The Seeds of Harvey Milk

Though he'll have to wait until January 22nd to find out if he's in the running for another Oscar nomination, Sean Penn will receive the Desert Palm Achievement in Acting Award in Palm Springs on Jan. 6th. Though many opinions have been voiced as to who is most deserving, I can't help ad my own, that Penn's performance as Harvey Milk in 'Milk,' is hands down the most captivating performance of 2008. Thanks to arrangements made by my dear nephew, I was able to see Milk on December 23rd it's last day at the historical Castro Theatre. Guess you can say that Milk's expiration date was December 23rd. I guess if you saw it after that date you'd simply get - cottage cheese.

There's nothing like seeing a movie in the actual historical neighborhood in which many of the events portrayed in the film take place and where much of the film was actually shot. I was taken aback by the film Milk, not only due to the quality of the movie and actors performances but because of the accuracy of what it presents. 1978 was a watershed time for many people, especially for me. That year I became "legal" as it brought my 21st birthday and the realization that I was only 9 years away from the Gay equivalent of "retirement age," 30. I was working in a department store an hour away from San Francisco when I learned of the murders. I was talking to a coworker in the electronics department, standing between the HUGE 24inch picture tube screens, when suddenly, all the televisions lit up with the face of Dianne Feinstein. Mark this occasion as the only time you will ever see the words "Dianne Feinstein" and "lit up" used in the same sentence. But there she was, interrupting regular programing, disheveled and in tears, announcing that San Francisco Mayor George Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk had been shot and killed. I was devastated. I didn't live in San Francisco but as a young gay man, was extremely proud of the fact that Harvey was an out Gay politician who brought pride and hope to so many. I couldn't think, I couldn't compose myself and I told my manager that I felt sick and had to go home. Since being kicked out of my home a few years earlier when the parents found out that I was Gay (I should have ordered the Advocate in the brown paper covering), I had been out to everyone I knew, and so, my manager understood my sudden departure. The following week, I called in sick again in order to drive to San Francisco and join the thousands of people who lined up along Polk street to view the closed caskets of the slain leaders. I remember the shock and anger I felt when a passerby stopped and asked me, "What are all you people lined up for, are they giving out cheese?" Sure, I was offended considering I was dressed much better than those who would line up for government cheese but mostly I couldn't believe this man's ignorance. Stunned, I looked at the man and through tearful eyes said "we're here to pay our last respect and reclaim our hope."
This was the catalyst which brought the first most joyous time of my life, when I spent the 1980s living in the shadow of Twin Peaks, in the city of Saint Francis. Again, I didn't know Harvey but through that decade I felt him looking over my shoulder as simply by circumstance, I befriended many people who new him. As such I worried as to whether or not I could view Milk the movie without jaded eyes and simply appreciate performances for what the were versus what they were not. Watching other people portraying friends and aquaintances on the large screen is a strange experience. Most of us come as close as childhood home movies or watching holiday video of a drunken Uncle Bud running around asking you to pull his finger. But here were 12 feet tall actors in makeup trying to resemble people you knew, dinned with, worked with, or simply said hello to when walking down Market street. I was amazed at James Franco's grasp of Scott Smith's sensitivity, amused by the way Emile Hirsch captured Cleve Jones' youthful defiance, impressed at the actresses resemblance to Anne Kronenberg and delighted to see my old friend, former SF Supervisor Tom Ammiano screaming out at homophobic Senator John Briggs. The plot element of the feared passage of the 'Briggs initiative' which would have prevented Gay people from holding teaching jobs is a startling reality check to the recent step backward of Proposition 8's passage.
Though a minor role, the character of Dennis Peron reminded me of the adventures from the Peron Palace next door to me on 17th street. Dennis was known to all as a marijuana rights advocate and if not from media exposure from the many times you could find him and his horde of roommates and house guests who would take over a row of seats at the Castro theatre and smoke pot during the pre-screening organ concert. The type of movie made no difference. A showing of Auntie Mame, The Women, or Bringing Up Baby to an obscure French film or a Midnight premiere of the The Road Warrior with newcomer Mel Gibson, there was Dennis and his crowd with a cannibas cloud hovering over them. The faces of residents at Dennis' home ebbed and flowed like the fog cascading into the Eureka Valley. Though I had never had a problem with Dennis himself, his resolution to my complaints of his guests/or customers (which I called "The Peronistas) parking in my driveway was to leave a note and joint under my windshield wiper. As one who didn't smoke nor cared for smoke of any kind, I simply gave them to my unemployed roommate. Can you say "enabling?"
Surprising warm memories rushed back during a scene in which the late great Sylvester was shown performing at a party for Harvey. I remember Sylvester as a very sweet and sincere guy who I'd encounter at various social occassion or attended parties at my flat on 17th street. On one particular occasion he brought an adorable blond guy with a sexy facial scar named Lew Doty. OK, so shoot me for having a crush but a GREAT memory. At that time I was living in a 5 bedroom flat only three blocks from the Castro and had become known producing events such as the Jock Strap Contest at the world famouns Endup or for my rather large private parties. As a result, my place became the home of the Harvey Milk Democratic Club's annual Christmas party for 3 years until they just out grew my place. Again, just another series of separations from Harvey but I will always feel indebted to him for my life in San Francisco.
Milk is a powerful film even for those who didn't live in San Francisco through this time or know little about the Gay struggle of that era. It is more than just a 'Gay Story' it's a story about humanity. About everyone's basic need to be supported, secure and loved. It reminds us and confirms to the ignorant the Gay is more than a sexuality. That the word "lifestyle" is so limiting in it's image. That Gay, are a PEOPLE. A people with non-threatening differences, who shoulder the burden of suffering the last acceptable prejudice. See Milk. Tell your friends to see Milk. Take your family to see Milk.