2022 Entry #008 01-28-22 “Test” is a 2013 American drama film written and directed by Chris Mason Johnson (“The New Twenty”). Set in 1985 San Francisco, after the launch of the first HIV blood test, the film depicts the effects of the HIV / AIDS crisis on a professional dance company based in the city, as Frankie (Scott Marlowe), the central gay understudy, hopes for his chance to go on-stage.
This is another film that I only learned about in 2020, when I started collecting LGBTQ+ inclusive movies again. I added it to a list and I’ve finally gotten around to seeing it.
The acting was great. The locations were beautiful. The subject matter illuminated the past while remaining immediate and relatable. The music often brought on waves of nostalgia. And the choreography was breathtaking. This was a treat! And I loved the ending. ❤
2022 Entry #004 01-07-22 “How to Survive a Plague” is a 2012 American documentary film about the early years of the AIDS epidemic, and the efforts of activist groups ACT UP and TAG. It was directed by David France (“The Death and Life of Marsha P. Johnson”, “Welcome to Chechnya”), a journalist who covered AIDS from its beginnings. The film is dedicated to the director’s partner Doug Gould, who died of AIDS-related pneumonia in 1992.
A breathtakingly powerful documentary which covers familiar ground I’ve seen in other documentaries and narrative films, yet this managed to provide me with valuable information that I had somehow been deprived of until my viewing experience. Several similar works have been made over the years but they usually rely mostly on present day interviews to paint their stories, while this piece was produced using more than 700 hours of archived footage which included news coverage, interviews as well as film of demonstrations, meetings and conferences taken by ACT UP members themselves! Effectively and responsibly edited, this work is a treasure trove / time capsule that would be impossible to replicate without these valuable resources. Director David France has stated that they knew what they were doing was historic, and that many of them would die. And though the subject may seem treacherous, the story, as revealed here, is actually inspiring & hopeful, rather than bleak and depressing – with many untold or rarely shared stories of perseverance, success & triumph.
In July he’s beautiful… beyond what I’d known, beckoning behind me, breathlessly below me, and he’s blatantly blessed my insides; benevolently and becomingly.
Less than 2 weeks ago and he was harrowing… having hazed our harmonation when he hollered he’d rather have HIV than herpes simplex.
The lilting listing of letters STOPS as I’m overwhelmed to trembling at hearing the sentence uttered within my lifetime, let alone with such a haunting sense of longing.
Human Immunodeficiency Virus.
I want to scream. Want to shake him. Want to slap him for such a blasphemous confession.
But I hold him close as I shiver and he whispers about pills and stigma, outbreaks and misconceptions, the men (plural) who’ve rejected him, and the men (plural) who’ve accepted him since his November 2017 infection.
His illness merely scares me but his promiscuity terrifies me; I am nothing if not a child of the AIDS pandemic.
He was amazing when he was inside of me back in July. I even dreamed of a life spent together. The three of us, I mean.
But he wanted someone all his own and so he never stopped looking: in Seattle, Canada, Hawaii or New York City.
He tells me that he was in my place years before and our symmetry stuns me all the more.
I pull him on top of me, my legs wrapped around him, as I whisper in his ear about our blissful summer night and how I thought I’d scared him away with my longing for a life together.
He silences my tears with his own silent weeping; his voice shattering into a broken child’s quivering as he tells me that I’m not to blame; that it was he who frightened himself away.
Fear defines his every action; tinges the edges of every decision… I hear it in his voice and I know that he speaks the truth.
There is no pre-exposure prophylaxis to be taken for this unease.
He leaves us, naming us blameless and yet there is blood on my hands…
For although we remain in the land of the uninfected, none of us could ever be classified as clean.
Showering after sex my mind is overcome by thoughts, sensations, memories.
“Call Me by Your Name” has reminded me of Rob – the way he made a pass at me when I was 17 – the way I reacted and the way I’ve often wished I could change that moment – erase it, rewrite it, never experience that level of self loathing born of inexperience… that impression of what I lack.
Still… kissing at church has to count for something.
My conversation with young relative returns; how I tried to calm his fears on Trump and AIDS and love and sex. It only takes one time, you know?
A boy I knew who worked on Fire Island died of an “infection” a few weeks ago – life support turned off –
INFECTION FIRE ISLAND GAY DEATH
The words that silently scream at me what I believe to be the cause while everyone politely refuses to mention what has happened… And the band continues to play on.
Men I’ve been inside of, Men who’ve been inside of me are positive.
Best friends, Loved ones, Infected but seldom mentioned because an illness is easily the least interesting thing about them.
I think of Aaron and the tears he shed and the words he said and the progress he confirmed… the wonderful weekends we’ve had.
I think about upcoming hearing while trying not to face it with terror or worry while the video they’re supposed to send me has never arrived (three times).
But the shower must end and scalding hot water must cease it’s spray.
And so I dry myself – step back into the world and I forget.
