The Theater in Start Without Me: A Symbol of Aspiration and Self-Discovery

The Theater as a Recurring Site of Longing and Becoming in Start Without Me

In Gary Janetti's memoir Start Without Me, the theater appears not as a single building but as a constellation of spaces—a decaying movie palace, a Broadway house, a high school auditorium, a college stage—that together form a central symbol of aspiration and self-discovery. From the narrator's childhood trips to the RKO Keith's in Flushing to his repeated viewings of A Chorus Line, these venues are where he first glimpses a world larger than his Queens living room, where he rehearses versions of himself, and where he eventually learns to see both the glamour and the grit behind the footlights. The theater is never just a backdrop; it is a character in his story, one that changes meaning as he ages, mirroring his own evolution from a closeted, isolated boy to a young man who dares to audition, perform, and be seen.

The Movie Palace as Refuge and Wonder

The narrator's earliest theatrical experiences are in movie theaters, which function as portals to alternate realities. At age nine, his mother takes him and his sister to see Jaws at the UA Quartet on Northern Boulevard, where he hides on the floor during a terrifying scene yet refuses to leave, declaring it the highlight of his life up to that point (chapter 12). The same year, she takes him to The Stepford Wives, a film he loves despite its grim ending. These outings are not casual entertainment; they are the narrator's first taste of being transported, of feeling alive through fear and spectacle.

His favorite theater, however, is the RKO Keith's in Flushing, a former vaudeville house that had fallen into disrepair by the 1970s. The narrator describes it as having a “Grey Gardens crumbling grandeur,” with an ornate fountain and a gigantic horseshoe staircase (chapter 12). He sees The Amityville Horror there and sneaks into American Gigolo, his first on-screen penis. The theater's decay does not diminish its magic; rather, it adds a layer of melancholy that resonates with the narrator's own sense of being “other.” He notes that “everything that was once beautiful, but no longer is, has a sadness to it,” a line that could describe his own hidden self. The RKO Keith's is a place where he can be alone with his obsessions, even as he hides them from everyone else.

The theater also becomes a site of rare connection with his father. When Star Wars opens when he is eleven, his father drives him to UA Cinema 150 in Syosset, where they wait in line for two hours—an act the narrator finds incredible because his father rarely took him to the movies. His father buys him a program, and the narrator feels, for that day, “like everyone else” (chapter 12). This moment underscores the theater's power to bridge gaps, even temporarily, between father and son, and to offer the narrator a glimpse of belonging.

Broadway as Aspiration and Escape

If movie theaters offer refuge, Broadway represents a more explicit aspiration. The narrator's piano lessons, which begin in third grade, are initially a chore, but he soon gravitates toward Broadway sheet music, including The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas at age twelve (chapter 2). His desire to see that show becomes a social test: at fifteen, he calls a classmate, Jim, and invites him to a matinee, only to be met with a polite but crushing refusal. The narrator immediately understands that this is not something “fifteen-year-old boys normally do together,” and the incident deepens his sense of isolation. The theater, for him, is a private passion that cannot be shared without risk.

The central theatrical symbol of the memoir is A Chorus Line. The narrator first sees the show at thirteen, attending a Wednesday matinee with his sister Maria after buying half-price tickets from TKTS. He is mesmerized by the performers, whom he imagines as “the most successful people in the world” simply because they are auditioning for Broadway (chapter 17). The show becomes a touchstone; he sees it many times, including its final performance at twenty-four with his roommate Steve, and he carries a key chain from that night for years. A Chorus Line embodies his dream of being “taken from where I am and brought somewhere else,” a fantasy of escape from homework and dishwashing in Queens.

The narrator's relationship with A Chorus Line evolves, however. At forty, he sees the Broadway revival and is floored by a different interpretation: the dancers are not successes but “struggling. And scraping. And desperate.” He cries through every musical number because he now sees the cost of the dream. Yet in his fifties, he returns to the show and reverses his judgment again, deciding that his original view was correct: the dancers are “artists, they were fearless,” and they are the most successful people in the world because they are doing what they love (chapter 17). This oscillation reflects the narrator's own changing understanding of ambition, success, and the price of self-expression.

The Stage as Self-Discovery and Performance

The theater also becomes a literal stage for the narrator's own attempts at self-definition. In high school, he avoids auditions out of fear of drawing attention, but in his senior year he decides to audition for the school musical South Pacific, hoping for the lead role of Emile de Becque. He sings “Pilate's Dream” and “Some Enchanted Evening” at callbacks, despite being unable to sing, and is offered a sailor role instead. He declines it in a fit of pride, later regretting the decision and wondering if a memory of singing and dancing with classmates might have been better than his spiteful exit (chapter 17). This episode shows the theater as a place where he first dares to want something publicly, even if he cannot yet handle the outcome.

In college at Hofstra, he auditions for shows and gets parts, becoming “fearless” in the way young people can be. His performance as Fabian in Twelfth Night—with a Scottish accent and an elderly stoop—earns him laughs and a mention from a critic, and he describes the experience as his “Funny Girl, my Hello, Dolly!, my Gypsy” (chapter 17). The stage becomes a space where his true self can appear, hidden behind a character, yet finally seen. He writes, “I had been seen for the first time. And I wanted more. More. More.” This is the culmination of the theater's symbolic arc: from a place of passive watching to a place of active performance, where the narrator can experiment with identity and receive validation.

Theater and the Performance of Identity

The theater motif also connects to the broader theme of performing identity, which runs throughout the memoir. The narrator often treats everyday life as a stage. In his twenties, he reads books in gay restaurants like Eighteenth & Eighth, carefully posing and reacting to appear immersed, and acts startled when waiters speak to him (chapter 16). He takes this act across the city, on subways and in parks, using reading as a prop to project an image. This performative behavior mirrors the theatrical spaces he loves: just as actors audition for roles, he auditions for a version of himself that might attract connection. The theater, then, is not only a physical location but a metaphor for the masks people wear.

The narrator's coming-out journey is also tied to theatrical spaces. His early obsession with A Chorus Line—a show about dancers auditioning for a chorus—can be read as a metaphor for his own desire to be accepted into a community. The show's famous lyric, “Who am I anyway? Am I my résumé?” resonates with his struggle to define himself outside of the roles assigned to him. The theater offers a vocabulary for self-invention, even before he has the courage to use it in his own life.

The Changing Meaning of the Theater

Across the memoir, the theater's meaning shifts from a site of pure wonder to a site of critical reflection, and finally to a site of reaffirmed idealism. As a child, the theater is a magical escape from the confines of Queens and the pressures of fitting in. As a teenager, it becomes a source of aspiration and, sometimes, humiliation, as when his invitation to Jim is rejected. In college, it is a place of triumph and self-discovery. In adulthood, it becomes a lens through which he reinterprets his past, seeing both the struggle and the glory in the performers he once idolized. This evolution mirrors the narrator's own growth from a closeted, isolated boy to a man who has learned to embrace his desires and his history.

The theater is also a thread that connects him to his family. His mother takes him to movies, his sister accompanies him to A Chorus Line, and his father drives him to Star Wars. These shared experiences, however fleeting, offer moments of connection that the narrator often lacks elsewhere. The theater, then, is not only a symbol of personal aspiration but also a fragile bridge to others.

Study Questions and Answers

1. How does the narrator's perception of A Chorus Line change over time, and what does this reveal about his own development?

Initially, at thirteen, the narrator sees the dancers as glamorous and successful, the embodiment of his dream to escape his ordinary life. At forty, he reinterprets them as struggling and desperate, recognizing the sacrifices behind the dream. In his fifties, he returns to his original view, seeing them as fearless artists who are successful precisely because they pursue their passion. This arc mirrors his own journey from naive aspiration to critical awareness to a mature acceptance of both the costs and rewards of self-expression.

2. What role does the RKO Keith's theater play in the narrator's childhood, and how does its decay reflect his inner state?

The RKO Keith's is the narrator's favorite theater, a decaying former vaudeville house where he sees horror films and sneaks into American Gigolo. Its “crumbling grandeur” and sadness parallel his own sense of being “other” and hiding his true self. The theater's physical decline does not diminish its magic; instead, it becomes a fitting backdrop for a boy who feels both enchanted and out of place.

3. How does the narrator's experience auditioning for South Pacific illustrate the theme of performance and identity?

In his senior year, the narrator auditions for the lead role of Emile de Becque, despite being unable to sing, and is offered a sailor role instead. He declines out of pride, later regretting it. This episode shows his first public attempt to claim a role, and his inability to accept a lesser part reflects his fear of being seen as ordinary. It also highlights the tension between his desire to perform and his fear of exposure.

4. In what ways does the theater serve as a site of connection and isolation for the narrator?

The theater connects him to his family—his mother takes him to movies, his sister to A Chorus Line, his father to Star Wars—and later to friends like Steve. Yet it also isolates him, as when his invitation to Jim is rejected, or when he goes to movies alone because no one shares his obsession. The theater is both a refuge and a reminder of his difference, a place where he can dream of belonging even as he feels apart from it.