The Night Larry Kramer Kissed Me

This is the worst: a self-indulgent one-man show filmed for all those people wise enough to stay away in the first place. It seems that David Drake had all the usual gay experiences of coming out, of over-indulging, etc., and wants to tell us about it. The script is in some sort of quasi-poetic lingo. In order to create excitement, there are lots of quick camera moves, and drum-like intensifying sound. It gave me a headache, and I had to walk out. It was intolerable. But David Drake was standing at the door (I saw this at a festival and the auteurs were in attendance) and he wouldn't let me leave because the on-screen performance was reaching a crescendo. If I opened the door at that moment, the effect would have been ruined for the enthralled masses. So I waited for the great climactic moment, and walked out. You really don't want to see this movie!

I really wish I could reccomend this film, as I was a big fan of the play in live performance. But sadly, director Tim Kirkman was unable to find the cinematic equivalent of the intimacy of this one-man show. I was all too aware of his jerking camera work throughout the film; it was almost as if he was someone's kid brother trying to call attention to himself...When directing a piece that is focused on an individual; it isn't a good idea to attempt to bring in some flashy camera work. This is unfair to the audience and the actor/author. I wish some one had just done a straightforward documentation on video...Unfortunately; this may be all future generations have as a record of a trailblazing one-man show.

I saw this when David did it on stage in NYC. It was great to see the film and realize how relevant it still is. The work has aged very well. It's a very moving snapshot of an era of AIDS activism that not enough people remember.

It ends with a vision for the future, which is really important to prevent the film from being only a memorial of those who have died of AIDS.

David is not merely a great writer - he's a brilliant performer, and it's wonderful to see how well he comes across on film.

David is a gifted writer and an extraordinarily talented actor, and the only reason this film didn't have quite the 'kick in the chest' impact of the original play is that we've all somehow accepted the losses which were so widespread and personally, currently painfully in the early 90's. By bringing back into focus that pain and those times, this work of art has morphed from a 'kick in the chest' to a 'kick in the ass,' as we still have work to do, but it has once again done so in a way that converts pain to pride, and loss to courage to move forward.

This filmed version of the one-man monologue has been updated somewhat for the start of the 21st century (with hilarious, but strangely preternatural references to Ben Affleck and Matt Damon--wasn't this filmed well before "Good Will Hunting"?), and the ending has been updated from 1999 to 2017 with a rather amusing and possibly prescient reference to a future US President.

As a result, we end up with a period piece embodying the ACT UP anger of the mid-80's/early 90's mixed with anachronistic attempts to update the play (admittedly in scenes portraying a future reality), along with timeless set pieces about gyms and bars, which still characterize much of urban gay life today.

As an encapsulation of one man's awakening in the mid-80's to urban gay culture and the simultaneous threat of AIDS, and the mandated, if diffuse and [IMHO often misdirected], anger that one had to express at the disease and the apparent lack of research for its prevention, treatment, and a cure, I found the original would have sufficed without any additions. Not that I would have enjoyed it better; it would simply have been more organic a work, regardless of its flaws.

Still, I have to ask "What planet was this guy from to have to see 'The Normal Heart' in NYC in 1985 in order to suddenly wake up about AIDS?" Gad, the musical version of "La Cage aux Folles" opened in pre-Broadway tryouts in Boston in 1983, with Boston's newly formed AIDS Action Committee as the recipient of an associated fundraiser. The syndrome (under any number of names) was infamous from the very day the column about the mysterious "gay cancer" appeared on the front page of July 1981's New York Times. Would the play have received less attention or accolades if the name of screenwriter/novelist/activist Larry Kramer hadn't appeared in the title?

I found the play's frequent sentimentality and almost suffocating self-absorption of the narrator incredibly distasteful. Every one of the stories of his friends or acquaintances dying--this is supposed to be the emotional highlight of the work--are filtered through an almost stupefying egoism: the details of their lives and deaths aren't enough for us without their first being filtered through the prism of "me-me-me" and how they impact, inconvenience or anger the narrator.

I suppose that one can't reliably equate the author of a (semi-) autobiographical monologue with the character of the "author" behind the proscenium, but that's a risk a monologist takes.