The start of the 1990s saw an explosion of gay and lesbian films that defied convention. They mixed postmodern sensibilities with contemporary anxieties about everything from the AIDS epidemic to rampant homophobia. Furthermore, they refracted those concerns through a visual language that borrowed gleefully from the avant-garde and video art yet proved surprisingly marketable.
These were movies hard to label and harder still to ignore. To film critic and scholar B. Ruby Rich, that crop of films represented a period in cinema like none that had come before it ā and perhaps since.
āIt marked a moment when filmmakers ā at whatever risk ā were willing to make films that would galvanize peopleās attention to injustice and death,ā Rich, 76, tells the Times over Zoom from Paris. āAnd thatās why they still have power.ā
Famously, Rich called it New Queer Cinema, a term thatās stuck. Those movies are to be celebrated in an upcoming series at the Academy Museum of Motion Pictures, āFull of Pleasure: The Beginnings of New Queer Cinema.ā
The showcase, which kicks off June 15, will be screening titles such as Derek Jarmanās melancholy regal drama āEdward II,ā Todd Haynesā controversial feature debut āPoisonā and Cheryl Dunyeās groundbreaking āThe Watermelon Woman,ā films and filmmakers that ushered in a pivotal juncture in independent cinema by and for the LGBTQ community.
Gay directors were producing exciting, innovative work that was taking the festival circuit by storm. United neither by approach nor aesthetics, Rich identified them more as embodying a common style. āCall it āHomo Pomo,āā she wrote in 1992.
No sooner had the Village Voice published Richās ambitious overview of this budding canon than Britainās film magazine Sight and Sound reprinted it and used it as the cornerstone of a conference at the Institute of Contemporary Arts in London. Shortly thereafter, the U.K.ās Channel 4 did a special on it.
āThen it got picked up by distributors and theaters,ā Rich recalls. āAnd it became a way to promote films that were part of this energy that I had named. It turned out to have this radioactive half-life and has just kept going, which is very lovely.ā (As for her own fame for adding to the lexicon, she is self-deprecating: āI discovered something as a writer then: If you write a hook that turns out to be useful for marketing, you can live forever.ā)
Rich remembers the era well. Living in New York City, she was watching academics wrestle with āqueer,ā then still a derogatory term, at conferences and in classrooms, while protest groups like ACT UP, the AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power, and Queer Nation were reclaiming the word as they papered the streets in response to government inaction over the AIDS epidemic.
āI had these two dimensions to this word that were perfect for me,ā Rich says. āIt was about spinning out this thing called āqueer theoryā and what that would mean, what it was grounded in and what it could illuminate. But almost at the same minute, it became āWeāre here, weāre queer! Get used to it!ā It became a kind of activist rallying call.ā
As she watched the wryly erotic work of Gus Van Sant, the poetic and urgent sensibility of Isaac Julien, the anarchic energy of Gregg Araki, the sharp satire of Cheryl Dunyeās videos at festivals like Sundance and Lincoln Centerās New Directors/New Films, Rich felt emboldened to coin a phrase that remains as provocative now as it was revelatory back then.
āIf the films hadnāt been so important, and if the filmmakers hadnāt kept making work, and if they hadnāt been joined by other wonderful filmmakers, I think this would have faded away,ā Rich adds.
The explosion of cinema Rich was describing was unprecedented.
āYou could not go to movie theaters and see gay films at that time,ā she says. āThere were very few, apart from Fassbinder. They had to be subtitled or else you couldnāt see them. And this changed that forever. It changed it so much that it became commonplace and nothing special and Iāll just wait till itās on Netflix or whatever. But I think that the fact of having gay films, gay sex, lesbian romance, all of that on big screens at your multiplex, was absolutely earth-shattering for people at that time.ā
New Queer Cinema was all the rage. It was of and for the moment. In January 1991 at Sundance, Haynesā āPoison,ā a sci-fi-horror triptych inspired by the novels of Jean Genet, and director Jennie Livingstonās āParis Is Burning,ā a documentary about ball culture in New York City, took top honors from its juries. A few months later, Van Santās street-hustler road trip drama āMy Own Private Idahoā left the 1991 Venice International Film Festival with stellar reviews and a best actor award for the incandescent River Phoenix.
Hitting a chord with critics and audiences alike (Van Santās movie went on to gross $8 million, Livingstonās doc $3.7 million), these films remain urgent and current, as the Academy Museum series proves.
Part of that has to do with how early 1990s in-your-face filmmaking can still shock. The movies embraced pastiche, appropriation and irony. In doing so, they created exciting new ways of telling gay and lesbian stories. And did so by abrasively pushing back against the neat confines of identity politics. To merely call them āgay filmsā would have been insufficient. As Rich wrote then, these movies were āirreverent, energetic, alternately minimalist and excessive. Above all, theyāre full of pleasure. Theyāre here, theyāre queer, get hip to them.ā
Itās those very lines that give the Academy Museum screening series its title. In addition to featuring early work from Keanu Reeves (āMy Own Private Idahoā) and Tilda Swinton (āEdward IIā), the series spotlights lesser known and discussed films. That includes Arakiās raucous 1992 road movie āThe Living End,ā which centers on two HIV-positive gay men on the run, and Rose Trocheās 1994 lesbian comedy āGo Fish,ā which was rightly credited with making sure the new canon being enshrined wasnāt an all-boysā club. There is pain in these films but also plenty of laughter and joy.
āIt was experienced like a flash of pleasure,ā Rich says. āAlmost like the flash of green, legendarily at sunset. It was a kind of jolt. A kind of shot in the arm. Like āOK, we can do this,ā you know? āHereās some candy. And now back to the front lines.āā
What was inspiring about those films, she adds, was the way they were willing to give pleasure ā and enact it onscreen ā at a time when it was in short supply. Academy Museum series curator K.J. Relth-Millerās re-assembly of this crackling cinematic wave is an apt opportunity to revisit those pleasures with the vantage of a few decadesā worth of hindsight.
āPeople were so beaten down by the horrors of AIDS,ā Rich remembers. āIn 1992, we still had no cocktail. Still had no cure. AZT was coming along but there were big fights over whether to take it or not. People were still dying. So it wasnāt the celebration of the end of an epidemic. It was kind of a rest stop, a kind of breathing room for people to kind of count their losses and try to figure out how to create a space of relief and even pleasure in the midst of that sorrow.ā
New Queer Cinemaās filmmakers transformed that pain into glittering wake-up calls that forced audiences, critics, distributors and even fellow artists to pay attention.
āThese films were a rallying cry,ā Rich says. āYou felt the joyousness of their arrival in the world. They cleared this space for themselves. They kind of put up their own klieg lights. It wasnāt pleasure without pain. I think that tricky balance was always there.ā
You can see that balance at work in the beauty of Ellen Kurasā gorgeous black-and-white cinematography for Tom Kalinās murder-obsessed āSwoonā (1992), a film Rich says put the āhomo back in homicide.ā That ability to turn pain and heartbreak into stirring cinematic images remains a hallmark of this generation of filmmakers.
Does their legacy continue? Rich is quick to single out Paul B. Preciadoās 2023 Virginia Woolf-infused āOrlando, My Political Biographyā as an outright masterpiece of trans cinema. (The docu-essay is coming to the Criterion Collectionās Janus Contemporaries label at the end of June.) āWe need so many more films like that, on other issues as well as about queer or trans life,ā she says.
Looking at the current cinematic landscape, she canāt quite bring herself to be too optimistic. āItās amazing to me the extent to which the film industry has failed us in not making films about the horrors of the modern world,ā Rich says. āIt has just turned its back and made entertainment.ā
Therein lies the still-prickly promise of projects like the Beatles-in-ascent period piece āThe Hours and Timesā and the Brit-punk drama āYoung Soul Rebelsā ā both of which can be seen as part of the Academy Museumās series.
āThese films stand as a kind of monument to a period as much as they do to a reinvention of a medium,ā Rich offers. āI think thatās why they last. Nobodyās really outdone them yet. Theyāre still raw. And thereās still a place for them.ā