The Show Must Go On Is A Crip/Queer Anthem

Content Warning: This is an emotive and existential reflection of a song written for/sung by a man who was dying from AIDS and what it means to be a disabled person in the LGBT+ community who is fighting to live.

I write. To paraphrase another Queen lyric: “I write every day of my life. I write as I ache in my bones.” Yet, this piece of writing has been just out of reach for several years. There is an irony that I have often been too unwell to write this. There is an irony that I have been too focused on other writing. There is an irony that it hasn’t been ‘the right time’. Yet, here I am, having grown as much in the past year as I have in the past decade. Here I am with a new tattoo and an old mantra. Here I am with an argument that’s central to everything that I am:

The Show Must Go On, as sung by Freddie Mercury, is a crip/queer anthem.

It is the ultimate crip/queer anthem. It might just be the pinnacle of cripness and queerness. To support my argument, a few definitions are needed to ensure that we’re all on the same page:

‘Crip’ is a term used by some who identify and live in a way that juxtaposes ablenormativity. In other words, ‘crip’ is a term used by some disabled people who reject the idea that being nondisabled is the ‘normal’ way to live. ‘Crip’ has historically been used as a slur by many of these nondisabled ‘normals’. Many disabled people have reclaimed ‘crip’ (and that is valid). Others have not (and that is valid). I have.

‘Queer’ is a term used by some who identify and live in a way that juxtaposes heteronormativity. In other words, ‘queer’ is a term used by some people in the LGBT+ community who reject the idea that being heterosexual/cisgender is the ‘normal’ way to live. ‘Queer’ has historically been used as a slur by many of these heterosexual/cisgender ‘normals’. Many people in the LGBT+ community have reclaimed ‘queer’ (and that is valid). Others have not (and that is valid). I have.

These two definitions were strategically written with near-identical phrasing to draw attention to the cross-solidarity and intersectionality between crip/disability activism and queer/LGBT+ activism. Indeed, during my time as a queer crip academic, I have built up a collection of many academic and activist publications that focus on these intersections. I highly recommend Crip Theory by Robert McRuer, Feminist, Queer, Crip by Alison Kafer, and Skin, Tooth, and Bone: The Basis of Movement is Our People by Sins Invalid.

“That’s all well and good,” you say, “but what does it have to do with Freddie Mercury?” (A question that should honestly be asked more often.)

The Show Must Go On was written during the final act of Freddie Mercury’s life, an act in which he was battling AIDS. Notably, Freddie — the unabashedly flamboyant singer who donned sequin leotards, spent “seven love-filled years” with Jim Hutton, and once stated that he was “as gay as a daffodil” — was said by many to be very private about his sexuality and illness. (He was about as covert as my rainbow wheelchair flag.) Sir Brian May stated — in a 2-minute clip that never fails to make me tear up — that though he wrote The Show Must Go On for Freddie about Freddie, the song was framed as a fictional story of a clown trying to continue his act. Neither he nor Freddie addressed the elephantic disease in the room: “The unwritten thing was that we didn’t discuss the lower levels.” Yet, crucially, Sir May also describes the process by which Freddie ensured that the show would go on:

“When he came in, he wasn’t in a great state. He was finding it hard to walk, even finding it hard to sit, ‘cause he was in a lot of pain. I played him the stuff, he said, ‘It’s brilliant. I will sing it. I will fucking go for it. Bring me the vodka!’ And we brought him the vodka and he pours himself a shot, knocks it down, and then he props himself, says, ‘Another one!’ Knocks another vodka back and says, ‘Okay, go for it.’ And he went for it and those notes came out of him. And I don’t know where they came from.”

Much like the fictional clown who put on a smile, Freddie Mercury put on a show. Now, one could accuse the clown of toxic positivity. I, myself, have been accused of toxic positivity, often by those who are unaware of their toxic negativity, who complain about my exhaustive (and exhausted) attempts to find a speck of stardust in an otherwise dark universe. “Why don’t I acknowledge the pain?” Oh, but I do. God, I do. To think that I don’t acknowledge pain is to misunderstand who I am and the life I’ve lived. The hole in my spine isn’t exactly there for The Aesthetic. I’ve always danced with Pain and always will. Some days, I lead. Some days…I don’t. I have felt my entire body spasm, from the core to the edges, as every neuron has collectively decided, “Fuck you and everything you wanted to do today.” I have spent months in hospital beds, months on air mattresses in inaccessible houses, months in self-isolation…well, all three are isolating, aren’t they? I’ve experienced the pain of my organs, panic, and anxiety, all attacking, a trifold army in a neverending battle. I’ve experienced the pain of loss and the pain of growth. I’ve experienced the pain of having my pain invalidated. So, yes, there is pain. Here’s the thing I’ve learned through that pain: If you wallow in the muck of misery for too long, you begin to sink and, soon, it gets hard to live. Soon, you forget how to live. Soon, you forget why you should live. Soon, you wonder if you shouldn’t. I’ve been there. I’ve come so close to going under the surface. Yet, I’ve always pulled myself back up, and yes, I have often done so by clinging to positivity. I also cling to this quote from Everything, Everywhere, All At Once:

“When I choose to see the good side of things, I’m not being naive. It is strategic and necessary. It’s how I’ve learned to survive through everything. You see yourself as a fighter. Well, I see myself as one too. This is how I fight.”

Positivity is a tool for perseverance. Positivity is a tool for survival. Positivity creates “a will to carry on”. As Sir May wrote and as Freddie sang:

“I’ll top the bill

I’ll overkill

I have to find the will to carry on”

The Show Must Go On is a rallying cry to keep fighting. Even if your body is breaking and your makeup is flaking, you must keep fighting. What is more crip/queer than that? To be crip is to fight. To be queer is to fight. It is a fight that is both internal and external, embodied and social. It is paradoxically a fight that is painful and a fight through the pain, a fight that is exhausting and a fight through the exhaustion. We force ourselves to smile, we prop ourselves up, we say, ‘I’ll fucking do it’, because we have no choice, because the show must go on.

Of course, the curtain will fall (as will the hammer). Indeed, Freddie passed away only a month after The Show Must Go On was released in the UK; it was released in the US, posthumously. This draws on the concepts of ‘queer time’ and ‘crip time’ — nonnormative temporalities that I will be discussing in my next piece. For now, I will acknowledge that there is a deep existentialism felt by many, especially those within marginalised groups who experience individual and collective trauma. Our time is finite. The show will end. Yet, to me, that is all the more reason to fight through each act. We cannot end the show before the curtain falls. The show will end but the show must go on until the end.

In other words: We must keep wheeling forward.

For the record, as painful as it has been and as exhausted as I am, I’m glad that I chose — and still choose and will continue to choose — to fight through and for the show. It means that I was able to be here, today, to write about how The Show Must Go On is the ultimate crip/queer anthem.