I just got done watching "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert" with Hugo Weaving, Guy Pearce, and Terence Stamp as drag queens. It's worth watching for the costumes alone, but the boys make fantastic women. Guy Pearce does not make a totally ugly woman, I have to say. The characters were likable, the script was good, and the story wasn't completely ridiculous.
Hugo Weaving is going to the middle of Australia to perform his cabaret show. We find out that this gig was courtesy of his wife, whose existence causes a great deal of consternation for his colleagues. The fact that he is a father is even more distressing, especially to Hugo. The film follows a road movie format, bringing our protagonists into contact with various people, some of whom are important.
His wife is quite tolerant and easy-going, as is his son. In the movies, we often find that life has a niche for us where we can be valued for everything that we are. Sometimes this happens for real.
It was a throwaway line that stuck in my mind. Hugo is concerned that his son will be mortified by his lifestyle. His wife is unconcerned, blithely stating that morals are relative, and that the boy will develop his own in time.
What a lovely conceit. What a beautiful lie.
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