Peter Hujar’s Day
Ira Sachs takes us back to 1974 for a conversation between celebrated New York photographer Peter Hujar and his friend, the writer Linda Rosenkrantz. The resulting film is an exercise in listening that's intensely intimate
At once familiar and ethereal, Peter Hujar’s Day is a gorgeously intimate portrait of an artistic life led in the heyday of downtown New York. As its title promises, Ira Sachs’ film sees photographer Peter Hujar (Ben Wishaw) recount his previous day to writer Linda Rosenkrantz (Rebecca Hall). The dialogue is taken verbatim from a transcript of a 1974 conversation between the friends, recorded as part of an intended wider project led by Rosenkrantz, and eventually published as a single volume in 2019.
As Hujar, Wishaw – displaying a pitch-perfect New York drawl – astounds. In particular, his irritation is mesmerising. Hujar grumbles about photography fees and recounts how the phone will not stop ringing; he speaks disparagingly of Allen Ginsberg and scrunches his nose at a particularly strange Vogue editor. We – like Rosenkrantz – are captivated by his every sentence.
Which begs the question, how do we listen to an artist? How do we listen to a friend? Peter Hujar’s Day is an exercise in listening, and it is a joy to practice with Rosenkrantz. In one instance, the camera rests on Rosenkrantz while Hujar speaks; it unfocuses, her attention slipping – then, it focuses again. Through Hall’s utterly singular performance, Sachs has us listen with Rosenkrantz. Her love for Hujar – coupled with her enviable sharpness – is palpable.
Under Sachs' generous lens, their close relationship delights. Here, art and friendship sit side by side – rubbing elbows, leaning into one another. The duo’s familiarity is not forced, however. The friends begin sitting across from one another; later, Hujar lays his head across Rosenkrantz’s lap. It’s as if their conversation itself facilitates the closeness. On one occasion, Hujar mentions, briefly, his own brilliance and Hall’s knowing smile is utterly perfect; it communicates Rosenkrantz has heard this rant before, and she is unsurprised by its reappearance, but she welcomes it, simply because he is Peter, her dear and terrific friend.
Despite taking place entirely within Rosenkrantz’s apartment, Peter Hujar’s Day does not suffocate. We move from room to room – the kitchen, the bedroom, the rooftop terrace – their conversation never stagnating. Hujar is depicted as being at complete ease with Rosenkrantz’s apartment: he pours himself a drink, peruses her record collection, reclines on her sofa. This attention to such spatial intimacies is one of Sachs’ film’s chief pleasures. A mid-interview dance break gives a natural respite. Hujar and Rosenkrantz shuffle towards each other, clicking their arms up and down, and swinging their heads. Neither Sachs nor the friends being depicted take matters too seriously.
Hujar and Rosenkrantz mention the tape sparingly, noting how it will soon cut out. A heavy click sounds the presence of a new tape, and they pick up where they left off or, often, in the midst of an entirely different conversation. The recorder itself is often – but not always – present in the frame. Sachs reminds us that this is both fact and fiction; the film is bound to the transcript, but not by it. Such is its triumph.
(Added bonus: in an era of near three-hour epics, Peter Hujar’s Day's slender runtime of one hour and 15 minutes is a real treat.)
Released 2 Jan by Picturehouse; certificate 12A