The Times of Harvey Milk (1984) +

An exceptionally effective documentary profile of the brief political life of Harvey Milk, the first openly gay man to be elected to public office in a major U.S. city. This documentary is about as conventional as they come. Precise narrative detailing the biographical dimensions of a historical incident, fortified by aptly chosen archival footage and diversely compelling talking heads. The first feature-length documentary on gay themes to win an Academy Award, the film is startling today both for its simple frankness and emotional immediacy. It's remarkable to witness these folks relive the experience of Harvey Milk's political ascendancy and subsequent assassination with only about 5 or so years separating them from the events depicted. Likewise, it's astonishing to see this account of gay life in the late 1970s and early 1980s and realize that AIDS is never mentioned. It's an astonishing time capsule -- a snapshot of what tragedy in the gay community looked like before AIDS took over in scripting gay male devastation. In some way, I think it was important to me, in the later 1980s, to have this film as a touchstone of how grief might serve as a politicizing touchstone. The absence of AIDS in this film also is suggestive of how distant the recent gay past was for me as a young gay man coming to intellectual and political consciousness in the later 1980s. I'm struck by how much Dustin Lance Black's screenplay for the narrative feature film Milk owes to the narrative structure of the first two thirds of Epstein's film (opening with the recorded "in the event of my death by assassination" message; the narrative of folks arriving to the memorial rally and saddened by the lack of people at city hall only to realize the vast swath just around the corner). I'm also struck by the feature film's excision of Sally Gearhart and the Chinese American guy. The feature's narrative, in addition to being much more attentive to Harvey's personal life, is also much less attentive to Harvey's apparent commitment to racial and gender equity. Seeing this film now makes me realize how much the Van Sant film really is unconsciously about white male privilege (which might be why the Diego Luna bit proves so discomfiting). What's interesting to me is how much this film registers for me now, in ways I might not have been aware in the late 1980s, as a emotionally and politically complex document of what gay politics looked like before the onslaught of AIDS. I'm also struck by how different the two most marvelous actions: the vigil and the riot. Both reactions were startling in their eloquence in 1978, but they were also novelties. By the later 1980s when I first fell in love with this film, eloquent articulations of collective grief as well as increasingly confrontational modes of political demonstration were becoming ever more the norm. The historical distance of the recent gay past. The concomitant imperative of entering such stories into the archive. It was fascinating to watch this film, having been so recently reminded of the basic contours of the story. Easily one of the most important films in my political, intellectual and academic consciousness. I'm fascinated now to troll through the special features and listen to the audio commentaries.