Yesterday was Harvey Milk Day. It was rainy and dark and I decided to stay in and--gasp!--watch something on the tube. Since I'm afraid of what's on regular T.V., considering it rots the mind, I rented "Milk." (I can never remember if you use italics or quotes for movies, so I used both.)
I found it oddly unsatisfying. Although the themes (homosexuality, murder, civil rights, and prejudice) interest me, and I've read a book about the incident (Milk, Moscone, White, and San Francisco politics), and Sean Penn was suitably energetic and noble (I know he won an Academy Award for the role), it left me cold. I watched the whole thing, although I found myself wishing it would speed up.
A glutton for punishment, I then found a television documentary on YouTube made shortly after the murders. Didn't realize at first it was so long--88 minutes--and watched all of it, putting dinner off until 7:30 (you can do that when you're a widow).
Now, THAT was enthralling. Just as I prefer non-fiction to fiction in books, I was deeply interested in this sad drama. The movie followed the real-life version so slavishly that the characters even resembled the real people involved, down to Milk's clothing in various scenes. Rather than making the movie seem authentic, it struck me more like a cheap imitation. I guess my reaction was along the lines of my dislike of "docu-dramas." They're fiction disguised as fact, I think, and and they're phony. Why not present honest portrayals of either fiction or fact? Well, that's just my individual quirk.
Yes, I spent the whole day passively watching glowing boxes and, believe me, it's tiring.