1971’s Some of My Best Friends Are… is a wonderfully titled film, its moniker giving a smart insight into what this one will be about. Growing up, for me the phrase “some of my best friends are gay/black/substitute minority here” was something prejudiced people would tend to defensively say whenever they were called out on their dodgy views. It’s a phrase that always reeked of tokenism and hypocrisy, folk using those words like a shield, as if simply knowing a minority person somehow gave them a free pass to say shitty things about them. The title seems like a reminder that, though we may consider ourselves liberal and accepting of different ways of thinking, we still have a long way to go. Until that day comes, life will always be difficult for anyone considered ‘different.’
Mervyn Nelson’s film is a very groovy, atmospheric slice of life, following a group of homosexual men as they gather in New York drinking hole the Blue Jay Bar to shoot the shit about their lives and relationships on Christmas Eve, really capturing the difficulties faced by gay men of the early seventies. Loads of different stories are shared by a gifted cast of unknowns and it can sometimes be difficult to keep up with what’s going on. The Blue Jay seems like a mostly friendly, welcoming place with early scenes feeling like good-spirited episodes of Cheers. However, as the night goes on and more booze is sunk, issues start to bubble up and things get out of hand.
The movie captures a real kaleidoscope of moments and emotions that various homosexual men may have to experience with lashings of drama, desperation, loneliness, fear and maybe also a sense of inclusion in finding a place where you can be accepted and comfortable in your own skin. I get a real sense of how, especially in the early seventies, the gay bar was the centre of the universe for a lot of queer men - a space where everyone can belong, though not necessarily finding the true love that they desperately search for.
The story is slow and meandering, told through little snippets of conversations captured here and there. There’s the good-looking guy who can’t stop sleeping with girls, struggling to make his mind up about who he really is. Then there’s the guy lying to his wife about where he goes but gets into an awkward situation following the discovery of a book of Blue Jay matches in his possession.
There’s also a lonely trans character played by iconic transgender actress Candy Darling who gets involved in an unfortunate moment of transphobic violence. One of the main plotlines follows a busboy who’s having a relationship with a man by phone and has finally arranged to meet the guy that night. Problem is, his date is expecting to meet a woman. Yikes.
Nelson’s film treats the bar’s patrons and staff with real tenderness and respect and a subplot about the tavern’s kindly female manager who has recently had a hysterectomy is especially heart-rending. She treats the bar team and clientele as the happy family she now realises she can never truly have. It’s moving and sweet, a powerful indicator that it’s important to find and hang on to meaningful relationships wherever we may find them.
I’m disgusted but not really surprised to hear homophobic slurs throughout the film. The saddest thing for me is that these gay men are so used to and unaffected by these remarks. It’s another sign of how far we’ve come in the 50 years since this came out, but also depressing because I’m fully aware that this sort of shit is still out there and can be overheard in many bar-room conversations to this day if you listen closely enough.
This feels like an authentic slice of life, like I’m a fly on the wall on a real evening in this pub. There are so many characters and plotlines going on, sometimes overlapping with each other, that it can be tough at times to remember them all, though in its complexity, the film creates a strong, profound impression of a whole community of queer people, all with their own difficult tales to tell, though not always with a happy ending. My heart breaks for one poor kid who gets discovered and ‘outed’ by his own raging mother on the dancefloor.
There are some fun, camp festive sing-songs too, bringing some festive cheer, with everyone in the bar joining in with some groovy piano-playing. There are also a few beautiful, intimate dream sequences that catch me off-guard. One particular moment features Candy Darling’s character Karen/Harry imagining that her drunken, fumbled dance is really a perfectly choreographed romantic waltz. This scene is all the more powerful as it’s immediately followed by a shocking moment of barbarity.
This is a powerful, detailed picture showcasing lots of little moments of shock and sadness, of solidarity and friendship. The film never lets us forget that though these characters all have the shared experience of being gay in a world that doesn’t fully tolerate them, their personal trials and tribulations are singular. We’re all the main characters in our own, often difficult stories. The camaraderie and solace of having a place like the Blue Jay to go is essential to their survival, a haven where they can be reminded that they’re not totally alone, not weird freaks. They may have straight friends who love them, but that doesn’t mean they’ll ever truly understand what it’s like to live a life like this, as a perpetual outsider, a fragile tumbleweed blowing through the unforgiving streets of the Big Apple.
There’s a lot to take in here and, if I’m being honest, I don’t completely follow all of it. Still, it’s fascinating, powerful and a real accomplishment. I’m surprised to have never heard of it before and the presence of very few reviews for it online suggest the film has fallen into obscurity. I hope that by mentioning it here, I can help it be rediscovered as it deserves to be talked about and celebrated.
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