Faux Real

I owe one of my most pleasant learning experiences to Willi Ninja and this blogger, who was once my professor. Ninja was famous for* voguing, a dance form that was practiced in gay clubs frequented by African-American and Latino men in the 80s and early 90s, both immortalized in the movie Paris is Burning.

Dr. B., professoria extrordanaria, gave our summer women’s literature class the choice between watching Paris is Burning and The Crying Game. I wanted to see the latter since I’d recently read an essay on the movie by bell hooks, but the class, knowing about The Crying Game’s dirty secret, overwhelmingly chose to watch the documentary. I personally believe this was a set-up by a professor who loves to rattle her students’ little worlds.

Rattle it did.

Where The Crying Game’s content matter was relatively banal since ten years of visibility and activist work for transgendered people has occurred, Paris is Burning was so, well, queer, so unapologetically queer, and a bizarre but fierce snapshot of an era and place that seemed to vanish as quickly as it came about, even if the myriad issues surrounding the participants’ lives remain. I walked away from the movie feeling like a hole had been blown into my worldview, fascinated and charmed by the personalities featured in the movie and in love with Jenni Livingston’s style.

I so have to get out of Indiana. Cultural experiences outside of the mainstream are so difficult to come by.

From Wikipedia:

In the film, contestants vying for trophies are representatives of “Houses” that serve as intentional families, social groups, and performance teams. Houses and drag queens who consistently won in their walks eventually earned a “legendary” status.

In explaining the rules of the Balls (and the slang and terminology that goes along with them) the film also shines light on the societal hardships of Ball community members (such as racism, homophobia and poverty) and how these obstacles influence the participants (some are sex workers, some shoplift clothing to wear in the Balls, some were thrown out of their homes by homophobic parents, some are saving money for sex reassignment surgery). It follows several participants through candid one-on-one interviews (both in and out of the Balls) to give insight into their lives and struggles, and ultimately the strength and pride they maintain to survive in a “rich, white world.”

Drag is presented as a complex performance of gender, class and race, in which one can express one’s identity, desires and aspirations along many dimensions (see Drag). The African American and Latino community depicted in the film includes a diverse range of identities and gender presentations, from gay men to butch queens to transsexual women.

I remember the general aura in the classroom during the watching of this film was something between enchantment and disgust. I loved it. Sometime last year I rented the film again and watched it with a friend, still amazed at the sheer will of these personalities, carving out ways to make themselves visible, heard, and respected in a world that wanted anything for them but that.

Willi Ninja died last night at the age of 45.

“As a friend and someone who loved him very much for all he has given us, I am really sad to write that Willi passed away this morning,” Emanuel Xavier wrote on his myspace blog today.

We learned in July that Willi was hospitalized and near death. Xavier reports that when he saw Willi last Monday, he had a very high fever. “He listened and held my hand as I read the poem ‘Legendary’ to him from the Latex Ball program since he couldn’t be at the event,” Xavier reported. “We spoke over the phone on Thursday and I promised to visit him after the camping trip I never took this weekend. At least I got to tell him how much I loved him before hanging up.”

I am grateful I got a glimpse of his life. To the fierce and fabulous icon.

*No-No-No-No corrected my earlier statement via comments.

UPDATE: A round-up of tributes.