“Casa Susanna” premiered on PBS on June 27. As part of the channel’s critically acclaimed “American Experience” series, this documentary comes from the collection called “The LGBTQ+ Experience.” And it comes at a particularly fraught moment for lived LGBTQ+ experience in the US.
The film opens with four contestants who introduce themselves on a television show before my time. After the two brunettes and two blondes tell the host they work as a bank teller, a cosmetician, a hairdresser, and simply “window display,” his follow-up questions feel gratuitous to this contemporary viewer.
Because Misty, Vicky, Sonia, and Simone all present themselves as women, the false eyelashes, wig, and original hand-made dress come as no surprise. But this clip is presumably from the 1950s, which means the group is breaking the law. As the male host reveals about these “very, very charming contestants,” each one is a man. And cross-dressing was criminal in many major cities at the time.
An underground network for gender fluid expression
In the next scene, an elderly woman named Katherine Cummings is literally driving down memory lane to Casa Susanna, the weekend Catskills retreat for cross-dressing men and transgender women. (Her eponymous 1992 diary is sub-titled “The Story of a Transsexual,” proof that this is a veritable period piece.) Katy knows Casa Susanna’s hostesses, Susanna Valenti (assigned male at birth and named Tito) and her cisgender wife, Marie Tonell, as the property owners. We later hear about Marie’s wig shop on Fifth Avenue, where she and court translator Susanna first meet.
Cummings is one of two former guests the film focuses on, along with Diana Merry-Shapiro. Both assigned male at birth, each describes the importance of Casa Susanna in the development of their second selves. They talk movingly about what it was like back then to have an accepting community where they felt safe and unashamed. But it may have been more than just an outlet for friendship: Casa Susanna very likely saved their lives.
The film also documents what it was like for two family members of this secret sorority. First, Marie Tonell’s grandson, Gregory Bagarozy, shares fond moments from his childhood running around a rural refuge, where people society considered sexual deviants found camaraderie and acceptance far away from bright lights and big cities.
By contrast, Casa Susanna guest Donald Wollheim’s daughter, Betsy, has a much different take. She learns the full extent of her father’s proclivities later in life only when her mother is on her deathbed and after her father has been long gone. In this way, she comes to realize that her science-fiction-writing dad also penned “A Year with The Girls” under a pseudonym. Wollheim then describes how difficult puberty was, given her father’s emotional cruelty toward her as she became a woman.
For her part, Diana speaks candidly about the positive influence gender-nonconforming trailblazer Christine Jorgensen had on her own decision later to pursue living full-time as a woman. Of course, Jorgensen’s transition in 1953 was global news. It was also local news, given her early life in New York. And Katherine intimates what a scream the Casa’s 1962 Halloween costume party was. In other words, at the Casa Susanna, music and fashion were always the passion.
Parallels to other queer refuges
Ironically, Casa Susanna was not a gay haven. In fact, Tito/Susanna and Marie insisted their weekend oasis operate exclusively for female impersonators and transvestites. Simply put, there was a strong sense that allowing gay people to the Casa would existentially and negatively complicate things.
Such history fascinates me as someone who twice went to the Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival (MWMF) in the early ’90s. MichFest took place on 650 acres in rural Michigan. It was a transformative experience for a young lesbian, totally affirming my new identity when I truly wasn’t sure how any of that would go.
MichFest was also a place where many women walked around topless and lesbian separatism took center stage for a whole week. Imagine my surprise when I ran into a high school friend there, her winsome smile as lovely as ever. Of course, after so many years wearing a uniform to school, it was nice to see my junior class president feeling so free to be. And for me, it was a remarkable reconnection at just the right time.
When I returned to MWMF the following summer, however, a whole new vibe was visibly and vocally apparent. The Camp Trans protests in the early ’90s took issue with the organizers’ trans-exclusionary policy known as “womyn-born womyn” only. Thus began nearly two decades of back and forth between festival organizers and the larger lesbian feminist community. Suffice it to say, MichFest ended after its 40th season in 2015.
The bottom line
Clearly then, “Casa Susanna” is perfectly relevant to the current anti-drag drama rippling across predominantly red states. Such an unbelievable waste of time, given how it’s all so much ass-backwards backlash against the LGBTQ+ community. Besides, as long as the internet is around, legislators who want to protect children from obscenity are merely exposing themselves as ignoramuses.
Where “Casa Susanna” really intrigued me was when it highlighted the erstwhile publication “Transvestia.” Evidently, this magazine began in 1960 when Virginia Prince started publishing it six times a year for the cross-dressing community. No small feat, given cross-dressing still violated many local statutes. In fact, any publication that gives good word of mouth about a hideaway seems like a pretty big deal to me. Of course, “Transvestia” was not quite the stuff of “The Negro Motorist Green-Book”—but reminiscent to a certain degree.
At the same time, I see “Casa Susanna” through the lens of a completely different era, and at least for now, we have come a long way. One example: Anti-cross-dressing statutes have fallen away, just like pinball prohibitions.
Ultimately, “Casa Susanna” represents a fascinating slice of LGBTQ+ history. I especially appreciated how slowly it unfolded while featuring two older adults, as well as the way it meandered through recently recovered photo collections, personal memories, and Columbia County. Indeed, my favorite scene comes early on when 82-year-old Diana Merry-Shapiro is taking Amtrak north to reunite with Cummings. Those gorgeous panoramic views of the Hudson never get old!
