OVER THE PAST 35 YEARS, the Toronto-based philanthropist Salah Bachir has raised millions of dollars for a diverse range of causes. Having emigrated from Lebanon to Canada in 1965, starting in the ’80s he founded and headed numerous media companies, notably Cineplex Media and Cineplex magazine, the trade magazine Premiere, and Famous Players Media, a film marketing partnership. He revolutionized the Canadian movie biz with his Scene Loyalty Program, and he launched an annual trade show, Focus on Video, to promote Canadian cinema. As a patron of the arts, he has supported many promising artists and amassed a collection of over 3,000 works. As a philanthropist, he has donated millions and raised far more at the many fundraising events he has sponsored—funds that have supported numerous LGBT causes as well as arts organizations. He has used his network of celebrity friends and contacts to enhance his various fundraising communities efforts, which have helped so many worthy organizations. For his philanthropic contributions, Bachir has been awarded the Order of Canada (the nation’s highest civilian honor) as well as several honorary doctorate degrees.
Bachir recently published a memoir titled First to Leave the Party: My Life with Ordinary People… Who Happen to be Famous (McClelland & Stewart). After reading it, one is left with the impression that there isn’t a single famous person he hasn’t known. In a series of short but sweet chapters, he describes meeting, and often befriending, a bevy of some of the most celebrated figures of the past 75 years, including Marlon Brando, Mary Tyler Moore, Ginger Rogers, Norman Jewison, and even Cesar Chavez (and that’s just the short list).
Bachir cuddled with Edward Albee, had Marlon Brando over for a barbeque, and got groped by Liberace. If this sounds like it’s bordering on the surreal, then I’m describing it perfectly. But far from being simply a list of Big Names, Bachir manages to reveal something about himself throughout the pages of this very frank book. I spoke by phone to Bachir at his Toronto home.
Matthew Hays: One of the things I find poignant about your book is that your experiences as a gay man and an immigrant, and your issues with your weight all overlap.
Salah Bachir: A triple threat—isn’t that what they call it in the business when someone can sing, dance, and act? And that is what I had to do sometimes to feel accepted—even though I felt I was just as normal as the next person. I just happen to be gay. A lot of people in the book faced rejection in the industry because of their weight, like Marlon Brando, Elizabeth Taylor, and Orson Welles. Or people like Eartha Kitt, who fought for civil rights, and Ella Fitzgerald, the great singer, were dismissed as being too heavy and not cinematic enough. It’s that same old not-fitting-in thing and how it affected their lives. You could be the biggest and best at your job and still get tossed on the trash heap. I think in many respects being both queer and an immigrant gave me an appreciation and respect for being an outsider.
MH: First to Leave the Party grew out of a terrible health scare you had, correct?
SB: I had a kidney transplant, which was supposed to go smoothly, but then I had sepsis, another surgery, and an ileostomy, followed by six months of rehab and a couple of life-or-death moments. They threw my dentures out at one of the rehab places, so I lived for a year without them, and the anti-rejection drugs rejected the new ones. I was to attend a ceremony where I would get the Order of Ontario, a medal given by the province, and it turned out to be the night the Covid lockdowns were declared. I went to the ceremony with no teeth! But I just felt like: This is who I am, and people will have to deal with it. And then I think going through that and having worked with enough people who have different disabilities, I realized my situation was nothing compared to someone who has to go through it every day. While I was recuperating in hospital, I couldn’t think in longer chapters, only in terms of brief stories. That’s why the book is organized that way.
MH: You’re frank about your health in the book, the kidney transplant, HIV, diabetes. What was the most difficult thing about writing this book?
SB: I wrote it with an old friend, Jami Bernard. I didn’t want to have a sensationalist book. I mean, even my flings with Keith Haring and Edward Albee are barely mentioned. I tried to skate between delivering a Wikipedia entry and a tell-all book and find a new way to relay my story. As for being upfront about my HIV status, it wasn’t an issue for me. I’d had dialysis for seven years before the kidney transplant, and when I was traveling all over the world and getting dialysis in other countries, the first thing I would mention was my HIV status. I had a fear that certain countries wouldn’t allow me to do dialysis because of it, which did happen on a couple of occasions. I’ve been very active with AIDS organizations in New York and Canada since 1983.
MH: I love what filmmaker Atom Egoyan says in the introduction: he likens being interviewed by you to analysis. I know you’ve interviewed a lot of people—how do you prepare? How do you decide what approach to take in the questioning?
SB: I’m not interested in their celebrity per se, but in what they do with it. And, in some cases, why don’t they do more with it. I try to get at the heart of why they chose to do what they did. Sometimes we all do things for the money, but that does not define who we are. I do as much research as possible and try to ask questions that are not commonly asked. I do appreciate getting to know people on a different level; sometimes it comes across, and sometimes you have to sell a magazine, so you ask the kind of questions that help you sell a magazine.
MH: In the book you report that you had a run-in with Joan Rivers. What was that all about?
SB: I had known Joan from different occasions and through several friends. And like everyone else, I loved Joan at one point, until I realized how toxic her humor could be. The falling out began when we hired her to do a gala for one of the largest and most prominent queer community centers in the world, The 519 [in Toronto]. She was so insecure, she even insisted that we pull an opening act offstage, saying: “Get that bitch off stage, she’s stealing my thunder.” She also told a joke about survivors of AIDS, saying I bet you didn’t know you were going to survive: “What are you going to do now without all the money you spent recklessly on hookers and drugs?” It was so offensive. Her routine about Liz Taylor was so tired. Yes, Liz had put on weight, but people forget about her intense health issues. She broke her back several times, had a brain tumor, had both hips replaced. But for many in the audience, Joan Rivers’ jokes about fat wouldn’t just be directed at Liz Taylor; they were personal, no matter what health issue you’ve had or which drug you needed to stay alive.
MH: This is the first book that lists the author’s pronouns (he/him) on the cover. Why was that important for you?
SB: For me, it was a just courtesy that I didn’t have to think about. I was shocked to learn it had never been done before. You know, I still get letters, even from people I’ve worked with, addressed to “Ms. Salah Bachir.” Salah isn’t such a common name, so mix-ups can happen, but it’s liberating and empowering to be able to tell the world exactly how you want to be addressed and how you identify.
MH: You worked in journalism for many years. I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty distressed by the state of the news media today.
SB: It’s a very dangerous time as well because there are lots of stories that are manufactured propaganda and aren’t fact-checked. If you’re trying to read the news, even to read an article online, you can’t read it without having ten advertisements in your way. The technology means the experience has shifted. And so, you’re reading about something very serious—this morning I was reading about a mass shooting somewhere in the U.S.—and suddenly these ads were popping up for the latest movie. It’s jarring and inappropriate. Our attention spans have been shortened even further, and there’s often no historical context to what we’re seeing or reading. I think it’s a very dangerous time. And then there’s the terrifying fact that journalists are being killed in record numbers.
MH: Now that the book is out and people are reading it and you’re being interviewed about it, what has been the most gratifying part of writing and launching the book?
SB: Initially, I think people just saw it as a book about celebrities. But when people read it, they can see it’s really about what people did with their celebrity, the extraordinary lengths they went to, how they stood up for certain things—whether it’s gay rights or human rights or another issue that was important to them. So, once people are over the initial reaction—wow, you had Marlon Brando in your backyard! Elizabeth Taylor tried on your pearls! Ella Fitzgerald cooked eggs for you!—they get into the idea that many of these people actually put their lives on the line for something they believed in.
It’s about community and acceptance. How we handle race, sexual orientation, health struggles, accessibility, and belonging. No matter how big the celebrity, we sometimes discard them like yesterday’s trash. There’s a point in the book where I describe walking with the great actress Patricia Neal on Martha’s Vineyard. She held onto my arm for dear life. I didn’t get it then—but now, with my mobility issues, I feel the same way when I hold onto my husband Jacob’s arm. A celebrity is not any different than any friend. We all have the same issues. We can’t always be “on,” unless maybe we are on something.
Matthew Hays teaches media studies at Marianopolis College and Concordia University and is the co-editor (with Tom Waugh) of the “Queer Film Classics” book series.
