Let’s Be Tales of The City!

I'm the opportunistic Laura Linney, who got a paycheck but refused to do press for the Netflix revival because she knew it was a piece of shit.

I'm the first Mouse. I didn't want to get typecast, so I didn't come back, but really, have you seen me since then?

R2 = Kathie Lee Gifford interviewing Martin Short

Marcus D'Amico is dead.

I'm Nina Siemaszko, the Dick Sargent of Mona Ramseys.

I’m Anna Madrigal’s fabulous silk caftans imbued with the scent of pot, lily of the valley and regret

I'm Billy Campbell's penis.

I’m the blue suitcase Mary Ann wheels up the hills of SF in the very first scene.

I’m Connie Bradshaw’s copy of Playgirl on the coffee table.

I’m crotch! Crotch! CROOOOTCCHHH!

I'm the joint Anna Madrigal leaves for each new tenant at 28 Barbary Lane.

I'm Mrs. Madrigal's penis.

Is that true, R1? I thought she made the rounds during press time.

I'm Brian Hawkins' mother - daughter waitress conquests from Colma.

I'm lemon candy.

I am that "organic" food you will never ever want to try

I’m the hot Asian delivery boy. I knocked up DeeDee.

I’m a dirndl. I am NOT a “Heidi dress,” you hick.

I'm Norman Neal Williams' clip-on tie.

I’m the second Mona. Just as with Mouse, I’m not nearly as good as the original.

I’m Mother Mucca, fuckers!

I’m the sweaty jockstraps in the End Up

I’m Mouse’s HIV.

I'm the gay bathhouse.

I’m Micah Stock’s thick cock, fully on display in the most recent one.

LMAO r20 that Mother Mucca bit was so bad.

I’m Cage Tyler, but everyone knows I’m really supposed to be Rock Hudson.

I'm Lionel, the delivery boy who waits on DeDe

I'm Bill Campbell's firm but no less round and plump ass cheeks, exposed at the spur of the moment on the day of filming. Such a gorgeous man in front also had a gorgeous backside.

I'm the two tone yellow painting which causes Dee Dee to snort and burst into tears when telling Binky about her pregnancy's true paternity.

"A 'devine abortion man' ? For God's sake Binky! Does he cater parties too?"

We're D'orothea's skin-bleaching pills.

What the hell, I'm also Bill Campbell's full frontal shots.

(I'd been dying to get a peek ever since I first saw him in "The Rocketeer"! )

I’m Karen Black, and if you can believe it, I’m playing myself.

I'm Lea DeLaria, and I'm STRAIGHT!

I'm Donald Moffat's eyebrows

I'm the 2nd and 3rd miniseries sadly shot mostly in Canada with dreary replacements and my scripts and direction aren't nearly as wonderful as the first delightful miniseries.

And, I'm also the 21st century reboot which sucked so much ass and who can blame Laura for not doing press; I'm a horrible piece of shit produced by a dumb twat who wasn't even aware (or respectful) of the material and the only positive thing it did was to give poor old Armistead enough dough to flee the US to move to London.

I'm the handsome jerk Beauchamp Day, played by the delicious Thomas Gibson. One minute I am being a boring hetero jerk to DeDe and Mary Ann, the next minute I am suddenly bi and screwing Dr Fielding at the bathhouse.

R36 There wasn't anything "sudden" about it....he was a closeted gay man and a huge asshole who treated people poorly.

I’m Lexie, the traumatised victim of child sex abuse who is so traumatised that years later I’m incarcerated in Litchfield penitentiary.

I’m Lexie, the traumatised victim of child sex abuse who is so traumatised that years later I’m incarcerated in Litchfield penitentiary.

I'm the Brocklebank Apartment building, where Beauchamp and DeDe live.

We are the A-Gays who are vicious, charming yet charmless, filthy rich and utter cunts.

I'm Kevin Sessions from R41's post. I thought my acting career would soar like a rocket, but really I was just hired for my hideously sour "What smells bad?" face.

I’m the letter to Mama. I can’t tell you what it is to be gay. But I can tell you what it’s not. Maryann sends her love.

I'm Ellen/Elliot Page who looks 10 years too old for the part and is charmless.

R32 At a fat farm!

I'm Edie Adams as the private older "massage therapist" with a heart of gold. Had this actually been made in the 70's when it took place, the role would have been played by either Joan Blondell or Ann Sothern.

I'm the bullshit explanation behind the name Anna Madrigal which changed between the first two books and the last one.

I’m Brian Hawkins - hot when portrayed by Paul Gross, not when played by the other guy.

I'm the hunky New Englander with amnesia. I forgot my name. Is it Burke?

Remind me again why Mary Ann and I broke up. Was it because she was a basic Becky and the quintessential Midwestern frau cunt, completely self-absorbed and a selfish beast?

You’re Burke Andrew (no S) r49 -stay away from roses!

Beardy, wierdy, might be paedy.

I'm Emma., Frannie Halcyon's long-suffering maid, and I'm sick of her drunken bullshit.

The viewer who watched it when it premiered on PBS and my jaw dropping at the nudity and quality of the production — saying to myself, "I've never seen anything like this." Then got even more excited by seeing both Parker Posey and Janeane Garofalo.

I'm a proud Christian and God fearing wife and MOM who can safely tell my Lord that I am pure and have never watched that Sodom and Gomorrah show "Sex Tales of Caroline And The City".

I'm Armistead Maupin's electric typewriter. I don't have spellcheck.

I am the anagram

The writer stole my story. And gave me a fucking bullshit name to boot. D'orothea?

I'm the frownlines on a viewer's face trying to work out how old Elaine Paige's character would really be in 2019, and whether she looks anything like Parker Posey.

R58, Elaine Paige was 52 when she played Evita (badly) in 1978. She would be in her mid-90s now.

I’m the insane red Mona wig - am I the reason Chloe Webb and Nina S turned into raging DIVAS?

I’m weed. TOTC wouldn’t exist without me.

I'm Betty Ramsey. No relation to Patsy, formerly of Boulder, Co. Although we both had complex relationships with our daughters.

I’m the Broadway tunnel.

Let’s Rap About Rape!

I’m Shawna “Puppy” Hawkins, trying to get pregnant at Burning Man.

I'm Armistead Maupin and when I ran out of things to write, I wrote worse sequels to the original story.

I'm Emma's cheese puffs and they still won't bring Edgar home.

I'm the lubricant that Dr Jon Fielding applies to a freshly gloved finger before conducting a gynaecological examination.

I'm DeDe Halcyon Day, and I've got a lovely box. At the opera.

I'm Maryann's scarf, used by Beauchamp to cover his real trysts.

r3 doesn't believe in ghosts or know how to play this game.

I’m Wren. I was fat as a FETUS!

I’m Edgar Halycon’s bum kidneys and I love Anna Madrigal!

I'm Prue Giroux, played by the divine Mary Kay Place.

I'm the cat...still entombed on the catwalk high above the Grace Cathedral sanctuary.

(And i'm a true story)

I'm the Scissor Sisters' attempt at a musical version of "Tales of the City." I played a much-anticipated world premiere run in San Francisco and am never heard from again.

I’m spunky stew Connie Bradshaw - I fly the friendly thighs of United!

When did Betty Ramsey move from Westport, Connecticut to San Francisco?

I'm Armistead Maupin, at once humble and grand, but grown fat and and weary and not a little bit sour at being overlooked and, worse, outdated. I've tried everything, including trying to kill my golden calf even as I blow the dust off it —yet again. I've made my characters so unlikable that that no one fucking cares, but then I have second thoughts and try to salvage things for another TV version plucked from my Tales of the City pages. Here's an idea: let's make Ellen Page the central, likeable character!

[quote]When did Betty Ramsey move from Westport, Connecticut to San Francisco?

When she decided she'd had sufficient.

I'm Maupin's cameos in each series

I'm So Long Ago.

I have a real question: Is this saga still relevant today? That world, and I caught the tail (tale) end of it, is gone, right? The books, early ones anyway, were a template and celebration for us gay men back then. Anne Madrigal was someone I would become in my elder gay years, still do perhaps. But is it anything now?

R82: In 1986 or so, I recall East Coast people who had connections to San Francisco who would send them photocopies of the serialized pieces from the SF Chronicle (the first five novels were published in serial form 1978-1987.) Maupin's many signings at gay bookstores were big events.

Rereading these books now, you may as well be reading between the wars English novelists writing of the wild social scene of London, flappers named Emerald, those Mitford sisters, and scavenger hunts to retrieve a police custodian's hat. It really does seem of a distant and very different time. I think Maupin and some other writers of the time created or fed the need for a more modern phase of post-WWII gay men to leave their birth families in Anita Bryant's Florida and flock to the big cities to make their families of other gay men, lesbians, and the occasional oddballs or enlightened others they befriended or fucked along the way. In their essence I think people today can recognize something appealing in that the way gay men then were left to forge their own "chosen families" has indirectly become a commonplace way that a great many people now view themselves as having families of biology and families of adopted friends. The trappings of Tales are all seriously dated because they were all so actively infused with "ripped from the headlines" subjects and themes, but I would say there is still some appeal even as the necessity of gays to create their own worlds in a larger world that wouldn't have them has lost a lot of meaning.

I'm the love boat

Good response R83. Thanks for taking the time to write it. I think I remain internally a product of that time. Obviously changed but perhaps turning into Madrigal. There's a certain Taoist SF thing there. I don't think the recent TV version was a real failure. A bit off but it makes an attempt to bring it up to date. Anna dies and the house returns to its native owners.

[quote] I’m the luminous Laura Linney,

I'm OP, and my name is MARY!

I'm Beauchamp telling Mary Anne that innocence is very erotic.

I'm Nancy Reagan's homophobia, ruining many a relationship as I make my entrance in advance of the First Lady.

I'm Gloria Gaynor's Never Can Say Goodbye, to which boys in white briefs dance in front of a thirsty group of ejaculators.

I'm Mary Ann Singleton thinking "What a waste" when I try to pick up a handsome man in a supermarket and find out he's gay.

I’m the guy in the bathhouse making his big pecs bounce as Jon cruises past. Even though no one in the 70s was built like that.

I’m Murray Bartlett. I play Mouse in the 2019 Netflix series, even though Mouse would have been over 60 by then according to the original timeline.

I'm drag terrorist Dr. Vaginal "Creme" Davis, slumming it a run-of-the-mill bar queen in the first series.

I am Jim Jones. WTF am I doing in the confused mess that passed for a plot in "Further Tales of the City"?

I’m Beauchamp Day and I love DeDe’s box...

at the Opera

I'm my AIDS-phobia that prevented me from reading anything even remotely connected to that era

Did I say 60? I meant 70.

I'm the British Millennial thinking that dying of AIDS in San Francisco looked a lot more cheerful than dying of AIDS in London, via It's A Sin.

I'm Maryann's coworker at the crisis hotline. Boy, is she in for a surprise...

I'm someone who came of age in the 80s and thinks this is great literature, and even likes the most recent sequel.

[quote]But is it anything now?

Yes, R82, Tales of the City exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that each volume abounds and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no 28 Barbary Lane. It would be as dreary as if there were no R82s. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which Mouses Mary Anns and Madrigals fills the world would be extinguished.

I'm the Social Safeway and I'm still here!

I'm Macondray Lane, the model for Barbary Lane. The views from here are not bad at all.

I'm Paul Hopkins's Mike Brady perm in [italic]More Tales[/italic] and [italic]Further Tales.[/italic]

r97, i figure he's 21 in the first one, so he's 66 in the 2019

I’m Ellen and I’m dour, no matter what my current identity.

I'm her squeeze who is so unredeemable that you root for her evil mother, Molly Ringwald

I'm DeDe's vag getting munched by her young fuckbud Margot right out in the open.

sluttiest lezzies ever

We are the Diomedes. I am the American Little Diomede. From where I am you can see him, the Russian Big Diomede. No, we've fortunately never met Bitch Palin.

That was such a strange storyline r108

I’m the tech gazillionaire who is the only person who could afford to own that building nowadays.

I am creme de menthe. The poor flyover hick Mary Ann thinks offering me is the height of sophistication. She also mispronounces Ghirardelli and Beauchamp, silly frau.

This has little to do with this thread, but...

I just want to be Olympia Dukakis' next door neighbor, & best friend. I FUCKING LOVE HER.

me too, she's the only reason to watch

[quote]I am creme de menthe. The poor flyover hick Mary Ann thinks offering me is the height of sophistication. She also mispronounces Ghirardelli and Beauchamp, silly frau.

AND she eats Tater Tots!

I’m the DL wake for Mrs Madrigal played by the sublime Olympia Dukakis, RIP.

R117 Anna Madrigal and Olympia will forever live in my heart because of the warmth she portrayed in that role. She may have very well saved my life.

That’s a lovely, sincere tribute r118.

OH NO!!! I'm devastated!

RIP, Mrs. Madrigal.

I wonder when they found the body if it was grape or aubergine.

so sad

MARY!

I mean

MARY ANN!

I'm Nina Sziemasko, here to ruin the sequel. Fortunately I'll be killed off by the final one

I’m kevin Sessums, cast as an odious “nipple tweaking” queen, flash forward 40 years, and here she is as a tweaking “nipple tweaking” loser, moping around Hudson, passing out baggies of cat hair cakes.....realizing her days of grifting are really over. No one cares.