Sal Mineo
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Mineo quickly became a teen idol, nicknamed “The Switchblade Kid” for his roles in juvenile delinquent films. He was mobbed by fans, appeared on magazine covers, and sold out theaters. He followed up with high-profile roles in Giant (again opposite Dean), Exodus (1960), and The Longest Day (1962). For Exodus, where he portrayed a young Jewish refugee haunted by the Holocaust, Mineo earned a second Oscar nomination. It seemed like a limitless career lay ahead.
But Hollywood has a short attention span—and an unforgiving relationship with those who don’t conform. By the mid-1960s, Mineo was being typecast or overlooked. He was too old to play the teen rebel, but producers didn’t see him as a conventional leading man either. At the same time, whispers about his bisexuality, his refusal to play the “straight” publicity game, and his increasingly daring artistic choices (he directed plays, embraced queer roles, and supported controversial art) made him a risk in an industry that punished difference. His career echoed that of Mickey Rooney: explosive child stardom followed by a struggle for adult legitimacy.
Still, Mineo carved out memorable late-career achievements. He starred in and directed the shocking prison drama Fortune and Men’s Eyes (1969), helping bring discussions of homosexuality and prison abuse into the cultural mainstream. He appeared in Escape from the Planet of the Apes (1971), delighting science fiction fans with his quirky scientist. And on stage, he continued to earn praise, especially in P.S. Your Cat Is Dead in the 1970s, which was meant to herald a major comeback.
Offscreen, Mineo lived more openly than many stars of his era. He had high-profile relationships with men and women, but he never hid his queer identity from those close to him. In interviews, he acknowledged his bisexuality—rare at the time—and championed queer stories. He also nurtured friendships with other queer Hollywood figures and leaned into being part of a hidden community at a time when being out could end a career.
Tragically, Mineo’s comeback was cut short. On February 12, 1976, after returning home from a rehearsal in Los Angeles, he was murdered in an alley outside his apartment—stabbed to death at just 37. The randomness and brutality of his death shocked the entertainment world and robbed queer history of a pioneering figure.
Mineo’s legacy lives in his artistry and his courage. He was one of the first major Hollywood actors to embody queer characters with sympathy, and one of the few willing to acknowledge his own queerness in an unforgiving era. His performance as Plato remains iconic—a haunting reminder of queer longing hidden in plain sight during the Golden Age of Hollywood. And his life, both luminous and shadowed, is a testament to how Hollywood elevates and devours its brightest stars.
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