In 1983, when Adam Lambert was just a baby, Oklahoma-born Sam Harris was the Grand Champion singer on the smash weekly competition show Star Search. Fresh looking Sam sent ballads out of the park with impressive pyrotechnics, both vocal and theatrical, while managing to keep it heartfelt. But while insiders—or almost anyone with a brain—knew he was gay, Sam kept it discreet, which he felt was necessary for that time.

Of course, that eventually changed, and in 1994, he met his future husband, presentation coach-producer Danny Jacobsen, with whom he has an 11-year-old kid, Cooper Atticus Harris-Jacobsen. What’s more, Sam (who was Tony-nominated for 1997’s The Life) wrote a revealing book, Ham: Slices of a Life, which became a stage show and is now a filmed version, Ham: A Musical Memoir, having premiered at Outfest Los Angeles. I talked to the big ham for a summation of what’s changed in society—and in himself—through the years.

Hello, Sam. Congrats on the movie.

Thank you. It’s half original music and half familiar music. Unlike the book, it’s chronological and goes through my life, and it’s funny and poignant.

I’m glad you didn’t say journey. I hate that word.

It’s overused. [Laughs]

Tell me about your early years.

I left home when I was 15. I got a job at Opryland USA in Nashville, so I quit high school and went and did shows and a tour. I got to be with other people. I had grown up in a little town in Oklahoma, in the Bible Belt, gay and talented, and I found a tribe. When I look at 15-year-olds today, I think, “How did my parents ever let me go?” But I was so focused, whether by ignorance or blind faith. My parents felt, “He needs to do this.”

But I had a suicide attempt when I was 16 and had come back to Oklahoma for the summer. This is after I had fallen in love for the first time. When I returned, instead of the most joyful thing, I had this feeling of, “This is impossible. It’s unfathomable.” I couldn’t imagine the life I have now, which is I’m married and have a child. It was not even possible to fantasize about it. Finding that joy and love sent me into the depths of depression because once you’ve tasted something, thinking you’ll never have it for real is worse than never having the taste at all.

And you did end up achieving it. By the way, for my younger readers, Star Search was the original American Idol and The Voice.

Unlike now, this was a show when there weren’t 4,000 channels. It was one of a kind. We had 25 or 30 million people a week watching. It was insane, the way that it caught fire. It was a life-changer for me.

How did you get on the show?

It was the first season. They were scouting people and saw me in this trashy little nasty club and asked me to audition. It was a little jazz club in Santa Monica—the kind of place you don’t want to see with the lights on, but a place to learn and fail, which is vital. For my audition, I sang in a room for 10 or 12 people. The room was so tiny, the piano was in the hall. I stood in the doorway and sang, and they rejected me. They said I was too theatrical, which is true.

Is “too theatrical” code for “too gay”?

Could be. They do go together, don’t they? But there were two people who said, “There’s something special here. We’re trying to do something unique.” So I got on.

And voting on the winners were…?

They had four judges that changed every week—everyone from David Foster to Ann Miller. It was not mean spirited. There was no pop catalogue, no mentor, no stylist. I sang what I wanted and wore what I wanted. There was a freedom to not create some sort of a pop star. You did your own thing, and if it hit, it hit.

Because of your powerful style, was there pressure on you to sell it out of the park every week?

I did feel like I created a structure that worked for me, and that inevitably had a key change and a big finish. When you watch my performances back-to-back, it’s the same arrangement! [Laughs] But I did break out of it and do an uptempo song or something else. The tricky part was not the show, but afterward. I knew you can’t build a career on singing power ballads and torch songs over and over again. It would be like painting one color.

Did anyone working on Star Search say, “But ‘Over The Rainbow’ is a woman’s song”?

No, they didn’t say anything. I sang a lot of women’s songs. “I Am Changing”, “God Bless the Child”, “It’s My Turn.” It wasn’t something conscious. I was this little gay kid wearing oversized tuxedo jackets with teary eyes and singing my heart out. Those were the songs that appealed to me. They were truthful to me, and maybe that authenticity is what reached people.

Did you have screaming girl groupies who were in total denial?

People only see what they want to see. Anyone in the business or who had any knowledge knew, “This is the little gay kid,” but nobody else knew. I had all these girls throwing their panties at me.

But you were obviously a flamboyant guy in sparkles singing Judy Garland.

I don’t think I was effeminate as much as I was emotionally raw. I don’t think girly as much as emotionally available. I wasn’t afraid to slit my wrists in front of you and get teary-eyed and expose myself in a dramatic way that was ultimately a celebration too. They were all songs about triumph over adversity and, “Why, oh, why can’t I?”

Did you ever have a fake girlfriend for show?

No, but if I went to the Grammys, I was always given a beard.

Did you feel shameful about that?

I don’t think I felt shameful until later because it was just the way it was. I didn’t hang my head in some daily shame. I did what I was supposed to do.

It wasn’t possible to come out back then?

Not in a million years. Not only was it not possible, but I didn’t expect it to be. Growing up, the only people who were gay weren’t even out—Paul Lynde and Liberace. There were no role models. You can be beaten and certainly I was bullied.

When did you realize you could have a future being who you are?

I started my first long-term relationship when I was 23, but it was in the closet, at a time when record companies would tell interviewers, “Don’t ask him about his personal life.” I never lied, but I lied through omission. It becomes a dirty secret. After my suicide attempt, I had a psychology teacher—the first one I came out to—and he said, “There’s nothing wrong with you. You can’t pick and choose pieces of your life. You have to be the whole person. You have to embrace it all.”

He told me to live my life. He also told me that homosexuality had been declassified as a mental disorder five years prior—it was that recent. When you and I were growing up, it was illegal and a mental disorder and the lowest of the low. We’ve seen this change and it’s extraordinary. Look what we did. We turned that kind of pain into something that made change and made a statement and let others know they’re not alone. We’ve done it.

You were so focused, but did you ever lose that and perhaps party too much?

Oh, please. I’m an alcoholic, sober for 15 years. I’ve been lost, depressed. It’s a big roller coaster. I’m certainly not somebody who wakes up sunshiny and skips my way through the day. I’ve been through dark periods and it’s the way I am. The play and movie are about this constant struggle for what is enough? This need for more and it never being enough and dealing with why that is and what I’m trying to prove and ultimately finding what is enough, which is where I am now.

I was pretty competitive. I was afraid to even meet someone unless they had heard me sing. That was the place I was sure of. That’s also been my MO forever with all the other things. It’s just going and going to a dangerous degree of more, more more. It’s so easy to get hard and a bit of an armor so you don’t feel it so much when you’re rejected. I made a decision that I would rather feel the depths of that than shield myself, because if you shield yourself, you can’t feel the elation.

So I have pretty extreme highs and pretty extreme lows, but I’m a father and I have to remain consistent because it’s not about me. I have so many friends who are much bigger stars than me who have chosen not to have a spouse or kids because they need for it to be about them. I have respect for people who are completely career-driven, but I know people who don’t even have a circle of friends because they’re always traveling and doing and I think, Honey, what’s gonna happen later?

Is the thrill of doing theater different than a concert?

Oh, sure. I love a concert and a one-man show, but the one-man show is brutal physically, vocally, and emotionally, and I couldn’t do it any length of time. With a company, you laugh and you’re a family. You have an experience onstage that you’re reinventing all the time. I love walking through a motherfucking stage door more than anything. The truth is, I love whatever I’m doing. When I’m writing a book, I can write 14 hours a day and forget to eat. I love my life and I don’t regret any of it.

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Oh, Brad! Oh, Dammit!

There have been no regrets at the Venice Film Festival, where my moles have some things to say about the dazzling insider happenings there.

“Noah Baumbach’s Marriage Story–inspired by his divorce from Jennifer Jason Leigh—played very well, with comedy and fury. It’s a shock to see Scarlett Johansson suddenly in her mid-30s, but she’s beautiful, and one scene where she and Adam Driver tear into each other seems to scream Oscar nominations, though I could have lived without the two Sondheim songs.

"Ad Astra, produced by and starring Brad Pitt, has a succession of explosions and deaths and also a lot of narration, but I liked the film; it's better than First Man. In person, Brad looked amazing, with biceps bulging and lots of bracelets and tats. The Polanski film, An Officer and a Spy (J’accuse), was riveting, and while he didn’t make his announced Skype appearance at the premiere—no doubt because of controversy—the standing ovation for the stars seemed to be validation for him.

"And Catherine Deneuve gives a career-high performance in The Truth, proving once again that she’s the Meryl Streep of France.”

And that’s the truth—so let’s end on a high note.