J and I saw Milk last Saturday at its first London screening, followed by a question and answer session with Gus Van Sant and Dustin Lance Black. In an unexpected bonus, James Franco also joined the fun. I absolutely loved the movie–Sean Penn was amazing. I don’t think I’ve cried that much at a movie in a long time. J teared up too, but she does that at movies a lot, so I’m not sure that’s entirely a fair marker (she also swears like a trucker, so don’t go getting the wrong idea).
It has been a good while since I was so affected by a movie. I think this owes at least in part to having been brought up in the Bay Area. I can vividly remember when the news of the shootings broke. I was nine years old, and didn’t have much of a clue who Harvey Milk or George Moscone was. I was riding in our old Volvo with my mom in Berkeley (feel free to insert your own joke here). I remember the news came over KCBS, the local am-news affiliate, and she immediately pulled-over to listen. It was one of the few times I’d seen my mom look truly upset–she was trying not to let it show, but not having much success. Then came the White Night Riots, the trial, and the grim comedy of the “Twinkie Defense,” accompanied by the adults’ utter disbelief that it actually worked.
For me (this is your signal to skip the next two paragraphs if you don’t care what I think), Milk succeeds so richly in part because it takes a bigger-than-life story and emphasises the human. Yes, it portrays the development of a gay political power structure in San Francisco, and does so incredibly well–the unwillingness of the gay elite to back an openly gay candidate is a revelation–but it doesn’t allow that to subsume the story of the man. The film lays down its cards early on, when Sean Penn’s affable Harvey picks up a young golden boy (Scotty, played by James Franco) in a New York subway station. The whole scene is exceedingly tender, with the younger Scotty playing hard to get when Harvey, on the verge of his 40th birthday, begins to flirt. Scotty: “You’re kind of cute, but I don’t do guys over forty.” That kind of line would be devastating to many, but–in a hint of the persistency that would mark his eventual rise–Harvey is undaunted: “Well, then, I’m in luck. Because I’m still 39. (Checks his watch). It’s only eleven-fifteen.” Penn delivers these lines fabulously, with a quiet kindness that avoids sleaze or desperation.
After they hook up, Scotty–showing a wisdom beyond his years–suggests to the closeted Harvey that he needs to resolve his inner tension by finding “new friends and a new scene,” setting in motion the main story arc, which follows Harvey and Scotty to San Francisco where we watch Milk grow from local business owner to the “Mayor of Castro Street”, and finally, to his election to the SF board of supervisors. Watching the tension grow between Scotty and Harvey over his political ambitions is difficult, as is Harvey’s subsequent dalliance with Jack Lira (Diego Luna), not to mention the resolution of that particular relationship, but that’s the point: Van Sant and Black make sure the importance of Milk’s political life comes through, but the good will Harvey has for those around him and receives in return and the love-story between Scotty and Harvey comprise the sturdy spine of the film.
A Few Nuggets from the Q&A:
At the Q&A after the film, I had the impression that Van Sant and Franco were somewhat bored (jetlagged, maybe?). Van Sant had a martini brought to him on stage from the house bar, which drew laughs, but never seemed that engaged. To be fair, some of the questions were more incoherent comments than anything that merited a response, and he was polite and personable throughout. (The query that seemed to catch his interest the most regarded this film’s break with his recent Bella Tarr-influenced work, from Gerry through Paranoid Park). Black was impressive. He also looks like he’s 16. This, of course, inspired in me an immediate feeling of self-loathing for not having written a script yet myself (I addressed this later by indulging in a large snort of cognac and promptly falling asleep). Some bits that stood out:
On how the movie got funded: Black (his mom calls him Lance, in case you’re wondering) wrote the script on spec while writing for “Big Love”. It came to Van Sant’s attention via Cleve Jones (one of Milk’s young associates, played in Milk by Emile Hirsch) who Black had met while researching Milk. Van Sant liked the script, and so did Sean Penn, but financing was touch and go, so they weren’t able to make him an offer straight off. They were lucky to still get Penn–he was so wrapped up with Into the Wild that he wasn’t considering other offers. This bought Van Sant and Black time to get funding in place. (Van Sant alluded several times to the ill-starred “Mayor of Castro Castro Street” project which he had been tapped to direct once Oliver Stone bowed out back in ‘91. For a good history of this, click here.)
When asked why he didn’t include footage of the White Night Riots, Black had two answers. The first was purely pragmatic–they had to cut the film down to size to market it. However, he also said he really wanted the film to be about Milk the person, and thus, when Milk was killed, he felt the film should end as well.
Franco discussed how Van Sant made the actors do silent takes of various scenes. He said it was a bit weird to try and “behave” your way through scenes without dialogue, which seems true enough. Van Sant had some justification for this, but I can’t recall it at this point.
Asked why they didn’t cast an openly gay actor in the title role, Van Sant and Black said they would have liked to, but there are no openly gay leading men (was waiting for the Tom Cruse joke, but it didn’t happen). They did ensure they hired as many openly gay actors as they could for other roles. Franco noted the obvious, sad point that leading male actors he knows don’t want to come out because they might lose the opportunity to win straight leads.
