This week, the 49th of the lockdown, one of our orchids bloomed, which was a welcome respite amid all the snow and ice and news about the ongoing failures of the neoliberal state in which we have been condemned to exist.
Has anyone else been watching It's a Sin, a mini-series now airing on HBO? It's getting a lot of critical acclaim for its depiction of a group of young friends in London during the 1980s as they confront AIDS. There are things to like about the show: its unapologetic depiction/celebration of gay sex is always a welcome antidote to the paucity of such depictions/celebrations in all forms of entertainment these days, and the young cast is fun to watch as they move through cycles of joy, confusion, fear, and grief. I would recommend the show to anyone who's unfamiliar with the basic story of how AIDS swept through the 1980s and 1990s and eviscerated an entire generation of -- at least in the West -- gay men, leaving deep scars on society that are barely acknowledged or discussed. I would also recommend it to those who are familiar with the history, but with several caveats.
First, there is the sex (and the men having it): is it possible that London in the 1980s did not have any gay men who weighed more than 135 pounds? It seems unlikely to me. Gay directors: please remember what it feels like to be inundated with images of straight people having sex and note that it's really not that much better to be inundated with images of skinny white boys having sex. It's 2021: MIX IT UP. Second, and more importantly, the emotional impact of the show -- despite confronting a most harrowing episode of history -- feels limited by its adherence to an era whose basic, historical truths, when presented in a fictional context, make it very difficult to offer a corresponding sense of fictional redemption. Characters become ciphers as they are rushed through the stages of AIDS as it unfolded in the 1980s: pre-AIDS partying/1970s nostalgia, disbelief, denial, acceptance (symptoms), political awakening, death or not death. Because I'm aware of the actual history, I don't feel like I'm watching people; instead, I'm watching a lottery in which the question is which of the gay characters are going to die. The show fails capture the true emotional weight of the actual death lottery that occurred because we don't know much about the inner lives of these characters, whose role is to represent the past more than to occupy it. So when the moment of fictional redemption arrives, it ironically enough feels trite, detached from the historical reality.
I believe that one solution to this dilemma (of representing AIDS in fictional works that are both historically accurate and emotionally resonant) is queer futurism (which I've written about before). The creators of It's a Sin would have been well-served to watch and learn from the television show Pose, which used queer futurism to transcend the AIDS narrative. As with It's a Sin, the show depicts AIDS in ways that are historically accurate/expected -- symptoms, fear, denial, hospital scenes, funerals, political activism -- but also has its characters move through landscapes that are exaggerated or fantastical, either in glamorous Harlem ball scenes or in musical dream sequences (which is one of an unlimited number of option: I'm not saying every show needs a musical interlude, of course.) These scenes, which blur the lines between (fictional) life and death bind us to the characters (even, or especially, the ones who are dying) while offering us a sense of hope (and grief) that feels artistically satisfying in ways that so often are lacking in works of art that try to cleave too closely to a reality that for all intents and purposes is emotionally incomprehensible. Queer futurism offers us a way of acknowledging the horrors of the past without being constrained by these same horrors, which in addition to being artistically satisfying is politically potent at a time when our enemies are still trying to oppress us, and when too many works of art -- even when made with the opposite intention -- serve to unconsciously reinforce messages of futility and disempowerment.
There is a path in Washington Heights, not far from where we live, that runs through the woods. It feels like you could be anywhere but New York City.
If you take the path to the end, you learn that it is a temporary illusion. It opens up to a view of the city, which seems that much more harrowing and beautiful after being forgotten for a few minutes.
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