Elton John is suddenly ascendant, and not just because his much talked-about biopic, Rocketman, is released this week. Camp is having a moment – led by the Metropolitan Museum’s exhibition and the everyone-who’s-anyone gala that marked its opening this month. And Elton, whether dressed in feathers, fur or satin, is one of camp’s high priests.
The unacknowledged point about this celebration of camp is that, fun as it is, it’s a wake. As a cultural force, camp is dead, and it is a measure of Elton’s greatness that he helped kill it.
