Queer Revolution (Pride pt. XII)

Born in Flames

Velvet Goldmine

As Pride Month sadly comes to a close, I’ve been reflecting on all that I’ve watched so far, what I want to watch in the future, and I knew that I wanted to end June on a high note. We’re living in bizarre times: where billionaires in submarines disappear, twice-impeached ex-presidents get indicted on new things every day, and Timotheé Chalamet is allegedly dating Kylie Jenner (you have no idea how hard it was to type that.) As if life weren’t uncertain and scary enough, women and LGBTQ+ people are threatened every day with violence, hateful rhetoric, and the stripping away of their basic human rights. There is a lot to be angry about, a lot to be concerned about, but there is so much beauty, joy, and humanity worth fighting for. The first Pride was a riot: where gays, lesbians, trans people, and drag queens battled it out with the police for five days straight (no pun intended), not just to protect and defend themselves, but because they were fed up with being treated like second-class citizens. Unfortunately, in many ways, this same exact fight continues today. But just as the bigots have gained a new sense of pride, so have queer people and their allies. So to close out Pride Month, but to continue my everlasting journey to watch essential queer films, I wanted to view movies that focused on the Queer Revolution. Much like the Civil Rights Movement, the Feminist Movement, and the many iterations of class struggles and protests throughout history, the Queer Revolution didn’t just come and go in the 20th Century—it is an ongoing, ever-evolving practice of the radical idea that people should be allowed to be themselves. The Queer Revolution isn’t “turning” people gay or indoctrinating anyone with any kind of ideology, it is simply representative of the LGBTQ+ community’s ongoing fight for visibility, tranquility, and respect. Normalizing queerness through decent representation is a part of this visibility and acceptance. It may not seem revolutionary to depict queer characters in film, but if you’re caught up with HBO Max’s The Other Two, than you know how sparse and hard-to-come-by good representation is (especially now that this same funny, queer show is ending! 😩). For a film to fairly depict queer characters is one thing, but to represent the dynamic, bold, queer voices of the revolution, is a more specific and nuanced task—one that both of tonight’s films were up for. I began with a film that I have been wanting to watch for awhile, the 1983 dystopian docu-fiction drama written, directed, and edited by Lizzie Borden titled Born in Flames. I honestly didn’t need to know much about this film beyond the fact that it was created by a woman nicknamed after prolific female serial killer Lizzie Borden, but Born in Flames just gets better and better the more you learn about it. As Melissa Anderson of The Village Voice wrote, Born in Flames is “the sole entry in the hybrid genre of radical-lesbian-feminist sci-fi vérité”, and I don’t think I can describe it any better than that. This is a very cool, very angry, very cogent film that is set in NYC, ten years after an alleged “social-democratic war of liberation”—a success that the white, straight male narrator claims is “the most peaceful revolution the world has ever known”. It quickly becomes clear, however, that this revolution is a sham, and that the patriarchal government’s claim that peace has been achieved is nothing more than a half-assed attempt to placate the underemployed, disrespected masses who know the truth. As Peter Bradshaw of The Guardian writes: “…the resulting government, dominated by a single party with frowningly earnest male apparatchiks supervising ‘workfare’ schemes and officially approved feminist theoretical journals, is indistinguishable in its conformism from Reagan’s America; Borden is filming on the real New York streets, also using real news footage of real demos and real police violence. The premise is a rather elegant and sophisticated joke and Born in Flames is comparable to Peter Watkins’s Punishment Park.” And that feels like an apt comparison, because while the events that take place in Born in Flames are all fictional, not a single moment felt fake or unfeasible. The film presents us with some men in power who are greatly threatened by the particularly Black and lesbian feminist uprisings occurring in NYC, and across the globe, that are being spearheaded by two different pirate radio stations—Phoenix Radio and Radio Ragazza. These two stations, run by women who are fed up with the “depression of their oppression”, begin to embolden and inspire other women to join in on the fight. Much of this film’s story is told to us, not shown, but it felt just as real. The overall goal of these organizations, though differing in techniques and styles, is to combat racism, sexism, and classism that exists in everyday society. They have many different means of doing this, but one of the only instances where the audience is shown this feminist militia’s specific practices, is when we witness a woman being harassed by two men on the street, only for a band of armed women on bikes to show up and physically settle the situation. Naturally, the police and the government do not approve of these methods, and begin investigating these female vigilantes. Meanwhile these same women are organizing, writing, strength-training, learning how to use a gun, placing photos around town to warn women about confirmed rapists—all work that women do today, with even less government and police support. While each woman in this fight has the same goal, the two feminist revolutionary groups have different ideas about the means of revolution. Though it was never said outright, this difference in methodologies felt very akin to the friction between the First and Second Wave Feminists, and how quickly the collective struggle between women grew into a collective struggle between women, people of color, and the queer community. The profound frustration of making no progress, no matter what the methodology, ultimately becomes a concern that connects both feminist groups. And after the leader of one of these groups is taken by police, the unification of these two female militias becomes instant, and entirely necessary. There is nothing radical or revolutionary about wanting to be treated like a human being, but the constant attacks against women, both physically and legislatively, has reinforced the fact that we can never give up fighting. To quote one of the many bad bitches in this movie, one of which was played by director Kathryn Bigelow, “Unless we struggle now for our rights, we will always be oppressed. There will be no socialism until we are all represented in government. Every woman under attack has the right to defend themselves.” and sisters, we are under fucking attack! I mean as dark as this film is, things seem so much worse for women now, I fear. At least back in 1983, you could still get a legal abortion. Women have been screaming and fighting and voting and canvassing and pleading for basic human rights for a very long time. And for women of color, trans women, and lesbians, there is an even greater threat of violence and indignity. Born in Flames was an incendiary, captivating, ahead-of-its-time, one-of-a-kind kind of film that inspired me and riled me the fuck up. This film ends in a rather shocking way that I encourage you to watch for yourself, if you can find it (I, personally, watched a version of this film that was uploaded to a stranger’s Facebook, so do what you gotta do.) One of the last lines of the film, uttered by one of the feminist soldiers is, “And for those of us who would be safer in the sensibilities of racism, separatism, and martyrdom, if you can’t help us toward building this living church, then move out of the way” and I wish this statement didn’t still ring true, but here we still are, with less rights than we had when this film was made. For this and Tongues Untied to act as the bookends of my Pride Month Double Feature Extravaganza would be perfect, but alas, I watched one more wonderful, complicated film. Todd Haynes’ 1998 musical drama pseudo-Bowie-biopic Velvet Goldmine is a film that I've wanted to see for a long time, and it continued the conversation surrounding a Queer Revolution. Just like in Born in Flames, the queer revolution presented in Velvet Goldmine is one that actually occurred in real life, albeit with slightly more fun, glittery results. The film opens with a disclaimer: “Although what you are about to see is a work of fiction, it should nevertheless be played at maximum volume” and I happily obliged. Velvet Goldmine follows British journalist Arthur Stuart (Christian Bale), as he attempts to track down the truth behind 1970s androgynous, bisexual, glam rock legend Brian Slade (Jonathan Rhys Meyers) also known by his other alter ego Maxwell Demon, who faked his death and disappeared ten years prior. The film follows Arthur as he interviews Slade’s former manager Cecil (Michael Feast), his former bandmate and lover Curt Wild (Ewan McGregor [perhaps at his sexiest]), and his ex-wife Mandy (Toni Collette)—each conversation providing a glimpse into this mysterious figure’s rise and fall, and informing the audience of its main protagonist’s own connection to this singer and sexual cultural icon. In ways that were obvious and not-so-obvious, Velvet Goldmine was inspired by the life of actual glam rock star and androgynous legend David Bowie, who declined Todd Haynes’ request to use his music and likeness for the film. So, instead, the film is a bit of a mish-mashed tale of sex, music, and pop cultural history: featuring significant nods to not just Bowie, but Lou Reed, Bryan Ferry, Iggy Pop, Little Richard, Brian Eno, and Oscar Wilde—all misunderstood but decidedly queer pop cultural figures. This is a film for music aficionados and snobs and newbs alike, as it paints a lovely, colorful, violent, and extravagant image of the rapidly-changing politics and cultural sensibilities in the UK and the US in the 60s & 70s. The entirety of this film felt like a velveteen fever dream—never quite letting up from its chaos but offering plenty of dazzle and delight despite its troubling story. There was a lot to love about Velvet Goldmine: a ruthlessly divalicious Jonathan Rhys Meyers, Eddie Izzard slaying in chic suits, Toni Collette looking gorg and channeling Bowie’s first wife Angela, Ewan McGregor in tight pants writhing around on stage, and an overall admiration for not just this era of queer revolution, but for all iterations of freeing oneself through creative, sparkling expression. I loved the absurdity of this film, its proud bisexual representation, its message to queer youth that their time to shine will come eventually, and I loved every single frock, suit, and bedazzled get-up that each character had a chance to wear. Just like with Born in Flames, I was constantly shazamming each song that was played, because the music here was phenomenal. The beauty of Velvet Goldmine was in all of its details—its use of Ken dolls to act out two boys falling in love, its dedication to telling the glam rock lore correctly (even if it was through fictional characters), the way certain “gay” conversations were subtitled with translations—every detail was well-thought out and expertly implemented. My ADHD-overthinking-ass might’ve gotten too caught up in these fabulous details, though, because at a certain point, I started to question what this film was actually about, as a complete package. But somewhere between the rock n’ roll orgies, the vocal appreciation for aesthetic beauty, the elegantly-written script, and the shots of Ewan McGregor’s punk rock penis, I learned to let go of my questioning, and just enjoy the ride. Velvet Goldmine is a hyper-specific kind of story that finds a way to be universal and wide-reaching, as evidenced by Christian Bale’s once-closeted protagonist, and the evolution that occurs within him, and within all of the UK & the US. Oh, to be a 1970s glam rock groupie and have nothing to do but dress well and lie down and not have to think of a way to wrap up this review. I am not smart enough to properly sum up the messages of Velvet Goldmine or Born in Flames, but I can tell you that these two films represent two different but important forms of the Queer Revolution, and all that is possible when we allow ourselves to be authentic and unafraid and free. So let’s continue to support the LGBTQ+ community and show up for our queer friends and family when they need us—which is NOW! The revolution will not be televised but it will be gay!!!!!!!!