When Authorship Fails, How Does Paris is Burning Still Survive?

I watched Paris is Burning, by Jennie Livingston, at one in the morning, the gentle glow of purple LED lights illuminating me in my otherwise dark room.  I was unsure of what to expect from this film, as I decided to watch it before reading any critique, description, or context to the movie.  Within the first few minutes, I was pleasantly surprised by the fact that this was going to be a documentary, and not a fictional storytelling like I had originally expected.  After those first few minutes, my body grew still. I was sucked into every minute, my eyes never even glancing away from the screen. Occasionally, I would smile, like when the emcee did a read on someone, or when a particularly lovely personal moment happened in an interview.  For the most part, however, I found myself confused by the fact that my sadness and emotion in listening to the subjects of this film was not being reaffirmed in the style of the documentary. The movie left me- melancholy and heavy- at 2:30 am, sitting alone in the now-buzzing purple darkness.  The first thing I did was read bell hooks’ critique of the film, entitled Is Paris Burning?.  It was there that I finally found clarity in the way the film had made me feel, and even furthered and deepened my understanding, pointing out many factors I had missed in my initial viewing.  After this, I decided to read “The Subversive Edge”: Paris is Burning, Social Critique, and the Limits of Subjective Agency, by Phillip Brian Harper, which takes a theory-heavy approach to talking about the failures of accurate social critique and representation in and around Paris is Burning.  I bring the two of these pieces together today because I think their interplay works very well to discuss the realities of the impact of this film on non-queer, non-black/latinx audiences.  Although I now agree with almost all of hooks’ and Harper’s arguments about the film, I cannot (and will not) deny this: I was captivated by this film while watching it. Therefore, I want to address and respect the incredible faults in the way this film was done, while also simultaneously addressing the idea of “queering the narrative”- a culture that has long been forced into existence for minority groups viewing consistently narrow and/or  failing portrayals of themselves on screen. 

Both Harper and hooks begin their critiques of the film by calling out positive reviews that they found unsubstantiated and/or incorrect.  Hooks calls out Vincent Canby’s review, stating that despite claims that this film champions black gay pride and power, “he in no way indicates ways this pride and power are evident in the work.” (150) It’s clear that hooks is frustrated by the lack of awareness and willingness to comment on the ways in which the oppressive nature of white supremacist heterosexual America attributes to the “sadness” he claims to see in the film.  This seemingly tone-deaf reaction by Canby, and by some other positive-stance reviewers, is- in part- the direct result of the failings of this film, according to hooks. Specifically, she says, “Ironically, the very ‘fantasies’ evoked emerge from the colonizing context, and while marginalized people often appropriate and subvert aspects of the dominant culture, Paris is Burning does not forcefully suggest that such a process is taking place.” (150)  Harper, who references hooks many times in his own critique, has similar feelings.  He mentions a separate reviewer, Jim Farber, who stated that the way the ball-goers constructed their identities provides a “subversive edge”, and “(stresses) the sly mutability of identity.” (91)  Harper disagrees, stating that despite the belief by many that this film proves the subjects have found some sort of overwhelming agency over their identity, and the outside reception of that identity in a society that ignores and oppresses them,  “However much they might enjoy such a capacity in the ballroom, the subjects of Paris is Burning were definitively shown to lack it beyond the ball context…” (92)  I include a heavy helping of these authors’ own words here because I think the analysis of these reviews- and others like them- help to drive home the points they make on the failures of the film.  Both Farber and Canby are white male reviewers. It’s not that hooks or Harper want to criminalize the white, and more specifically white male viewer, but that they want to emphasize that the white community is not being awoken to how their privilege, cultural norms, and political world is directly affecting and oppressing the subjects of the film.  How then, can this film truly champion these individuals, if the struggles, pain, death, and subsequent importance of community is made to be separate from the white, hetero, classist elitism pervasive around every corner of their world? Both authors, but especially hooks, would say that it cannot, then, truly champion ballroom culture and people. So what went wrong in this film?  Certainly I see a sense of general good intentionality from Livingston, though hooks might smack me over the head with her critique for saying so. As she so poignantly mentions, “(Livingston’s) ability to assume (the position of interpreter) without rigorous interrogation of intent is rooted in the politics of race and racism.” (153) 

Perhaps most clarifying to why this movie failed to convey the deeper socio-political truths of the lives and experiences of these people is Jennie Livingston’s absence and invisibility within the film.  Upon reading the section in which hooks begins describing this and what it does to the film, I was struck in surprise at how I had so blatantly missed it in my viewing. I’ll first let hooks explain the effect herself: “Since (Livingston’s) presence as a white woman/lesbian filmmaker is ‘absent’ from Paris is Burning it is easy for viewers to imagine that they are watching an ethnographic film documenting the life of black gay ‘natives’ and not recognize that they are watching a work shaped and formed by a perspective and standpoint specific to Livingston.” (151)  Indeed, this effect, once pointed out, is glaringly obvious. At one point, I remember cringing while watching Livingston prod and prod a member of the ballroom as to what professions the people who walked had. At first, the woman responds that most of them are showgirls, and repeats this again when Livingston prods further, growing increasingly uncomfortable and aware of what is actually happening.  It is so heavy-handed and obvious what Livingston is trying to squeeze out of this woman- that these people are escorts and sex workers. I was revolted by the immediate shame-game this seemed to bring to the film. It even cut from that interview to immediately actually talking about and with performers who work as escorts, which felt like an implication that the woman in the interview was somehow wrong for not spilling all the hot gossip about these people.  In reality, I personally saw in that woman someone who cared about these performers, and knew the realities of stigma against sex work, and wanted to protect them. I relate this back to hooks’ overall statement, because despite the fact that I openly disliked that little parlay, I didn’t even know that it was Livingston herself conducting the interviews until I began reading critiques later on. It is so easy, then, to forget how heavy her hand, and her perspective, is on this story, and that is dangerous. 

Similarly, Venus Xtravaganza, one of the main subjects of the documentary, receives a more mediocre treatment towards the end of the film than I ever thought possible. Harper has great insight into what her death actually means, citing it as an example of how failure to conform can lead to tragedy, and how this connects to the Realness portion of ballroom life. He points out the sinister underlying truths to the importance of Realness- life or death. (97) Hooks works to flesh out the other end of this by talking about what the lack of this message in the film did for Venus and for audience reception of her death.  Bluntly, plainly, and truthfully, hooks exposes the reality, saying, “Having served the purpose of ‘spectacle’ the film abandons her. The audience does not see Venus after the murder. There are no scenes of grief. To put it crassly, her dying is upstaged by spectacle. Death is not entertaining.” (155). My own experience mirrored this. I felt I had no time, and that the film was refusing me the space, to mourn the loss of a person I had grown to really like over the course of her appearances. This lack of care taken in portraying her death is only more starkly highlighted by the first end credit of the movie- an ‘In Memory Of’ still, listing a few names.  Venus, who I immediately searched for on the list, is absent.  

For all the plethora of failure in the representation of these people, the impact of Paris is Burning on the modern queer community, and specifically people of color within that community, is inarguable.  RuPaul’s Drag Race and Pose are prime examples of entertainment and performance that celebrates both the ballroom world, and also Paris is Burning’s impact.  Countless words and forms of praise that the queer community uses today comes from the balls, and were made more widely known by the film.  Many of the people who resonate with Paris is Burning are people who do drag themselves, or who love their queer community and this aspect/history of it.  Livingston, in fact, often argues against criticism of the film by pointing out that its success is made by the exact people that critics like hooks claim it is hurting.  While I think this response from Livingston is crude and frankly privileged, the reality of the fanbase is true. Which brings me back to where I started. I was left at the end of my reading feeling very unsure of myself.  I agreed wholeheartedly with the criticism made by these writers, and yet I had, for the most part, enjoyed the film. From the sound of my fellow queer audience members, I’m far from alone. So what is it that still makes this film so meaningful within the community?

I believe the answer lies in the difference between authorship and audience integrity.  I’ve made the point already that the authorship of this film is twisted, heavy-handed, and often irresponsibly vague about the larger socio-political implications of these subjects’ struggles, idolization of white elitist society, and even their deaths.  However, film, and storytelling in general, is a two-way street. Audiences can have immense power over the meaning of a film, as I previously discussed in my response to The Celluloid Closet.  What is so interesting about this film is that, at the end of the day, the interviewees are going to answer with their own truths, regardless of any ignorance or unwillingness to dig into why this is so by the author of the film.  That, I think, is why so many queer people, drag people, and even some of the people in the film itself, can find enjoyment and community in this film despite raging flaws. The reading of hooks and Harper helped me to find that my enjoyment lied not with Livingston’s artistry, but in electing to ignore it, and instead focus on what really mattered to me- the people, and what they were actually saying.  When bell hooks praised Dorian Carey towards the end of her analysis, I resonated deeply. She says, “For those of us who did not come to this films as voyeurs of black gay subculture, it is Dorian Carey’s moving testimony throughout the film that makes Paris is Burning a memorable experience.” (155)  The difference between hooks and I’s view is that I feel this way about everyone who had something to say in this piece.  When you choose to watch this film not for the filmmaker’s voice and point, but for the people’s voice and point, it can be deeply rewarding, I think.  

For example, the beach scene with Brooke and Carmen Xtravaganza was a moment I truly cherished and enjoyed, and may have been my favourite moment of the film altogether.  There’s so much going on in one little interaction. Brooke is speaking about her transition, and her gender-reaffirming surgery throughout most of it. She is glowing and beaming, touching her body lightly as she talks about how it has impacted her for the better.  It was one of the most emotionally evocative moments of the film for me, because those of us who saw the underlying control of the white supremacist, hetero, cis-normative world were, for a moment, reminded of the joy these women find together, and in taking back their own identity.  We see, maybe for the first time, the purely authentic example of how these houses really were family to one another. I love the singing they do at the end of the scene. It’s very open and celebratory of their joy in a way shown no other time in the film. Carmen even ping pongs back and forth between reading/throwing shade at Brooke, and being her cheerleader, which immediately reminded me of my relationship with my sisters.  This shade, of course, holds a distinct underlying meaning, as we grasp from the scene that Carmen has not been able to get these reaffirming surgeries, and may not be feeling the power and womanhood that Brooke is. Of course, all of this is left completely and utterly up to the viewer to glean out of it, which means the average Joe who may not be actively educating themselves on this could just see two trans people frolicking in the sand without any real purpose or meaning beyond the spectacle that hooks so frequently calls out.    

Similarly, the snippets from the two young boys on the street were everything to me.  Despite Livingston’s lack of an argument as to why these boys are in the situation they’re in and what that means socio-politically, I deduced my own.  I understood that there was both joy in these boys’ optimism and beaming faces, while also seeing the underlying sadness that defines their poverty, loss of family, and inevitably, why they are out at 2:30 in the morning.  It was always clear in my head that their situation was the direct result of a white classist capitalist world, but this was of no thanks to Livingston. She provides a relatively blank and responsibility-free canvas, which means that much of the way these people are, and what they say, is left up to audiences to paint in.  

This is why this movie, I believe, is so dangerous for anyone under the sway of prejudice, white supremacy, and a lack of critical judgement of how privilege affects everyone in the world around us.  People who are already awake to the reality of how white supremacist ideals have punished minority culture, or are even experiencing that first hand, are going to have the power to view this from a radicalized lense.  I think the reason why hooks slams this film as hard as she does is because she sees the potential for the subjects of this film to have awakened this radicalized lense in people who do not already think that way. The fact that this film often doesn’t resonate the way it could have in white, unaware audiences is the direct responsibility of the storyteller, Livingston.  In this way, we see that often the responsibility of authorship can be the difference between a story that can be viewed as sensational and voyeuristic, and a story in which all forms of audience have no choice but to swallow the reality medicine.