Milk

Recently I had the opportunity to see a second viewing of Milk, Gus Van Sant's latest masterpiece. Needless to say, I was even more impressed by it the second time around. Every single performance in that movie was powerful in its own unique way, and I found myself completely drawn into its portrayal of San Francisco in the 1970s.

At the risk of sounding painfully cliche, I felt like I was there, not so much as a spectator but as someone who was mentally and emotionally engaged in the fight for equality and gay rights (which are one and the same, in my opinion). A little far-fetched, sure, but honestly, the world they showed, although occurring about 3 decades earlier, is strikingly similar to the world I see around me now. At one point I almost forgot that I was watching a movie and felt like I was back home -- or somewhere nearby. The use of original footage for both the area and for one of the film's dominant characters, anti-gay singer Anita Bryant (who's gotta be one of the most insufferable human beings in existence), made for a truly authentic, hauntingly realistic touch.

Milk's finest attribute, however, lies in its ability to keep the viewer emotionally involved throughout the entirety of the film - not by lauding Harvey Milk as a martyr or public figure devoid of all fault and criticism, but by portraying him as a flesh-and-blood, true-to-life human being. One who makes mistakes, who sometimes gets too carried away with his own agenda to be as loving and committed as he wants to be, who has regrets and misgivings and doubts -- but at the end of the day, you know he's someone who's willing to give up everything for something he truly believes in. The heart of the film lies in Milk's compassion, rather than in his achievement, and that's what amazed me most while watching the film. I think this both contributes to the universal appeal of, as well as presents the biggest challenge for, Milk and other biopic films like it - how do you make a specific character belonging to a specific movement resonate with a diverse audience?

For me, the most powerful moment in the film was a private one. It wasn't when Sean Penn was standing in front of a large crowd, delivering epic speeches about hope and equality and perseverance, although those were as inspirational and as eloquent as any speech I've heard regarding the gay rights movement (props to UCLA alumnus Dustin Lance Black for crafting such a heartfelt and moving screenplay -- seriously).

But the scene that moved me most was one that occurred near the very end, almost as an afterthought, and something you could have easily skimmed over in the mist of the greater story unfolding at the forefront. It was the scene just after Sean Penn had gotten home from the opera and he calls up Scotty (his former lover, played by James Franco) and they have a phone conversation that, even in its brevity, just pulls at the heart and makes you realize just how fragile their love, or any love, really, is. There is this moment when Sean Penn says, in a voice coated with tenderness and slightly resonating with genuine pain and resignation, "I miss this." I miss this. Just that.

Just that one line, and the subtle beauty inherent in its delivery, is enough to convince me that Milk is a movie worth watching - not only once but multiple times. Because it's as much a movie about humanity as it is about anything. Humanity at its finest, at its worst, and everything in-between: it's shades of gray in an already colorful world. Sure, the premise revolves around one man and his particular story, but the way in which it unfolds and engages with the audience can be appreciated by all, no matter what your sexual orientation. It's not only one of the best films in 2008, but a classic by all accounts.