., N.E.) arrives secure in its mandate – or even birthright – to provide a place to celebrate creativity and music through a lens of inclusivity and respect.
Transmission’s team brings experience, but also representation. Owners/partners Kabir Khanna (who is also programming director), Katii B, Ellie McDyre, and Kelli Kerrigan together previously managed 618 productions, a venue in Chinatown, crafting “some of D.C.’s freakiest parties, raves, and mosh pits” they note.
They packed up operations last fall to a space curated specifically for D.C.’s underground music and culture scene, building their efforts in Chinatown to bring in more fans in queer and POC circles.
Transmission, Khanna points out, is built on DIY values. In the music scene, DIY means that promoters and organizers – often disconnected from the mainstream and part of marginalized communities – build shows and programs collaboratively, but independently from institutions, supporting each other as smaller, independent venues close. Here, Transmission aims to ensure that those putting together these underground inclusive shows have a more permanent and stable home, can have access to resources, and can provide more sustainable income to artists. “We’re trying to get more people to support and enjoy the music, and also give artists and organizers within the DIY community more structure and a larger cut,” says Khanna.
Khanna also notes that Transmission operates “under the principles of safety, inclusivity, and respect.” McDyre added that even at venues that claim inclusivity, that statement might not take place in practice. We’re “not just pitting up a rainbow flag,” says McDyre, but as some of the owners are trans and POC, audiences can see themselves reflected at the top.
Much like the DIY nature of the music community, the Transmission owners brought a DIY ethos to turning around their space.
In March 2020 – the height of COVID lockdowns – Rock & Roll Hotel suddenly shuttered, though not due to the pandemic; instead, the venue claimed that decreasing sales and increasing competition led to the closure. For 14 years, it was the central spot for cheap beer and lesser-known and celebrated acts. The space stood vacant for more than five years, until Transmission turned the power back on.
“When we got into the space, it was effectively abandoned for years,” says Khanna. “There was a ton of mold, and paint primer covering all surfaces. It was nearly falling apart.” Khanna noted that many music venues like this one, regardless of how well it was maintained, “get the shit kicked out of it,” given the nature of shows. The team called in mold removal contractors, ripped up most of the floorboards, and started fresh.
Transmission’s first floor is styled as a stripped-down black box: the better to take in the music. “It’s minimal on purpose to act as a canvas for set design and music,” without a specific aesthetic, says Khanna. Moving upstairs, the second floor has been opened up, removing some walls, and now has a larger dance area than the first floor. Beyond the first two performance levels, and a holdover from Rock & Roll Hotel, is the rooftop. Though without a stage, the rooftop space is filled with murals splashed across the walls, with a full bar. Transmission’s current capacity is 496, but the team is looking to grow that number. Transmission will also leverage the full kitchen that Rock & Roll Hotel operated, bringing in Third Hand Kitchen to offer a variety of food, including vegan and vegetarian options.
Khanna pointed out an upcoming show reflective of Transmission’s inclusive ethos: Black Techo Matters on Feb. 27. The event is set to be “a dynamic, collaborative night of underground electronic music celebrating Black History Month.” Khanna says that techno came from Black music origins, and this event will celebrate this genesis with a host of artists, including DJ Stingray 313, Carlos Souffront, and Femanyst.
Movies
Moving doc ‘Come See Me’ is more than Oscar worthy
Poet Laureate Andrea Gibson, wife negotiate highs and lows of terminal illness
When Colorado Poet Laureate Andrea Gibson died from ovarian cancer in the summer of 2025, the news of their passing may have prompted an outpouring of grief from their thousands of followers on social media, but it was hardly a surprise.
That’s because Gibson – who had risen to both fame and acclaim in the early 2000s with intense live performances of their work that made them a “superstar” at Poetry Slam events – had been documenting their health journey on Instagram ever since receiving the diagnosis in 2021. During the process, they gained even more followers, who were drawn in by the reflections and explorations they shared in their daily posts. It was really a continuation, a natural evolution of their work, through which their personal life had always been laid bare, from the struggles with queer sexuality and gender they experienced in their youth to the messy relationships and painful breakups of their adult life; now, with precarious health prohibiting a return to the stage, they had found a new platform from which to express their inner experience, and their fans – not only the queer ones for whom their poetry and activism had become a touchstone, but the thousands more who came to know them through the deep shared humanity that exuded through their online presence – were there for it, every step of the way.
At the same time, and in that same spirit of sharing, there was another work in progress around Gibson: “Come See Me in the Good Light,” a film conceived by their friends Tig Notaro and Stef Willen and directed by seasoned documentarian Ryan White (“Ask Dr. Ruth”, “Good Night, Oppy”, “Pamela, a Love Story”), it was filmed throughout 2024, mostly at the Colorado home shared by Gibson and their wife, fellow poet Megan Falley, and debuted at the 2025 Sundance Film Festival before a release on Apple TV in November. Now, it’s nominated for an Academy Award.
Part life story, part career retrospective, and part chronicle of Gibson and Falley’s relationship as they negotiate the euphoric highs and heartbreaking lows of Gibson’s terminal illness together, it’s not a film to be approached without emotional courage; there’s a lot of pain to be vicariously endured, both emotional and physical, a lot of hopeful uplifts and a lot of crushing downfalls, a lot of spontaneous joy and a lot of sudden fear. There’s also a lot of love, which radiates not only from Gibson and Falley’s devotion and commitment to being there for each other, no matter what, but through the support and positivity they encounter from the extended community that surrounds them. From their circle of close friends, to the health care professionals that help them navigate the treatment and the difficult choices that go along with it, to the extended family represented by the community of fellow queer artists and poets who show up for Gibson when they make a triumphant return to the stage for a performance that everyone knows may well be their last, nobody treats this situation as a downer. Rather, it’s a cause to celebrate a remarkable life, to relish friendship and feelings, to simply be present and embrace the here and now together, as both witness and participant.
At the same time, White makes sure to use his film as a channel for Gibson’s artistry, expertly weaving a showcase for their poetic voice into the narrative of their survival. It becomes a vibrant testament to the raw power of their work, framing the poet as a seminal figure in a radical, feminist, genderqueer movement which gave voice to a generation seeking to break free from the constraints of a limited past and imagine a future beyond its boundaries. Even in a world where queer existence has become – yet again – increasingly perilous in the face of systemically-stoked bigotry and bullying, it’s a blend that stresses resilience and self-empowerment over tragedy and victimhood, and it’s more than enough to help us find the aforementioned emotional courage necessary to turn what is ultimately a meditation on dying into a validation of life.
That in itself is enough to make “Come See Me in the Good Light” worthy of Oscar gold, and more than enough to call it a significant piece of queer filmmaking – but there’s another level that distinguishes it even further.
In capturing Gibson and Falley as they face what most of us like to think of as an unimaginable future, White’s quietly profound movie puts its audience face-to-face with a situation that transcends all differences not only of sexuality or gender, but of race, age, or economic status as well. It confronts us with the inevitability few of us are willing to consider until we have to, the unhappy ending that is rendered certain by the joyful beginning, the inescapable conclusion that has the power to make the words “happily ever after” feel like a hollow promise. At the center of this loving portrait of a great American artist is a universal story of saying goodbye.
Yes, there is hope, and yes, good fortune often prevails – sometimes triumphantly – in the ongoing war against the cancer that has come to threaten the palpably genuine love this deeply-bonded couple has found together; but they (and we) know that, even in the best-case scenario, the end will surely come. All love stories, no matter how happy, are destined to end with loss and sorrow; it doesn’t matter that they are queer, or that their gender identities are not the same as ours – what this loving couple is going through, together, is a version of the same thing every loving couple lucky enough to hold each other for a lifetime must eventually face.
That they meet it head on, with such grace and mutual care, is the true gift of the movie.
Gibson lived long enough to see the film’s debut at Sundance, which adds a softening layer of comfort to the knowledge we have when watching it that they eventually lost the battle against their cancer; but even if they had not, what “Come See Me in the Good Light” shows us, and the unflinching candor with which it does so, delivers all the comfort we need.
Whether that’s enough to earn it an Oscar hardly matters, though considering the notable scarcity of queer and queer-themed movies in this year’s competition it might be our best shot at recognition.
Either way, it’s a moving and celebratory film statement with the power to connect us to our true humanity, and that speaks to a deeper experience of life than most movies will ever dare to do.
The 44th annual Queen of Hearts pageant was held at The Lodge in Boonsboro, Md. on Friday, Feb. 20. Six contestants vied for the title and Bev was crowned the winner.
(Washington Blade photos by Michael Key)
View on Threads
Transmission DC breathes new life into a storied sound space
Criteria for supporting a candidate in D.C.
Capital Stonewall Democrats elect new leaders
Moving doc ‘Come See Me’ is more than Oscar worthy
The global cost of Trump’s foreign aid ideology
PHOTOS: Cupid’s Undie Run
US Embassy in Mexico issues shelter in place order for Puerto Vallarta
Sweat DC expands to Shaw
2026: prices, pace, and winter weather
