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Cecilia Gentili, a trans activist and former sex worker, has been referred to by some as the Marsha P. Johnson of our time. That’s why, when she passed away unexpectedly in February at the age of 52, her massive funeral at St. Patrick’s Cathedral drew hundreds of mourners on a Thursday afternoon.
I wasn’t there, but I have many friends who were, and they told me it was one of the most momentous events they had ever witnessed: To see a cathedral full of queer and trans people crying, hollering and laughing before declaring Gentili “the mother of all whores.” The cherry on top was that the outcome of the funeral was straight out of a punchline from one of Gentili’s jokes: After the service, the Archdiocese of New York condemned the mourners and called the event an “insult” to the Catholic faith, claiming that the church was unaware of Gentili’s trans identity before her funeral was held.
RECOMMENDED: Let me tell you—Broadway doesn’t need to be that serious
Although I didn’t know Gentili well myself, many of my friends did: They spoke of her almost like a Saint, about how hilarious she was and how she commanded every room she ever walked in. Before her death, she was becoming better known for her Off-Broadway play Red Ink, which was a one-person, autobiographical show where she told the story of how she stumbled upon sex work and, eventually, America.
If you missed Red Ink‘s run during Gentili’s lifetime, this weekend is your last chance to see it. After her death, Nic Cory, who helped Gentili write and direct the play, decided to memorialize his friend by hosting one last run of the show—This time, Gentili is played by some of the most iconic trans actors around. The first week of the show starred transmasc comedian Jes Tom; the second week featured Pose and American Horror Story actress Angelica Ross; and the final week is being performed by RuPaul’s Drag Race alumn Peppermint.
Everything about this iteration of the play is intentional, beginning with the space itself. The small theater, located at 224 Waverly Place in the West Village, feels homey. When you walk in, there’s an altar that commemorates Gentili, with portraits and candles that make her look like the Holy figure many proclaimed her to be.
The play begins with Gentili’s childhood in Argentina and spans her battle with the leaders of the religious school she attended. When she’s finally old enough to leave home, she moves to a bigger city, where she meets other trans and queer people for the first time. Gentili’s story is told in a way that feels like a perfect balance between stand up and the type of storytelling that happens on the couch of your best friend’s living room.
The night I went to see Red Ink, Angelica Ross was playing Gentili. Although Ross grew up in Milwaukee, she tells me that there was a lot about Gentili’s life story that felt similar to her own journey as a trans person. “In the play, the most amazing part of me is the scene where (Gentili) meets a trans woman for the first time,” Ross tells Time Out. “And the trans woman tells her ‘you’re gonna have to accept three things: That you’re gonna be a whore, you’re gonna get high, and that you’re gonna die young.’”
Like Gentili, Ross grew up being told by other trans women that her fate was pretty much sealed, and that the possibilities for people like them were abysmal. Clearly, Ross has defied the expectations that her own community had for her: She’s played a main character on some of the most prestigious shows on TV and has lived a life no one could have imagined for her but herself. By being in a play that is for and by trans people, Ross considers that her work as an artist is to show other young trans people alternative realities: Realities where they are loved, safe, and don’t have to compromise any parts of themselves.
Ross also imagines building a queer community where people check on each other more, a thought she recently came to while playing Gentili. Although Ross knew Gentili, she didn’t realize the extent of Gentili’s personal struggles. “It just makes me more hyper aware of my sisters who are still here and understanding that even if they are seemingly the life of the party, they might still be struggling,” says Ross. “Maybe there’s a way to build community differently that makes space for each other’s autonomy while still having these checkpoints with each other.”
Maybe there’s a way to build community differently that makes space for each other’s autonomy while still having these checkpoints with each other.
The central theme of Red Ink is Gentili’s atheism—each scene of the play begins with her reaffirming her commitment to not believing in God—but even then, you get the sense that she does believe in something larger than herself, or maybe she’s holding out hope that she might be wrong about the afterlife.
Nic Cory, the director of the play, tells me that on the first week of the show, someone he knows who is a devout Christian attended the play. Cory asked her if she was offended—the play covers some pretty crass territory and is not shy about poking fun at religion. To Cory’s surprise, the friend wasn’t offended at all. “The message she took away from the play is that God is everywhere,” Cory says. “And that people are able to find God in their own ways.’”
Catch Red Ink at the Breaking the Binary Theater in Greenwich Village, which will be performed on Friday, Saturday and Sunday at 7pm. You can get your tickets here.