Oh Ricky!

I will freely admit to having a crush on Ricky Martin just at the moment. Unlike most of the rest of the world, it seems, I took notice of his ascending star a couple of years back and own two of his Spanish-language albums (both far superior, on the whole, to his recent self-titled English release). But, by golly, he's been on TV a lot lately, and I won't complain about getting another eyeful or two of him before someone else catapults into the It-Boy position he's got a lock on currently. Meanwhile, Salon has taken a few moments to superficially examine the present Ricky-mania. In a piece filled with florid prose, writer Cintra Wilson opines:

Ricky is an emblem of virility and energy and good-guy ethics, while being a near-perfect fusion of male cliché sexual images: one part Cary Grant self-amused privilege, one part James Bond eyebrow raised at the way these birds just seem to tumble into my lap, two parts Julio Iglesias-cum-Ricardo Montalban-cum-Desi Arnaz-cum-Medellin drug-cartel-Latino mega-suave and three parts Elvis good-natured nuclear cock-power, all shrink-wrapped into one silk 'n' leather Milano-pimp outfit.

And, of course, a reader letter prompted the redoubtable Camille Paglia to weigh in on the question of "Is he, or isn't he?" (Ed. — He very well could be. He's got the clothes.) Tell us, Camille, what does it all mean?

If Ricky Martin turned out to be just another buff gay clone, he'd cut himself off at the knees as an international artist. Current gay male culture is too shallow to provide the kind of psychological development that a performer needs.

Comments:

<< Back to Must See HTTP://