A packed house of nearly 100 patrons of the arts crammed themselves into Sun-Ray Cinema's theater 7 on the evening of June 25, 2026 for a screening of Paris is Burning, which, needing no introduction, our intrepid guest programmer Orla took the opportunity to broach the topic of the film's controversial relationship to its principal subjects, who seem to have been compensated for their dearly-won treasure with mere exposure.
Documentaries are in a damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don't position when covering tragically broke people for their subject. Fifteen years earlier, Albert and David Maysles would run into the opposite problem during the prodution of another classic american documentary, Grey Gardens--the documentarians there paid Big and Little Edie for their participation, calling into question the honesty of the production. Jennie Livingston faces a different challenge--her subjects have created something so remarkable and cool that it simply must be preserved as best as one can by making a movie about it. Unlike Cheryl Dunye in creating the quasi-documentary, The Watermelon Woman, Livingston has no relationship to her subjects except as an outside observer, which carries with it the risk of being appropriative to the subjects, many of whom live destitute. In my opinion, regardless of the danger of appropriation, this was a film that needed to be made. It may well never get cooler than these balls for gay culture. The power, beauty, and aspiration of these Queens to defy an unkind world needs to be preserved for future generations of people who may well take meaning and hope from it. I am proud to say that I am one such person.
Somehow looking back on it from nearly 40 years in the future, it looks to me like queer culture has adopted many of the styles and practices of these balls and therefore has incurred a creative and spiritual debt to these balls and their participants. It's a debt that defies any attempt to reduce to a mere number. What I'm saying is, how much money is the grace and power of Willi Ninja worth when every queen I see dances the way he dances? Or Pepper's strength when the mothers I know speak and act like her? And yet they didn't get paid a damn thing, which is certainly unfair, but I think the bigger point is that for some reason our stupid stupid stupid country will look up to these folks, emulate them, adore them, praise them, watch them, but because they are very very different, will not lavish them with the material wealth they have earned. Instead they get to fucking starve when they should have been some of the highest-demanded consultants on the face of the planet. For my part, the best that I can do is to take a big roll of my hard-earned money to the drag show and give it to the performers there. I recognize the talent of the dancers, but in so doing I also give to their spiritual mothers and fathers who have given me so much that I treasure. It's only right.
I hold this movie in highest regard. Whatever flaws it may contain are washed away by the tidal wave of beauty, strength, humor, and spirit of the subjects. It is essential viewing for every person regardless of their sexual orientation, gender identity, ethinic background, economic station, or whatever other characteristic a person might define themselves by. Everyone has something good to get by watching this one.