Milk (2008) +

A heart-stirringly tender docudrama detailing the brief political life of Harvey Milk, the first openly gay man to hold elected office in a major U.S. city. Gus Van Sant's film chooses wisely (and strategically) to center the narrative on Harvey Milk as a flawed, charismatic man who happened to enter politics. Randy Shilts's 1983 biography does a better job telling the story of Milk's importance within San Francisco's maturing gay political scene; Rob Epstein's 1984 documentary does a better job telling the story of Milk's political persona as well as his assassination and its aftermath. I would, however, submit that Van Sant's film (guided by Dustin Lance Black's meticulous screenplay) endeavors something different. The film begins as Milk (played with winning, effervescent delight by Sean Penn) encounters Scott Smith (James Franco, both deliciously swoon-worthy and utterly effective in an essential and difficult role). This early encounter between Milk and Scott instigates the first of two main "instinctual" calls that the character of Harvey responds to in the film, each of which tacitly echoes Milk's instantiating instinct to express his own gayness. Through the mirror that Milk finds in Scott, Penn's Harvey determines to venture to San Francisco and remake himself and his life amidst the countercultural foment of the sexual revolution and gay liberation era. As Scott and Harvey begin to make their lives together in San Francisco, Penn's Harvey encounters his first real experience of homophobic backlash and discovers his talent for grassroots community organizing, soon becoming a leader within the merchants association and a key figure in the emerging gay ghetto centered around San Francisco's Castro Street. Van Sant's film derives its central dramatic impetus from these parallel instantiating calls to action/selfhood experienced by Milk. At the same time, Van Sant integrates a third strand: Milk's own awareness of his own mortality, marked both by his fateful "I won't see 50" proclamation on his 40th birthday as well as the interpolation of scenes showing Milk recording a final statement to played only on the occasion of his assassination. These three strands -- Milk's instinct to migrate to San Francisco, to become involved in city politics, and to anticipate his own assassination -- all present a glimpse of Harvey Milk who lived "historically" (or cognizant of his place in history) and, in the aggregate, the three strands comprise the braid of tension that guide this sprawling, often delightful mosaic of a film. Basically, Van Sant and Black amplify the narrative tension by setting the scene so we want Harvey and Scott's relationship to work, even as we root for Milk's political career to work out, even as we know that Harvey Milk would die a premature death. That this tripartite emotional structure works so simply is, for me, among the most impressive things about this film which bears the formulaic burdens of the biopic genre while somehow maintaining a surprising verve and excitement. (Indeed, I think the generic comforts of the biopic genre will likely serve as a necessary palliative for audiences less invested in the cultural, emotional and spiritual dimensions of queer political history/struggle.) The film is buoyed as well by an assemblage of exuberantly effective performances by a generation of younger actors who were born in the decade after Milk's death. Emile Hirsch is exhilarating as Cleve Jones. Allison Pill, Lucas Grabeel and Joseph Cross are all having a grand time in their respective roles, a merry band with Franco as their putative leader. Only Diego Luna -- as Milk's mercurial lover Jack Lira -- seems a little lost in the role. Even though I remain basically unconvinced of Luna's skill/depth as an actor, I'm disinclined to wholly blame Luna for basic failure of his characterization within this film. Not only is the Lira-Milk relationship a strange, mysterious episode that all Milk biographers get skittish about, and not only are there few historical sources to provide insight to Lira's side of the story, but Lira's relationship with Milk in this film functions as the only non-societal obstacle to Harvey's success in two of the main narrative threads of the feature (his realization of true love with Scott and his actualization of his political potential). As such, the film makes the curious choice of situating Luna's Jack Lira as the single significant character to be presented without sympathy. Even Dan White, David Goodstein, and John Briggs get glancing empathy from the filmmakers, while Luna's Lira remains a mostly hysterical hassle/nightmare. (Indeed, the film's handling of the Lira character is perhaps the single main flub.) Josh Brolin's turn as Dan White, too, was somewhat disappointing, although he's basically quite effective (though, to my mind, the film overplays the theory that White was a closet case). But the performance that really matters is that of Sean Penn, an extraordinary actor doing extraordinary work here. He disappeared for me into the role of Harvey Milk, much as Sissy did into Loretta or Jennifer into Selena -- creating a cinematic fabulation that I, at times, enjoy as a distinct but no less formidable than the actual historical personage. Most notably, perhaps, I found a joy in Penn's performance as Harvey Milk, of a kind that I frankly don't know that I've seen since Spicoli. It's not a perfect performance but it's buoyantly infectious -- much in keeping with the spirit of how the film chooses to understand Harvey Milk -- so the performance works, transcendantly. And although the film will most likely be praised (and reviled) for its generic effectiveness as a biopic, I found myself most impressed by the film's elegant accomplishment as a docudrama. I may have been more inclined to engage the film as a historical film because I was screening it while seated in the Castro Theatre the day after the 30th anniversary of the assassinations. Yet I couldn't help but respond to the film as a most effective version of that least effective genre: the docudrama, a cinematic retelling of a true story in ways that are mostly true to the historical events. The film is actually a portrait of San Francisco history during a heady period of years, a historical story that here is animated by the braid of emotional tension provided by the narrative of Harvey Milk's life/death/political career. Indeed, if you approach this as a biopic, the film's limits are readily legible; if you approach it as a docudrama, I suspect its strengths are most apparent. And it's the film's sophistication as a docudrama that I admire most. (Indeed, as I write this, I wonder if Black wrote a biopic but Van Sant filmed a docudrama.) Of course, the most conspicuous evidence of the film's success as a docudrama can likely be appreciated by its artful, sometimes seamless integration of historical footage into the narrative of the film. For me, it's perhaps the film's most thrilling aspect, this interpolation of historical footage into the narrative fictions. Adept, visually stylish, and emotionally powerful -- the (re)encounter with the historical footage of Anita Bryant is used to especially astonishing effect -- a young member of my screening party had trouble believing that Bryant was "real." And it's Bryant who helps to animate the marvel of historical serendipity that brings this film to the screen just as Proposition 8 has been passed. Like Harvey himself, MILK has extraordinary historical timing. Finally, I may be in first-blush swoon with this film but the fact that I am is I think testament to it. I came to consciousness as a scholar with deep historical inclinations through the cinematic and textual accounts of Harvey Milk. For a time, I was a Harvey Milk geek. And it would not be wrong to lay the blame of my becoming a historian squarely at the feet of Harvey Milk, Randy Shilts and Rob Epstein. (And my dissatisfaction with Emily Mann's play marked an early moment in my mistrust of theatre as a mechanism for the kind of historical inquiry I longed to do.) Now, while I find Van Sant's and Black's film no less hagiographic than any previous treatments of the Milk legend, I do find it a worthy contribution to the historiography of Harvey Milk as a watershed figure in U.S. gay politics and culture. All of which is to say: for a mere movie, this flick gets a lot of stuff done, and it does nearly all of it exceedingly well. So I find myself fairly unapologetic as I sit here raving about the film... The story of Harvey Milk has long had the effect of turning me into an unrepentantly giddy gay history geek, and I'm so very very pleased that MILK is continuing that tradition.