Long before it was hip, way before it was tolerated in Tinseltown, author Christopher Isherwood and portrait artist Don Bachardy lived as an openly gay couple in Hollywood. In many ways, it was an odd match. Thirty-one years Bachardy’s senior, the upper-class Isherwood was a famous British author who was now writing in Hollywood. Bachardy was eighteen and came from a middle-class Los Angeles family. Yet their relationship flourished, survived difficulties, and ultimately succeeded until Isherwood’s death in 1986.
Directors Guido Santi and Tina Mascara’s documentary, Chris & Don: A Love Story, traces the events in the couple’s life through interviews with filmmakers, scholars and Bachardy himself, offering the viewer a quick and thorough look at a love that has not died. This interview with Don Bachardy was conducted in person, in Los Angeles, last June.
Gay & Lesbian Review: One of the issues the documentary raises is that you and Chris were one of the first male couples to be out in Hollywood. People always view Hollywood as this bastion of liberalism, but this was not always the case. How has that changed over the years?
Don Bachardy: Well it’s changed over the years dramatically. We would have been stunned in the 50’s to be told of the freedom that was coming for queers. In the 50’s Hollywood was a very uptight place.
G&LR: Another issue is the age difference. That must have fed into the homophobic notion that gays prey on the young. Was that ever an issue, that somehow you were feeding into peoples’ worst prejudices?
DB: Yes, I did look young for my age. When Chris and I went to New York together, a serious rumor went around town that Chris had brought a twelve-year-old from California. But what could I do about it? When we traveled alone to countries where we weren’t known, the automatic assumption was that we were father and son. Of course, in L.A., London, or New York, there was no chance of that.
G&LR: The documentary claims that Chris, like many upper-class Brits, felt sexually uncomfortable with people from his own class. Was that true?
DB: Oh, very. He said so himself. If you had grown up with a public school education you would know instantly. It wasn’t just a fear of being found out, he found people from his own class unappealing and unromantic. He knew them too well—whereas he could romanticize a young German.
G&LR: What did you think of Chris’s Hinduism? Was it a way of being gay for him?
DB: Oh, no, it wasn’t a way of being gay. He made a point to introduce me to his guru, Swami Prabhavananda. That was very important for Prabhavananda and me. It was the severest test. Prabhavananda, of course, knew Chris was queer, by his own admission. But to have his tolerance tested by not only a partner materializing, but also a partner who looked so young—the whole congregation, mostly middle-aged women, was secretly horrified. It was Prabhavananda’s firm support of Chris that silenced the congregation. They didn’t dare speak against Chris publicly.
G&LR: You and Chris must have discussed literature at length. What differences did you have? Was there ever an author you preferred over Isherwood?
DB: No, his taste was so sound. We never disagreed about a writer. I remember when Chris was offered the job of writing a screenplay of Evelyn Waugh’s A Handful of Dust. I hadn’t read Waugh yet. So he gave me the book to read because by then we were collaborating on screenplays. He didn’t give me any hint of how he felt about the book. After I finished I went to him and said, “Chris, I don’t really like this book.” He said, “Oh, I’m so relieved, because I don’t either.”
G&LR: The film doesn’t go into great detail about Chris’s politics. What did he think of the American political system?
DB: He was a born liberal. He hated and bucked his family’s aristocratic, conservative tradition. He hated the conservatives here. I remember how depressed we were when Ronald Reagan became governor of California. Of course he would have just thundered against our current president. He was spared that.
G&LR: Besides the age difference, what was the greatest difference between the two of you?
DB: On the whole Chris had lots of female friends in his life, but I was much more oriented toward women. He thought I had an intuitive understanding of women. For years I preferred my female sitters to my male ones. Now, it makes no difference to me—man or woman. I can’t really think of any other differences. The great thing was, I was young enough when we met that I was so open to the kind of education he afforded me. I hadn’t gotten set in my ways. I didn’t have any cemented attitudes, so he could really shape my intelligence. What great good fortune for me. He was the first person to ever give me any serious literature to read. I’d never read Ernest Hemingway or F. Scott Fitzgerald. When I finished them, what a luxury to discuss them with Chris and really get an intelligent examination of them. That was true of movies, too. We went to the movies a lot together. I took him to movies that I loved as a kid, and at some of them he just laughed uproariously. I would say, “What’s wrong with it?” And he told me. I realized he was right.
G&LR: California just made it legal for same-sex couples to marry. Do you think you and Chris would have bothered with matrimony had you the legal opportunity?
DB: No, neither of us felt the need to be legalized. We would certainly support the right of queers to marry if they want to. We were so used to being “illegal” that we preferred it. We adjusted so completely to being outside social norms that we didn’t long to be legalized.
G&LR: Did being outsiders strengthen the bond you two had?
DB: Yes. I’ve noticed a lot of queers my age long for the “good old romantic days” when queers were secretive and lead hushed lives. It was more exciting, more adventurous.
G&LR: How did your parents feel toward Chris? The documentary does not tell the longer story.
DB: My mother adored Chris. I introduced them right away when I was eighteen. My mother, who was very shy and unresponsive to meeting strangers, instantly adored Chris, and it lasted throughout her life. It was my father who refused to meet Chris for fifteen years. The silly man was just depriving himself of a friendship for his old age that he would have enjoyed. Once the embargo was finally dropped and they finally met, my father, of course, loved him, too.
G&LR: How did your parents feel about having two sons who were gay?
DB: Ted and I deprived them of grandchildren. That was too bad for them. But I think my mother would have had problems with any daughter-in-laws we might have had! She never complained. My father never stopped complaining. One of his last statements to me before he died was his disappointment in me. Largely for being queer and, I suppose.
G&LR: You were fortunate enough to never have to work for a living. How does that influence your art?
DB: Well, it made me work like a slave at my art. The idea that I never had to work makes me almost laugh because I worked harder than anybody I know—with the exception of David Hockney. Having a boss and a paycheck makes it so much easier. Working for oneself is so much harder than just having a regular job.
G&LR: Do you think being gay has affected your art? Is there such a thing as a gay æsthetic?
DB: My gayness has brought me everything of value in my life. All of the best things that happened to me happened through my queerness—the major one being meeting Chris at such an early age. I’m a quintessential queer. I have all the earmarks of being a flaming faggot. It gives me such strength.
