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The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, Directed by Stephan Elliott

Australian Film Finance Corporation, September 8, 1994 (Australia)

Screenplay: Stephan Elliott

Starring: Terence Stamp, Hugo Weaving, Guy Pearce, Bill Hunter, Rebel Penfold-Russell, John Casey, June Marie Bennett, Murray Davies, Frank Cornelius, Bob Boyce, Leighton Picken, Maria Kmet, Joseph Kmet, Alan Dargin, and Julia Cortez

(Terence Stamp): That’s just what this country needs: a cock in a frock on a rock.

Imagine a world without color. A place of dead roads. Pale dust. A tired and desolate place where everything pretty much looks the same. So why even bother? A normal place. Safe. Clean. No detours. No deviation. No dancing, drinking. No card-playing. Just a vast and filthy land of empty. Dry as dirt. Dull and wide as the bashing eyelashes can see.

Felicia (Guy Pearce): All dolled up and nowhere to go.

Now put on a little mascara. Go on! Slip into something shiny. Tilt your chin up. Click those heels. Wagons Ho! We’re moving west! Go forth and multiply. Throw your best gown to the wind. Flash. Shimmer. Shake! The bus moves further. Faster. Life’s a giant drag, so you better dress up for the show, honey. Better twinkle and shine. Lift them pumps. Swing, boa, swing! Dance. Dribble. Explode! Like fabulous purple vomit over a hundred gray flannel suits. The road is straight. Straight as a poison arrow. Straight as the hard casket they put you in when all your blood’s drained. So better smile for the camera now. Spray silver in your hair. Spread the spandex. The Playtex. The Polyester. Snap. Crackle. Pop! Leotards and leather. Tattoos and tutus. Trucks and tanks and topless Winnebagos. Greyhounds and 4x4s and all the magical mystery tours buses that will shrink to fit. Ride ‘em high cowgirl. Ride ‘em hard. Smear that trail, you little ghost-eyeliner in the sky.

Felicia: Oh, for goodness sakes, get down off that crucifix. Someone needs the wood.

It’s a brave thing to put on a dress. A big show. A bitch. Especially if you’re a man. A very hairy man. It’s a wig and a wave and a wink to the troops. But you just don’t get it do you? Come to where the flavor is. A place where men are men who just sit around wearing other women’s clothes. Why not? They feel so good! They feel so slinky! Even cowboys get the blues so why not cry in something pretty?

This film makes you proud to be a fag. A homo. Wacko. Fucking weirdo! Because without them what would this pathetic world be? A very boring and cheerless, lackluster place. Predictable. Weary. Wasted. A world of horribly bad taste in shoes. Boring, boring boring! An unbelievably long and colorless sea of desert. Blank and badly dressed. The cities are safe because that’s where all the queer folk go. They were run out of town. Run out of the garden. Out of the great American Dream. Out of the land of milk and honey. Out of Dodge and the state parade (it’s a straight parade!). Washed out like all the bad stains on the ugly dress you wore to the 4th of July party. They just shouldn’t be there. They’re all going to laugh at you! So don’t grow your hair long. Don’t wear a beard. A dress. A smile. It’s a small world after all so don’t get grass stains on your khakis. Above all, act like a man. The desert is quiet. You can hear the stones turn. Pick them up and throw them at someone who looks funny. Punch them in the face because you don’t understand. If God meant us to be this way then why does it suck so much? Dare to be different. Don’t be afraid. It’s only a wasteland this desert, Priscilla. So fuck ‘em hard in high heels.

Bernadette: I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: “No more fucking ABBA!”

She is queen. She is golden. Can you see all her colors as she spreads her wings?