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Blue, 1993
Against an unchanging blue backdrop, Derek Jarman and a handful of voice actors explore Jarman’s experience of being seriously ill with AIDS, the impact it’s had on his physical and mental state, and the social framing of HIV/AIDS.
An involving mix of the personal and the political, uniquely suited to expression through film.
I’ve read a few reviews or comments about the film saying that it would be just as good as only audio. (And I am aware that the audio of this film was broadcast over the radio). But for me, I think that the visual element, an unchanging blue screen, is a big part of the point of the film. With every moment, you are forced to be aware that there could be an image, but there isn’t.
One of the strongest responses I’ve had to all of Jarman’s work is his incredible eye for composition. While anyone facing the loss of their sight evokes deep sympathy, there’s an extra heft of emotion to the idea of someone who communicates so visually losing that ability. A moment in the film that stuck out to me was when Jarman describes leaving the hospital and offering a ride to a despondent woman. As the two share a taxi, the woman begins to cry. But because she is sitting in his peripheral vision, he notes that he can’t see her but can only hear her. Later he bluntly asks, “If I lost my sight, will I lose my vision?”.
Jarman also lays out the bleak series of humiliations and decisions that accompany going through a treatment that is nearly as physically devastating as the disease itself. In one stretch of the film, Jarman reads aloud the possible/probable side-effects of the medication he is given as treatment. At the end of the exhaustive list, Jarman notes that in order to get the treatment, he must sign a release saying he understands the risks. “I am going to sign it,” he deadpans. What other choice does he have?
What’s hard to convey in writing about this film is the masterful way that it alternates between serious introspection and engaging bleak humor. After a deeply personal reflection, culminating in the line “We have always been mistreated, and so if anyone gives us the slightest sympathy, we overreact with our thanks”, a chorus suddenly kicks up in which angelic voices sing “I am a muff-diving size queen with a bad attitude.” There’s an acknowledgement of the mistreatment of the queer community and a defiant streak about the absurdity of the bias.
Overall, I found this film incredibly moving. It’s not just about what it means to face death--and Jarman knows that he will not survive--but the process of dying and how it changes your relationship to yourself and the world around you. I’m not sure how it would feel to watch this film not having experienced Jarman’s other films, but I really loved it.
Blue, 1993
Against an unchanging blue backdrop, Derek Jarman and a handful of voice actors explore Jarman’s experience of being seriously ill with AIDS, the impact it’s had on his physical and mental state, and the social framing of HIV/AIDS.
An involving mix of the personal and the political, uniquely suited to expression through film.
I’ve read a few reviews or comments about the film saying that it would be just as good as only audio. (And I am aware that the audio of this film was broadcast over the radio). But for me, I think that the visual element, an unchanging blue screen, is a big part of the point of the film. With every moment, you are forced to be aware that there could be an image, but there isn’t.
One of the strongest responses I’ve had to all of Jarman’s work is his incredible eye for composition. While anyone facing the loss of their sight evokes deep sympathy, there’s an extra heft of emotion to the idea of someone who communicates so visually losing that ability. A moment in the film that stuck out to me was when Jarman describes leaving the hospital and offering a ride to a despondent woman. As the two share a taxi, the woman begins to cry. But because she is sitting in his peripheral vision, he notes that he can’t see her but can only hear her. Later he bluntly asks, “If I lost my sight, will I lose my vision?”.
Jarman also lays out the bleak series of humiliations and decisions that accompany going through a treatment that is nearly as physically devastating as the disease itself. In one stretch of the film, Jarman reads aloud the possible/probable side-effects of the medication he is given as treatment. At the end of the exhaustive list, Jarman notes that in order to get the treatment, he must sign a release saying he understands the risks. “I am going to sign it,” he deadpans. What other choice does he have?
What’s hard to convey in writing about this film is the masterful way that it alternates between serious introspection and engaging bleak humor. After a deeply personal reflection, culminating in the line “We have always been mistreated, and so if anyone gives us the slightest sympathy, we overreact with our thanks”, a chorus suddenly kicks up in which angelic voices sing “I am a muff-diving size queen with a bad attitude.” There’s an acknowledgement of the mistreatment of the queer community and a defiant streak about the absurdity of the bias.
Overall, I found this film incredibly moving. It’s not just about what it means to face death--and Jarman knows that he will not survive--but the process of dying and how it changes your relationship to yourself and the world around you. I’m not sure how it would feel to watch this film not having experienced Jarman’s other films, but I really loved it.