Hello queers.Pretty Baby has been finishing grad school these past few weeks and basically running himself ragged in that mind-bending process. Its been my job to make sure his drugs, coffee and late night meals are readily available and easily procured. I don't think he's slept in a few days, and I'm not exaggerating. His thesis has superseded every other priority by default, but this too shall pass. I am eagerly at his service.
Anyway, there are perks. Sitting through and listening to draft after draft and running through a lot of the research I now know a tad bit more about (one of) his area(s) of expertise, that is, underground gay black & Latino vogue scenes, their styles of subversion, ways of being, histories, musicology, terminologies, identity politics, and future potential for way wavier subversion and non-conformity. A world populated by successfully beautiful gay runaways, glamorous transgender divas, mothers, poets, dancers, you know. I won't go into it any further, because its not my thesis, but you must get him to show you the paper.
ANYWAY-- My personal favorite feature of his supporting materials is the 1988 film directed by British filmmaker, Isaac Julien, Looking for Langston. At 45 minutes long, it is a short, lyrical, impressionistic black and white "documentary" which posits Langston Hughes as a gay hero of the Harlem Renaissance. The historical narrative in the film is purposefully blurry, more of a heavily styled treatment than reliable non-fiction. But me being me, I prefer this kind of storytelling. The look of the film, the actors, the music, choreography, cinematography and art direction are all totally enchanting, graceful, and sleekly, erotically noir. Julien stirs together the look of Art Deco Harlem in smoky nightclubs of the period such as the Savoy Ballroom or Cotton Club, with some musical sampling from late 1980s vogue club tracks. Beautiful.
Its also heavily influenced, I think, by Pink Narcissus (1971), an earlier, likewise stylish gay erotic fantasy film by James Bidgood. I can also detect visual traces of Cecil Beaton, James Van Der Zee and Robert Mapplethorpe's more recent, more famous pictures appear as cameos in the film. All totalize into a gorgeously cold, smoky, silvery Art Deco fantasy bio-pic of Hughes, entrenched in his milieu, his possibly epic homosexual partying, forbidden love affairs. But regardless of his unknown sexual history, the film lushly dramatizes his most affectionately desirous words describing black male bodies.
Looking for Langston's ultimate message is vague, as it so excellently employs its glitzy retro, yet non-nostalgic style as content. But whatever it is, its message is one tailor-made for urban black faggotry and its roots in Harlem Renaissance club scenery. Hughes's persona serves as a vessel, a cultural touchstone within whose suggestive literary career we have probable cause to imagine a homosexual romance. Whether or not Hughes was an active homosexual is beyond the point, if the point is that keeping your affairs under wraps, illicit, secretive, and within the bounds of private speakeasies is just one of "the community's" options for flourishing and proliferation.My question after viewing a couple of times now: Where did the D.L. come from anyway, and is it honestly so detestable? Is that still a thing? It is at least as detestable as the garishly bawdy, muscle-bound pride parade we've all come to know as the homonormative's most spectacular event of the year. I've looked upon the parade and responded: "oh please." Opposed to the huge public spectacle yet relatively boring sexual normality of the pride parade, the Vogue Ball could alternatively be the gay calendar's most anticipated event. It is purposefully much more unheard of, exclusive, private, and thus, freakier. An added bonus, no tired disco anthems. Simply put: the pain of the closet, I am starting to consider, is proportionate to the size and comfort of your closet.
--Dicky Sam
