James Bidgood: Pink Narcissus, or The Woes of Money

James Bidgood, Cadet, Pink Narcissus

When I had just started university, "back in the days", I was asked to write a paragraph about 'a person I particularly admire'. My teacher at that time was a red-haired, henna-painted San Francisco native who would regularly spread some joy in the gray uni hallways with colourful pro-choice or gay-rights posters on her door. (That is how I remember her anyway...) Hence, I decided not to go with the typical "my grandmother because she has had a hard life" or "Beyoncé because... that booty!" choice. I went all the way and wrote a text about James Bidgood, whose Taschen monograph I had bought on discount in some obscure bookshop a few weeks before.

This is what 19-year-old me wrote about Bidgood: 

"The U.S.-American photographer and filmmaker James Bidgood is a person I particularly admire for his devotion to his work. Bidgood made his only film Pink Narcissus in the years from 1964 to 1970. In those six years, he and his leading actor shot scenes when they had enough money and otherwise lived from hand to mouth and slept in Bidgood's small apartment. There, he would design and build up all the required imaginative sets himself, using cheap and primitive materials such as plastic leaves, aluminium foil and chicken wire. Due to his perfectionism, Bidgood needed twenty to thirty takes and an incredible mass of footage for each scene. When the film was taken away from him before he could finish it he fell into depression and destroyed most of his film material. In regard to his enthusiasm and endurance as well as his creativity James Bidgood is an inspiration for many people who believe in what they love most."

James Bidgood, Mandolin, Gilded Cage, mid-1960s

Makes him sounds like a legend, doesn't it? To be honest, back then I wasn't to prone to research and most of the facts presented are probably taken straight from either the monograph or wikipedia. One thing I definitely omitted to acknowledge - negligently, I need to say, and for no good reason, given my rather, eh, liberal teacher: Bidgood is an artist with a vision. A very queer vision.

James Bidgood should be widely celebrated as a pioneer of gay art, because that is what he is. His images are wonderfully camp, bubblegum-coloured fantasies. The gorgeous boy models - Pink Narcissus' actor Bobby Kendall was Bidgood's lover - are wearing rather little, and in between all the glitter, glamour and kitsch (Bidgood's training as a New York costume designer certainly did not go unused) lies a naive longing for romance. The images, inspired by 1920s nude photography and the legendary Ziegfeld Follies revues, are a feast for the eyes, reveling in excess, in the beauty of a time where, to paraphrase the equally flamboyant Liberace, "too much of a good thing was wonderful".

Bobby Kendall in Pink Narcissus

But in the end, it was just a paragraph I had to write and I would soon move on to pen argumentative essays about whether homosexuals should be allowed to join the army (copies are provided on request). The monograph was packed into some box when I left the country some time later, and basically forgot. So when Out Magazine told their Facebook community today: "Fund This: James Bidgood's Art. The iconic photographer and designer is raising funds so he can continue creating.", it led me to make two surprising discoveries; that a) Bidgood is not, as I had assumed, dead; and b) that I am still totally crazy for his work, that I find it admirable, and that I think more people should be inspired by it.

So here's the deal: James Bidgood is fundraising. The godfather of all camp is alive and kicking, and he needs money to produce more glitz and glam with a new digital camera and (oh my goodness, think of the creative possibilities!) Photoshop. Because, you know, not every pioneer is rich. And even plastic leaves and chicken foil need to be paid.

So get your purse out, and excuse me while I go looking for the box with the monograph. And please say hi to my teacher.

Pride: Review

I finally managed to watch Pride yesterday. For everyone who completely missed out on Facebook, Twitter and every relevant magazine, here's the trailer:

I was naturally curious to see it, since it's set in South Wales (where I happen to live), it's about the gay and lesbian community (which I happen to support), and it's about the struggle of the Welsh miners in that capitalist catastrophe better known as the Thatcher era. Produced by the BBC and starring a whole bunch of top actors, the film had its big debut in Cannes, and from thereon set out to conquer our hearts. 

It's a cheery little gem, this film. It just does everything right that is needed in order to give the audience a bloody good time. There are the outsiders and the oppressed, lots of fairly complex yet not overbearing characters to sympathise with. There are cleverly-written, cunning, funny lines, and there's the notorious scene highlight that includes a group of innocent women, some of them elderly, and a dildo. There's the lovely underlying message, quite a few prejudices from all sides taken on with good humour, there's the link to the real events of 1984/1985, and a heart-lifting climax. There's Dominic West and Andrew Scott as a loving couple - how can you not love them?!

It's a simple formula, I guess. Yet it works. It is such a feel-good film, it should be taught in film class at every college as the best example of the feel-good film. I can't quite put my finger on what makes Pride so special. It might be that everyone involved in making this movie really seemed to care. Or maybe it is just Dominic West and Andrew Scott, or that adorable Welsh accent. Maybe y'all should go watch the film and find out for yourselves.

(Warning: You'll find yourselves with a very possessive tune stuck in your head, and a sudden urge to show solidarity to anything around you. That's not a bad thing, mind you.)

Gustav Hofer and Luca Ragazzi: Suddenly, Last Winter

Suddenly, Last Winter is a documentary film made in 2007, when the Italian journalists and long-time couple Gustav Hofer and Luca Ragazzi found themselves confronted with a violent wave of homophobia. The violence flared when civil partnerships for homosexuals were firstly proposed to the Italian parliament, and while Gustav and Luca were understandably excited about the development, Christian and conservative parties and movements braced themselves against it, leaving the country politically unstable and its people in fear and anger.

The premise is a simple one: On Gustav's initiative, the couple hits the streets, attends protests and endures numerous, endless conferences of the senate to understand the dispute. They try to interview as many people as possible, politicians, civil movement leaders and seemingly innocent passer-bys. And they never shy away from directing the camera at themselves: their disappointed faces, the fear in Luca's voice after being threatened by fascist demonstrators. By continually asking the right questions in the right moments, they subtly deconstruct the arguments of the self-called "defenders of the family and traditional values" and reveal their weak spots. When talking to politicians, more often than not, hypocrisy and a dangerous entanglement between the purportedly secular state and clerical influences come to light. When interviewing the religious, they find unreasonable fear, ignorance and hate. "I don't know what you're afraid of!", Gustav shouts in one particularly intense debate. "They say the same things, like broken records, the poor things", Luca will reply soon, exhausted by the empty phrases.

Luca and Gustav watching the news.

What makes the film so successful is not its immediacy - the hand-held camera in midst of the demonstration - or its makers' perseverance. Suddenly, Last Winter is a very personal film, and that's what makes it special. Luca and Gustav open their doors and their lives to the viewer, thereby making visible what their political opponents would love to hide forever. "We were never good at hiding", they admit at the beginning of the film, and they are right. They've staged scenes with themselves watching or reading the news, recapping their legal situation in bed and cycling past posters advertising the highly contrived "Family Day 2007". With a wink they'll comment on their own bad acting - after all, this is how they are, it's a film about what they feel. Sometimes it's subtle self-deprecation, sometimes honest outrage and fear, and the mixture makes Suddenly, Last Winter a worthwhile watch.

The Photograph: SFGH Ward 5A

Unknown photographer: Shanti counsellor Ed Wolf works with a patient. Image courtesy of the San Francisco History Center, SF Public Library, via shantihistory.blogspot.com

"But hand-holding is a very difficult part of medicine. I do it a lot, and I try to do it right, and it is a very satisfying as well as wrenching part of the experience." - Robert Cohen, AIDS Doctor

The picture above, showing counsellor Ed Wolf comforting an AIDS patient in 1983, is one of the few images I was able to dig up so far from the early 1980s, when the AIDS epidemic began. It is a sentimental little find, transporting the viewer to San Francisco's famous AIDS ward 5A. The ward at its time possibly offered the most prominent window into an otherwise still very secluded community. Before 1985, when Rock Hudson's death hit the ignorant society with a vengeance, social and governmental support compassed near to nothing. The gay and lesbian community found itself left alone, and responsible for the many sick people. 

The Shanti Mission was just one of many projects all over the US where volunteers from the community stepped in and helped the best they could, when the rest of the world did not bother. The seclusion surely was a self-protective reflex as well, a shield against homophobic attacks which condemned the "gay cancer" and decried homosexuality as a sinful, dangerous lifestyle. In the end, they made the community much stronger than ever expected.

The seclusion of the first years might be the reason that only a few pictures are available nowadays, most of them hidden away in archives or private family albums; photo journalism and documentary photography did not really discover AIDS until much later. A greater selection, luckily, is featured in the touching documentary film We Were Here, which also includes an extensive interview with Ed Wolf. Weirdly enough I enjoy the fact that it is so hard to get an insight into the subject: It tells me that, after all, visually witnessing something is only worth so much. To really know what it feels like to be part of a community devastated by a disease, you must have been there, at the right time, at the right place.

This is the second installment of  'The Photograph', a series of pictures that I love, find remarkable or important, and which I will present on this blog on a non-regular basis.

Panti's Noble Call

Here are ten minutes of wise words everyone should have a listen to - delivered by the Irish drag queen Panti (Rory O'Neill). Maybe she should be part of the Gorgeous project, since she's got one of the most important stories to share?!

Jennie Livingston: Paris Is Burning

Pepper Labeija in Paris Is Burning (Screenshot)

Paris Is Burning is a documentary film, directed by Jennie Livingston and published in 1990. It deals with New York's Ball culture in the late 1980s. The balls were, and are to the present day, large events where everyone, but mainly gays, lesbians, transgender, transvestites, and queer people of Afro-American and Latino origin, could have a great time "being fabulous", performing in drag or presenting extravagant dance styles.

The balls are extravagant, something for the eye to feast, giant parties, serving as well-needed upbeat moments in the film. They are so exciting, and the viewer immediately gets why the protagonists spend most of their days stealing clothes, planning outfits and performances, and organising more balls. It makes you want to go back to the wild New York of the late 1980s and early 1990s.

And then there are the quieter, pensive moments of the film. The excessive balls serve as a distraction from the often miserable life of the characters: Many of them deal with poverty, violence, homophobia and transphobia on a daily basis, prostitute themselves to make a living, or are ill with AIDS. To Livingston, they open up their dreams of gender reassignment surgery, or becoming a successful model, but also of security, wealth, a home, steady relationships - and it is these moments when you really start to relate to the protagonists.

Paris Is Burning also shows an alternative to the traditional nuclear family - many of the ball participants live in Houses, substitute families founded by and named after Ball legends which function as "mother" or "father". There are the Houses of Labeija, Xtragavanza, Ninja - united in their competition. It is heart-warming to see the love and care shared by the House members, and Livingston approaches this environment very sensitively to document the protagonists in private moments, off their outspoken Ball personas. The making of Paris Is Burning took seven years - and it is palpable. Livingston came really close to her subjects and achieved a honest insight into their lives, by conducting excellent interviews and mixing them with observed moments.

The ball culture exists still, but most of the protagonists of Paris Are Burning are gone. They died of AIDS or were murdered - Venus Xtravanza's death is one of the shock moments in the film. In this context, Paris Is Burning becomes kind of a memorial, mourning times and people long gone. But the way it celebrates life, diversity and self-expression is exemplary and highly enjoyable; a fundamental documentary to watch when you are interested in LGBTQ history.