Behind the Masks Was a True Actor

When you stripped away the glittering sequins, the interminable boas, the exaggerated false eyelashes, the transforming foundation garments and the meticulously teased wigs, Charles Pierce was, quite simply, an actor.

I had only been in Los Angeles a few months when I saw him perform at Ciro’s on the Sunset Strip in 1971. Not only was I awed by the technical strength of his vocal and physical instrument, I was struck by the power of his emotional freedom, signposts of a great actor. At the end of his dazzling performance, I believed he was speaking directly to me when he quoted a line from David Storey’s “Home”: “If a person can’t be what they are, what’s the purpose of being anything at all?” To suggest that the impact of Pierce’s performance that night would steer the course of my career was not romantic hyperbole.

His unorthodox choice to act in clubs came early, not long after he finished his studies at the Pasadena Playhouse. He wrote sketch material--”Tallulah’s Grandmother,” for example--which he performed himself, often switching genders. From an appearance at the Club La Vie in Altadena in 1954, he began a life in nightclubs, tallying millions of frequent-flier miles, thousands upon thousands of costume changes and enough rave reviews to fill dozens of scrapbooks.

Over a career spanning nearly four decades, he was called many things: Male Actress, Female Impersonator, Stand-Up Comic in a Dress, Satirist in Sequins, the Grand Impostor. But his gift for mimicry was simply a device to showcase his refined talents as an actor. Yes, he could stomp like Davis, drawl like Mae, quiver like Hepburn, warble like Marlene, pout like Marilyn and whine like Channing but it was ultimately the man himself we came to see. And love.

During our friendship, he’d rarely indulge me when I wanted to analyze his art, but he did characterize it beautifully a few years ago: “I’m an actor,” he said, “playing the part of a female impersonator.” He even revealed the name of his alter ego, the glamorous dame who opened the show, serving as a mistress of ceremonies and trance channeler of the famous ladies: Celene Kendall.

All great actors bring themselves to the role, whether playing Hamlet or Stanley, Hedda or Lady Macbeth. Playing a woman who impersonated movie stars afforded him the opportunity to be more of himself; their vulnerability, their bitchery, their vanity and their brutality were extensions of his authentic self. Perhaps that’s why, even though his was clearly a man’s version of a woman, it was never a condescending lampoon. He respected these women for the fragile humanness that mirrored his own; never caricatures, his portraitures were created with flesh and blood, heart and soul.

I would invariably try to contextualize his accomplishments in terms of gay politics. “I’m not politically anything,” he’d insist, even though he would relate stories from the mid-’50s when he was forced to wear a pair of pants under his skirt because drag was illegal. “The pants had to show or they took you off the stage and down to the police station. It was a Gestapo state,” he said. Even though it was yet another label he wouldn’t embrace, Pierce was a gay pioneer.

“I don’t think it’s necessary to say, ‘Charles Pierce is gay,’ ” he said, and he was right. “Openly gay” long before the phrase existed, his gayness was a given, an organic reality of his act.

Above all, Pierce was a pro in the tradition of actor-managers who essentially masterminded their own careers. Charles Pierce invented Charles Pierce, refusing to be victimized in a world, and an industry, that did not wholeheartedly accept his being different. His sense of daring is an inspiration, which has fueled me, and continues to, since I first experienced his effulgent artistry 28 years ago.

Shortly after we met, he asked me to fill in for an ailing performer who had been playing an innocent sailor opposite his wanton Sadie Thompson. I was to show up at the Magnolia Street Playhouse a couple of hours before showtime. Having just completed three grueling years of acting training at Goodman Theatre, I anticipated this would be a silly romp. How wrong I was; with a no-nonsense demeanor, Pierce directed me as if we were acting a Chekhov scene.

During our final meeting a few weeks ago, he once again summoned the requisite strength needed to produce the final Charles Pierce Show. From his deathbed, in a hoarse whisper, he orchestrated the details of his upcoming memorial: the music, the speakers, the flowers. It was classic Pierce, a consummate showman to the end.

When I got the call informing me of his death, I remembered something he had once shared with me: “I love to be in a dressing room; it’s like being back in the womb, all cozy and comfy.”

I choose to remember him, seated in front of those glowing bulbs at a cluttered makeup table, eyebrow pencil in hand, an artist in the process of becoming more of himself. All cozy and comfy.

* Services are scheduled for 1 p.m. on June 19 at Church of the Hills in Forest Lawn Hollywood.