Reflections in a Switchblade Knife: Looking Back on Sal Mineo’s Bold Bisexuality
In the decade following the end of the Second World War, a new type of American emerged from the shining new suburbs full of mass-market consumerism and conformity — the teenager. While, of course, people had been teenagers prior to the 1950s, the concept of teenagers as a class of their own, a new market to be exploited and psyche to be explored, only surfaced in the mid-1950s. Filled with a restless angst and spirit of rebellion toward the social norms they felt restricted by, teenagers expressed themselves through the new music genre of rock n’ roll and saw themselves portrayed in films like Crime in the Streets (1956) and Rebel Without a Cause (1956). Young, violent and longing to be understood, Jim Stark (James Dean) and Frankie Dane (John Cassavetes) the protagonists of these films, had gleams in their eyes all too familiar to the adolescents who saw them on the silver screen. Standing loyally beside the archetypal bad boy protagonist was a doe-eyed friend, whose almost lovestruck adoration for these rebels leads him to disregard the conventions of the time and follow them into the fire. The timid yet tough best friend wouldn’t exist without Sal Mineo, the “Switchblade Kid” who, after his success as Plato in Rebel launched him to stardom and left him with an Academy Award nomination for Best Supporting Actor and typecast into the early ‘60s.
As one of the very first “teen idols” Sal Mineo experienced a whirlwind of different ways to take advantage of his teeny bopper appeal, from aforementioned typecasting in teen films well into his twenties, some decently-performing singles about love and heartbreak (a handful of which have broken over 2,000 plays on Spotify) and numerous Hollywood romances with fellow actresses — and actors. He joined the ranks of actors like Farley Granger and John Dall, who did not hide their sexualities, and, because of public perceptions at the time, Mineo’s career, like theirs, suffered. In addition to Mineo’s open bisexuality, he found himself falling out of favor at the box office as the ’60s gave way to the musical British Invasion and a “New Wave” in Hollywood that no longer answered to the traditional studio systems. By the mid ’60s, American culture had largely shifted away from what had made the Switchblade Kid a silver screen staple.
With his mainstream stardom fading, Mineo took to independent films and theatre productions. One such film, Who Killed Teddy Bear? (1965) sees him star opposite Juliet Prowse as her seemingly mild-mannered coworker, Lawrence Sherman, at a Manhattan night club and her secret stalker, anonymously harassing her with obscene phone calls at all hours of the night. As the stalker seems to know her personally, Norah (Prowse), grows concerned for her safety and a detective becomes involved in her case. Lawrence, implied to be a victim of sexual abuse himself, fixates on Norah as the object of his desires but is unable to act on them appropriately due to a combination of trauma and unrealistic expectations on women’s sexual availability.
Mineo also directed a stage adaptation of John Herbert’s Fortune and Men’s Eyes (1967) in 1969, with his roommate, a then-unknown Don Johnson co-starring in the play. The graphic play follows a young man’s experiences in prison, dealing with overt themes of homosexuality as well as scenes involving rape. Johnson played the lead role of Smitty, while Mineo played Rocky, one of Smitty’s cellmates who manipulates him into being in a sexual relationship with him in exchange for “protection.” In Mineo’s version of the play, he included scenes not present in the original screenplay and also increased the graphic nature of several existing scenes. The play’s run earned consistent praise for the acting and directing and was better received than other versions of the play at the time.
Mineo and Johnson were roommates for years, up until Mineo’s unfortunate death outside of their West Hollywood apartment in 1976, when he was stabbed in the heart by someone attempting to mug him. At the time of his death, Mineo had been in a relationship with fellow actor Courtney Burr III for six years. His death obviously came as a shock and heartbreak to friends and fans, as he was only 37-years-old and had begun regaining mainstream stardom. Of course, his death was subject to tabloid speculation that the murder was somehow related to his sexuality, be it a scorned ex-lover looking for revenge or somehow related to the seedy underground world of gay and bisexual men. In fact, the murder had nothing to do with Mineo’s sexuality, and the person who killed him said that he had no clue who the victim was when he stabbed him that night.
In an interview with Boze Hadleigh in 1972, four years prior to his death, Mineo was open about his bisexuality. Having been in long- and short-term relationships with both men and women, Mineo expressed his belief that more people would identify as bisexual if not for societal taboo. While some speculate that Mineo may have been more likely to identify as gay as societal understandings of sexuality have evolved in the time since his passing, out of respect for his self-identification throughout his life, I will continue to refer to him as bisexual.
Hadleigh’s account of his time with Sal Mineo gives fantastic insight on the star, as well as other gay and bisexual men in Hollywood in Conversations with My Elders (1986). From casual musings like Mineo’s favorite movies of 1972, The Godfather and Cabaret (both went on to win Oscars) to deeper conversations regarding his ethnic and religious background in relation to his sexuality. His insight on aging, especially as Hadleigh refers to him as “approaching middle age” at only thirty-three, is deeply moving in hindsight of his death. Mineo reflected that his getting older meant he was less likely to be typecast “…as I get older, the range of roles for me will hopefully open up. But I’m sick of waiting, and they still think of me like I only did a couple of roles, and the rest of my career was reruns” (7). While films like The Gene Krupa Story (1959) and Exodus (1960) saw his acting abilities outside of his typical Switchblade Kid casting, Mineo’s roles in independent films and theatre productions through the ’60s and ’70s show someone with a true passion and talent for acting (who also won’t hesitate to admit when he took roles to pay the bills).
In their conversation about Mineo’s roles and being typecast as the Switchblade Kid, the best friend to the main character, he cites his Rebel character Plato as being “…in a way, the first gay teenager in films” (10), that Plato’s draw to Jim Stark wasn’t his longing for a father-figure, but an adolescent crush. The beginnings of this archetypal character similarly takes root in the lesser-known ’50s teen drama Crime in the Streets, which features a 27-year-old John Cassavetes playing 18-year-old emotionally troubled street gang leader Frankie Dane (but damn if he doesn’t act the hell out of that role). Mineo’s character Baby is the timid, youngest member of Frankie’s gang the “Hornets” but is one of the most loyal to Frankie. Baby and Lou (Mark Rydell) are the only two Hornets willing to go along with Frankie’s plan to murder his nosy neighbor who “snitched” on another Hornet. Baby’s draw toward Frankie leads him to disregard his family, particularly his immigrant father who wants a better life for him, and, ironically, worked to buy Baby his Hornets jacket. Instead, Baby almost unwaveringly stands by Frankie. When Frankie senses Baby having doubts about the plan, he’s not only hurt and outraged, but uses his knowledge of Baby’s admiration toward and implied crush on him to manipulate him into sticking by the plan.
Representation is a common buzzword in discussions surrounding media, particularly for marginalized groups, such as people of color and the LGBTQ community, who don’t often see themselves reflected in the media they consume. There are dozens of opinions on representation in media — whether it’s just pandering to a marketable audience, what constitutes good and authentic representation, when is representation most and least meaningful, etc. These discussions often revolve around contemporary media, with people encouraging others to engage with a piece of media specifically because of its representation with little mention of its content or value. Representation is subjective, as screenings of rock opera and cult classic The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975) have historically been a space for LGBTQ communities across the United States to express themselves, even pre-dating Pride parades in some areas of the country. Still, Rocky Horror’s presentation of transgender people in particular is considered outdated, but it’s no less an important aspect of LGBTQ history and culture. The gay subtext in films like Rebel Without a Cause, frustrating as the subtext may be in the current culture, is still valuable, especially in its edging the line of acceptable sexuality during the Hays Code Era. Contextually gay characters like Plato paved the way for contemporary characters like Simon Spier of Love, Simon (2018), even more so in light of Mineo’s sexuality and his admittance to communicating that through his roles.
Most telling of the interview is Mineo’s acknowledgement of his own bisexuality, and his mentioning rumors of affairs with fellow actors, like Montgomery Clift and Marlon Brando, who later came out as bisexual. Mineo stated he didn’t resent rumors made about him and fellow actors “Because what’s wrong with being bi?” (9). He acknowledges the difference between being bisexual and being gay, going so far as to state that he’s observed a stigma against dating bi men by gay men in Hollywood circles. When Hadleigh asks, Mineo doesn’t hesitate to describe himself as being non-monogamous, a relationship identity that is still heavily stigmatized.
His interview with Hadleigh also shows someone who was deeply proud of his Italian-American identity, referring to himself and other Italian-American entertainers as wops. Mineo was one of few actors at the time to go against the industry standard of “Americanizing” names that were considered too “ethnic.” Several Italian-American entertainers at the time, like Dean Martin (born Dino Crocetti) and Connie Francis (born Concetta Franconero) used Anglicized versions of their names professionally. To this day, many entertainers face pressure to alter their given names or use different stage names altogether to appeal to mainstream American audiences. Mineo also describes himself as being Catholic in his personal life while not being much for following the rules, and that his family was accepting of his sexuality even if they didn’t completely understand it.
Through the interview with Hadleigh, Mineo seems more than comfortable to toe the line between tradition and progression — a black-haired, olive-skinned Italian-American Catholic from the Bronx and also open-minded and openly bisexual. It’s unsurprising that in an industry like Hollywood, one of make-believe and inauthenticity, someone as confident in themselves as Sal Mineo would be passed up and underestimated despite their immense talent. As I write this, I relate to Mineo on a personal level, having a similar background, personal identity and progressive values, and struggling all the while to reconcile these conflicting aspects of my life which are all meaningful to me yet seem nearly incompatible.
I am both Italian-American and Catholic, and know from experience that neither of these communities are particularly well-known for being accepting toward the LGBTQ community. New Ways Ministries, a pro-LGBTQ Catholic organization, has a list of affirming parishes, with dozens in New York alone. Still, I had gone to a Catholic school in New York, which had tread lightly around the subject of LGBTQ people. It wasn’t until I had moved out of the state and was well into college that I even discovered there were parishes that were friendly to LGBTQ people. I had slowly been coming to terms with my progressive ideals and my background, but this sped up the process, which I still struggle with, immensely.
Reading that Sal Mineo, in the 1960s and ’70s, before the internet provided space to help reconcile seemingly conflicting identities, had apparently meshed all of his identities together to just unapologetically be himself made me latch onto him. How could I, a person living in the age of endless information and connection, feel so much more confused and alone than a man over 50 years ago, who was essentially turned away by mainstream Hollywood and had to carve out a space for himself? The society in which I live is far more progressive than I’m sure Mineo could have imagined in his lifetime, and yet it seemed as if he was already living in it. I wish I could speak to him, ask him what his secret is, and in researching for this article and my own personal curiosity, I suppose the answer lies somewhere within myself, a part that I’m too afraid to look into, but he never was.
Although Sal Mineo’s life was unfortunately short, he left a lasting yet unacknowledged impact in both his industry and communities. While still an underrated actor, perhaps due to his limited filmography, his work deserves more celebration and acknowledgement in Hollywood and the LGBTQ community. He proved he was more than the Switchblade Kid, and yet that archetype has helped build the coming-of-age teen drama genre from its 1950s origins to the box office staple it has become today.
