The Times of Harvey Milk

It was deeply moving to rewatch this incredible documentary on the evening of its 40th anniversary. So much has changed since these events, so much has stayed the same, and so much is cyclical. Watching the simple yet peerless work of Rob Epstein and the other filmmakers behind this masterpiece brought up so much in me. I tangibly felt the despair and the triumph of the long, hard, seemingly endless fights for human rights. I felt the pain almost all Americans feel in our current era, where we are so bereft of honest, skilled, grassroots political leaders we can actually believe in. It was also a reminder of what's been lost in the digital age when everyone makes documentaries (We always focus on the incredible positives of the democratization of filmmaking that digital tools have allowed, but the flood of mediocrity in this format and the way some subjects—especially powerful ones—now control the message as well as the medium, should not be discounted).

The Times of Harvey Milk is not only the best documentary of 1984 but also one of the best non-fiction films ever made during the era when this type of movie was incredibly difficult to produce and even harder to get seen. It may seem astonishing in today's media environment saturated with docutainment, reality TV, and contrived, dishonest "non-fiction," but back when most documentaries were made in 16mm, film distributors viewed pictures like this as vegetables that the general movie-going audience wouldn't want to go out and see in theaters. Films that educated or told historical stories without movie stars performing fictionalized biopics were a tough sell outside of PBS. Maybe that's because documentaries of this era lacked the gimmicks of the past twenty-five years. The Times of Harvey Milk is one of those movies where talking heads tell complete stories rather than teams of editors slicing and dicing multiple interviews to pack in the maximum amount of a story in the shortest possible runtime. The personal recollections of the people interviewed for this picture provide as much context, history, narrative, and emotional clarity as the narration by Harvey Firestein.

For those who don't know the story, it's outlined in the archival news clip that opens the movie. Then-president of San Francisco's Board of Supervisors Dianne Feinstein steps out of the state house looking shocked and exasperated, announcing to the press that San Francisco's popular mayor George Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk have been shot and killed inside San Francisco City Hall by former Supervisor Dan White. The film then goes back to explore Milk's rise from an outspoken human rights activist to one of the first openly gay politicians elected to U.S. public office. Through amazing archival footage and interviews with the people who knew Milk and worked alongside him, director Rob Epstein (Common Threads: Stories from the Quilt, The Celluloid Closet, Linda Ronstadt: The Sound of My Voice) powerfully, efficiently, and entertainingly chronicles the events leading up to the assassination, its aftermath, and the trial of the man who pulled the trigger. The movie leaves the viewer with not only an understanding of a key figure in the gay-rights movement, who, even after his assassination in 1978, continues to inspire people of all walks of life, but with an understanding of what a political movement can achieve.

He was known as "The Mayor of Castro Street," running on a culturally liberal platform that was pro-union, pro-marijuana legalization, pro-minority cooperation, opposed to government interference in private sexual matters, and a strong advocate for getting dog owners to clean up the shit their pets were leaving all over the city's streets. He made flamboyant, fiery speeches and partnered with allies of many traditionally homophobic constituencies, like truck drivers and beverage distributors. His savvy media skills and genuine, good-hearted, accessible personality earned him significant press during the 1973 election. Two years later, he cut his hair, swore off pot, stopped visiting bathhouses, and ran as a more serious candidate without really altering his message, issues, or personal style. He was elected in 1975 along with Mayor George Moscone, who had been instrumental in repealing the sodomy law earlier that year in the California State Legislature. Milk's rise in popularity and his success in changing the political culture of San Fransisco politics didn't sit well with everyone, especially rival supervisor Dan White.

What this documentary does better than almost any non-fiction film from any era I can think of is tell a riveting, contained story that paints a fully realized portrait of its principal character while also digging deeply into the issues its subject stood for and convening the spirit and energy is subject embodied. The movie comes off as both a work of education and advocacy without ever feeling didactic or like a screed or a manipulation of fact to serve a pre-conceived agenda. The story was told again in the 2008 biopic Milk, directed by Gus Van Sant, written by Dustin Lance Black, and starring Sean Penn as Harvey. But that film follows the same tried, bland formula as all biopics and political docudramas and ends up feeling artificial, underdeveloped, and manipulative. On the other hand, watching The Times of Harvey Milk feels like seeing a new type of documentary format being created in front of our eyes. It looks exactly like a typical 16mm documentary made for TV by a small group of people for very little money. Yet the film somehow comes across as something new, fresh, and profound.

Much credit must go to producer Richard Schmiechen (his first feature), co-editor Deborah Hoffmann (her first feature), and composer Mark Isham (his second feature) for finding a structure and tying it all together in a manner that plays as both straightforward and hypnotic. The 90-minute movie of simple talking head interviews shot with a single camera using a zoom lens, still photographs, and footage cobbled from local TV newscasts creates a tapestry far more robust and riveting than most of what we see today in our current "golden age of documentary," much of which relies far too heavily on animation, reenactments, celebrity cameos, and clips from comedy programs to make their points and convey their stories. Epstein's movie was a labor of love that became a sensation, bringing the story of Harvey Milk to the entire country and inspiring activists and documentarians for the next four decades. This was certainly helped when this movie won the Special Jury Prize at the first-ever Sundance Film Festival and then won the Academy Award for Best Documentary Feature. These accolades gave the story far greater visibility worldwide than it otherwise would have gotten and has enabled it to linger in the collective memory far longer than almost any other documentary I can think of outside of Gimmie Shelter. This was simply one of the decade's most riveting and eye-opening movies, and it remains as powerful today as it was when it was released.

Watching the film again for the first time in over twenty years, I can see how profoundly influenced I was by it when making the one feature documentary I've directed. My co-director Webb Wilcoxen and I watched dozens of documentaries when we were in the process of making our film, A Time to Dance, but looking at the way Epstein shoots his interviews and how they are combined simply with stills and archival footage reminds me of why I like this straightforward approach so much. It feels honest. I think it fell out of fashion because it started to feel generic, but it's only generic if the people you're interviewing aren't compelling. The process of this type of filmmaking is more about finding the right people to tell the story than shooting as many interviews as possible with multiple cameras in art-directed settings with elegant lighting (all things that consciously or unconsciously pull the viewer away from the words spoken by each interview subject).

There is a moment in The Times of Harvey Milk where political consultant Tory Hartmann, one of the many people present at the impromptu memorial held outside City Hall the night of the murders, starts to get chocked up because she's so moved by the memories she's recounting. There is no bigger cliche in documentaries nowadays than lingering on an interviewee who has to stop talking because they're on the verge of tears, and it usually serves no purpose other than as some kind of false proof that the story the documentary is telling must be really powerful. Even Colin Hanks keeps a moment like this in his God-awful Tower Records documentary! Seeing this technique used in so many documentaries has turned it into the most shameless trope of the entire genre. But such is not the case here. Hartmann does not break down and pause her story, though she clearly thinks she will have to a few times. Rather, she channels the overwhelming flood of emotion to help her find the most eloquent words to make a most moving point about what she witnessed. It is a simultaneously devastating and profoundly moving moment in a documentary full of such instances.

The Times of Harvey Milk has no filler, no detours into secondary narrative lines, and no extraneous interview subjects who only seem present to "honor" them. The story is inherently dramatic with a solid narrative structure. In outline form, it's practically a Greek Tragedy and requires no goosing from the filmmakers. This is an exceptionally powerful story told exceptionally well.