Witnessing and Voyeurism: Viewing Spectacular Performance in Paris is Burning

In the opening interview of the documentary film Paris is Burning (1990), a camera sits between the Ivy-League educated, white director Jennie Livingston and legendary drag queen and ball circuit house mother, Pepper Labeija. “I remember my dad said, ‘You have three strikes against you in this world; every black man has two, that they’re black and they’re male,” Labeija recalls in his opening interview, “but you’re black and you’re male and you’re gay ... If you’re going to do this then you’re going to have to be stronger than you ever imagined’” (Paris Is Burning 1:34-1:51). In contrast to the life Labeija describes, Livingston does not have the same marks against her. These strikes extend well beyond Labeija as all of the ball circuit participants were born with varied marginalized identities. Even though Labeija and the other house mothers are the respected elders of the community, they and all of the other members of the ball community, “struggle to create a public existence that is both a genuine portrayal of themselves and is seen as socially acceptable” (Brew 7). As audiences to that public existence, we take on the inherent role of viewer while the subjects take on roles as spectacles. This opening interview raises questions around voyeurism and witnessing within the context of viewing subjects such as Labeija in this film. In order to exist as their genuine selves, the subjects of the film become vulnerable to the potential voyeurism this documentary invites. The disparity between Labeija, as well as all the subjects of the film, and Livingston, lies in their individual abilities to present their genuine selves in the public sphere. When these marginalized subjects are presented in Paris is Burning, they potentially become subject to either or both: a voyeuristic gaze and celebratory relationship between the audience and the film.

The Paris is Burning documentary aimed to capture the public and private lives of the 1990s marginalized subculture: the ballroom. Viewers have autonomy over their reading of the documentary; whether they choose to witness or become voyeurs to the vulnerable lives of the ball children is up to them. All of the subjects are bound together by their participation in ball culture, and by their queer black and Latinx identities. These marginalized groups have, and continue to, endure systemic pain, oppression, and rejection. That suffering, as well as the joy that surrounds ball culture, is very visible in Paris. Thus, the pain and joy of the film can potentially be viewed through a voyeuristic lens or it can be witnessed in a celebratory light, or viewers may come away with a combination of the two.

Lucas Hilderbrand notes that Paris was released at a point in time in which “any representation of queerness was transgressive, progressive, threatening, and debated” (31). This context makes it difficult to define the film's representation of its subjects as voyeuristic or as an act of witnessing as the film was released during a time period in which audiences were primed for spectatorship and judgement. For viewers, the experience of Paris ranged from “deeply sad” to “profoundly joyful”, though Hilderbrand imagines that “most audiences see it as a complex negotiation of the two” (33). This emotional involvement in the film, however, can also lend itself to a voyeuristic gaze from the viewer. In that voyeurism lies the complex issue of ethnography that Livingston has so often been accused of. “Part of the appeal of Paris” lies in “its ability to absorb and tame the so-called Otherness of this part of Black and Latino gay male culture” (1993, Hilderbrand 133). The tameness of the otherness Hilderbrand is referring to is a byproduct of voyeuristic behavior.

Hilderbrand categorizes audiences' reactions between “those who find it celebratory and those who see it as voyeuristic” (24). He goes on to frame voyeurism as something “perverse” (103). His subtle comparisons between branding the film as “empathetic” versus “exploitative” aligns celebration with empathy and voyeurism with exploitation (103). I will employ the term “witnessing” in an effort to combine empathetic and celebratory viewings from audience members who can either personally relate to the marginalization or celebrate the creative endeavors presented in the film. For Hilderbrand, voyeurism is a way of describing how non queer and non-black and Latinx audience members might take pleasure in the subjects misfortunes and perceive the subculture they are participating in as strange, or inappropriate (24). For audience members like writer Tavia Nyong’o, however, the appeal of Paris is not its otherness, but the “incredible thrill the film gave [him] and so many queers of color around [him]” As the film ages, Nyong’o has found it difficult to understand the “degree to which the film once gripped us as a powerful critique of wealth and fame” and showed audiences “the cultivation of queer and trans worlds as viable alternative modes of sociality”. Every audience member will have their own individual reaction, one that is and will be influenced by their personal backgrounds. For queer people of color such as Nyong’o, Paris was, and still is, a celebration of alternative kinship, hidden community, and creative expression. These words, voyeurism and witnessing, are ways of describing the treatment of the subjects of Paris by the viewers of the film. Viewers, at the time of the film's release and for all future viewings, should strive to witness the film like the ideal audience members Hilderbrand and Nyong’o have.

For all future screenings of Paris, the past and present lives and vulnerability of the ball children must be taken into consideration. Nyong’o has asked, with regards to future showings, “Why should the filmmakers continue to be lauded, critics demanded, and continue to profit off the lives and creativity of the film’s subjects, many of whom died in poverty of HIV/AIDS-related causes?”. I argue that the film's continuation may exacerbate the exploitation the ball children have endured, but that it also continues to celebrate and pay tribute to the ball community. The members of this community, as American critic José Muñoz would put it, bear “the burden of liveness”, which is to say that “queers of color are expected to perform liveness” (Nyong’o). This performative expectation conflicts with my belief that the continuation of the films screenings is celebratory as it insinuates that the subjects of the film will continue to bear this performative burden with every showing. However, hiding ball culture from outsiders, as Nyong’o puts it, “seems counterproductive” and “overprotective of a culture that thrives precisely due to its own internal strengths”. This is to say that, in many ways, ball culture has very much thrived on the publicity and exposure this film has provided.

The extent to which future screenings of the film incite further exploitation or celebration is dependent on the original intentions of the documentary. Livingston’s direction of this film is neither celebratory nor voyeuristic, but rather an effort to perform saviorism. This argument falls in line with cultural critic Phillip Brian Harpers analysis of the real problem of Paris which lies “neither with the filmmaker nor her subjects, but with the economic and racial conditions that precluded working class people of color from making their own films, and thereby realizing the full benefits of creative control over their own community and art forms” (Nyong’o). This is to say that the financial situations of the ball children prevented them from executing a feature length documentary film in the manner that Livingston was able to execute it. The dedication of time, energy, and money that went into Paris was not a privilege that the ball participants had. In line with that reasoning, I argue that Paris is Burning had to be made for the lives of these marginalized children to be seen, and that the only person capable of driving such a project was one with access to technology, skills, and funding. Sundance saw Paris as an overdue and much needed tribute to the film's marginalized subjects, “to their ingenuity and perseverance and ultimately to their strength” (1991 Sundance Film Festival catalog, 24) (Hilderbrand 103). There is a sense of gratitude for this tribute among the subjects of the film when, for example, legendary drag performer Dorian Corey thanked God that someone like Livingston came along to capture the energy of ball culture. She assessed the reality of the community and the informal education she, the other mothers, and the ball children had to offer audiences. Corey was, however, “waiting to see how Jennie will give people their due” after the commercial success of Paris is Burning was evident and subjects like herself saw very little financial gain (1991, 54, 60) (Hilderbrand 124). This lack of financial compensation points to a more exploitative relationship between Livingston and her subjects. From the release of the film, the subjects of the film observed Livingston in order to see how she would handle the ethics of her documentary. The question of whether the ethics of Paris were handled appropriately or not depends on who answers. 

The experience of Livingston’s direction of Paris is not limited to witnessing or voyeurism, nor to celebratory or exploitative. Though many reactions among audience members, as Hilderbrand observed, “tended to be polarized between those who find it celebratory and those who see it as voyeuristic,” I argue it is possible to experience both of these emotions simultaneously, and furthermore it's possible to fall on a spectrum between them (24). In criticism, Paris was often “accused of inspiring voyeurism in audiences, exploiting its subjects, and reaffirming white privilege” (133). As Hilderbrand understands the audiences' reaction to the film, he believes that viewers can “understand political critiques, empathize with its subjects, and still experience the joy that both the ball children and the film engender” (24). This argument leaves room to both celebrate the subjects of the film while simultaneously tending to the financial or emotional exploitation that occurred upon the release of the film. As a white gay man, however, Hilderbrands individual interpretation of the film will differ from all those around him. He found himself witnessing the film, a witnessing that then became a mechanism for joining the imagined ball culture community. This in turn led to a celebration of the subculture and a popularization of it that capitalized on the creativity of the subjects without necessarily accrediting or rewarding them. Audience members who experienced Paris similarly to Hilderband participated in a witnessing and a consequential celebration of the film which ultimately led to an accidental exploitation. When a subculture such as ball culture is celebrated to the point that it morphs into popular culture, then the subjects are capitalized on and the subculture is trampled by mass media.

From behind the camera, Livingston determines what is shot, who is interviewed, and what is asked of her subjects; she has the final say in the representation of the ball children and house mothers. To what extent was Livingstons direction of Paris is Burning as a 90s documentary film on queer, black, and Latinx ball culture voyeurism and to what extent was it witnessing? Her role as director impacts the film by curating it, but her role as a white college educated woman casts an additional lens over Paris which can celebrate the spectacular performances and self-creation of the ball participants as easily as it can exploit them. Voyeurism and witnessing, however, are not intrinsic to the film, but are instead the responsibility of the viewer. Paris presents audiences with the ability to perceive the marginalized members of the imagined ball community through a voyeuristic view as well as the ability to witness them and the informal education the ball community provides. The documentary leaves the subjects vulnerable to both exploitation and celebration on account of Livingston’s direction and intersectionality as well as on account of the subjects willingness to share their lives on-screen. The extent to which audiences participate in voyeurism or witnessing is not dependent on how Paris is Burning and Livingston present the subjects but is instead the responsibility of each individual viewer.

Spectacle, Intimacy, and Documentary Ethics

Documentary films, in the 90s and otherwise, are not simple documentations of reality. American film critic Bill Nichols believes that documentary engages its audiences by representing a “recognizable familiarity”, which is simply a likeness rather than an exact representation of the world (Nichols 29). There is a fantasy that documentaries are able to capture reality, but instead there is a process of selection, arrangement, and narrative in shooting, casting, and editing in which directors risk arranging their films in a way that treats its subjects as less than human. The consequences of documentary film, namely spectacle and voyeurism, are inherent to the genre. In many ways, the subjects of documentary film are inherently viewed as spectacles regardless of how the film offers them. In documentary film, audiences are always looking in as outsiders and are taking in the fantasy of the spectacle. Voyeurism and witnessing, then, are not unique to Paris, but are instead larger issues within the genre of documentary. To mitigate spectacle as much as possible, Nichols believes that “ethical considerations attempt to minimize harmful effects” (Nichols 36). The issue that often makes spectacle inherent in documentary film is rooted in “filmmakers who set out to represent people whom they do not initially know but who typify or possess special knowledge of a problem or issue” as they tend to “run the risk of exploiting them” (Nichols 36). When the subjects are made into a spectacle or portrayed as less than human, whether on accident or on purpose, the filmmaker becomes responsible for the backlash that may follow. It was this less than human portrayal that Madonna featured in her 1990 music video, “Vogue” which featured “black and Latino and Latina dancers from the Harlem ‘house ball’ community,” bringing “both praise for the singer’s boldness and criticism for her exploitation of gay black and Latino subcultures” (Ahn, Himberg and Young, 119). That same year, Paris is Burning was released, and those same dancers from Madonna’s music video became the “ethnographic subjects” of Livingston’s documentary (Ahn, Himberg and Young, 119). When considering the ethics of documentary film, the comfort of the subjects with their director should be prioritized. As a director, and a white, educated, female one at that, the various subjects of the film seem to be at ease with her presence in their intimate spaces. Regardless of their differences, she is accepted by this community; one that was formed as a result of being rejected from the society she so easily lives in.

Livingston was treated as a guest in the houses of ball culture both literally and figuratively. This invitation into her subjects' real lives, however, comes with the “burden of representation and an ethical responsibility not to exploit” subjects and their cultures, “which in most cases, are not fully ‘knowable’ from the filmmaker’s or viewer’s outsider perspective” (Hilderbrand 138). The Sundance Film Festival catalog discussed this burden in its analysis of the film and ultimately suggested that “the film was empathetic rather than exploitative” (Hilderbrand 103). Despite this perspective, the festival's jury award to Paris sparked great controversy. According to one juror, Amy Taubin, a co-juror Jill Godmilow favored another film for the award instead because she “‘thought Paris is Burning was immoral–that it would incite the perverse voyeurism of the audience’” (Anderson 2000, 38) (Hilderbrand 103). Alongside this criticism of the film follows another troubling account of Livingston and her relationship to her subjects. In a 1993 New York Times article, Reporter Jesse Green unpacked the potential perverse audience voyeurism Godmilow spoke of. “‘Once mainstream America began to copy a subculture that was copying it, the subculture itself was no longer of interest to a wider audience, and whatever new opportunities existed of the principals dried up…” Green reports, “the film’s critical and financial success should therefore not be taken for the success of its subjects…[T]he characters Ms. Livingston presented remain, at best, exactly where they were when filmed’” (Hilderbrand 139). This is to say that Paris, in a way, depleted ball culture of its potential future opportunities. “‘There is a lot of anger in the ball world about Paris is Burning…” Green continued to report, “most of [which] centers on money” (Hilderbrand 139). This report was backed by a statement from Labeija which described his love for the film and simultaneous feelings of betrayal. He admitted that “when Jennie first came, we were at a ball, in our fantasy, and she threw papers at us. We didn’t read them, because we wanted the attention” (Hilderbrand 139-40). It was only later, during the interviews, that Livingston compensated them lightly. “She told us when the film came out we would be alright. There would be more coming…” Labeija relayed, “But then the film came out. They got rich, and we got nothing” (Hilderbrand 139-40).

There was, ultimately, a dispersal of the earnings to the most prominent subjects of the film. This was in the works before many of the subjects could file lawsuits, most of which had very little ground to stand on after lawyers saw that they had signed releases. As a guest in the homes of her subjects, it is easy to conflate Livingston as a member of the ball community rather than a filmmaker representing the community. Nichols believes this conflation is potentially the cause of tensions that “often arise between the filmmaker’s desire to make a compelling film and the individual’s desire to have his or her social rights and personal dignity respected” (Nichols 40). In the aftermath of the release of the film, it is clear that the subjects of Paris were not always prioritized. As a matter of ethics, Livingston’s poor compensation of her subjects suggests an exploitative relationship in which she took what she needed from the ball children without consideration for their future wellbeing.

The willingness with which the subjects signed releases comes from an intense desire for exposure on the subjects part. Generally speaking, documentaries “represent the view of individuals, groups, and institutions” and set out to “persuade us to accept their views” (Nichols 31). Paris offered the potential acceptance of ball culture and its marginalized subjects. What Livingston failed to offer, however, was the potential for consequences. As proven by the destruction of the ball subculture and the lack of financial compensation, there were a variety of ramifications that were likely unanticipated by the subjects at the start of filming. Nichols touches on these unknown ramifications when discussing the principle of informed consent, which “states that participants in a study should be told of the possible consequences of their participation” (Nichols 37). But to what extent can a filmmaker predict these consequences? Predicting potential outcomes, or even the success of the film, was too much to ask of Livingston. She is, however, responsible for representing the subjects of her film. Filmmakers such as herself “often take on the role of public representatives” in which “they speak for the interests of others, both for the individuals whom they represent in the film and for the institution or agency that supports their filmmaking activity” (Nichols 30). Speaking for others, especially a subculture of queer black and Latinx youth, is a difficult thing to execute well. To understand the relationship between director and subject, Nichols likens filmmakers to lawyers and subjects to the client. “Documentaries do not simply represent a perspective,” but “instead, they actively make a case or propose an interpretation to win consent or influence opinion” (Nichols 30). In the case of Paris, it is not easy to see the proposed interpretation Livingston is attempting to deliver. Her work is an attempt to influence audiences opinions not only of ball culture, but of the marginalized subjects themselves. For some audiences, Paris revealed an entirely new form of community and brought an unfamiliar sense of identity to light; one that was vulnerable to criticism, celebration, and judgements both favorable and unfavorable.

Alternative Kinships and Imagined Communities

The community revealed to audiences in Paris was an unfamiliar one, but also an imagined one. The ballroom circuit may have clearer boundaries, but ball culture itself is a widespread community that reaches far beyond the walls of the ballroom. The ball children and their mothers belong to what Benedict Anderson would call an ‘imagined community’ or nation. He defines a nation as: “an imagined political community – and imagined as both inherently limited and sovereign” (49). What makes ball culture imaginary if it's rooted in reality and what makes the drag mothers and ball children a part of that community? “It is imagined,” Anderson explains, “because the members of even the smallest nation will never know most of their fellow-members, meet them, or even hear of them, yet in the minds of each lives the image of their communion” (49). This is to say that the New York ball culture of the 90s was not limited to those who walked categories or had house mothers. Instead, ball culture is an “indefinitely stretchable net of kinship” that encapsulates queer black and Latinx youth across the country (Anderson 49). Even in modern queer culture, Nyong’o reports wrestling with how the queer inhabitants of present-day Brooklyn simultaneously “are and aren’t one community” or are and aren’t part of the imagined nation. Hilderbrand argues that among all the work that Paris does for this community, introducing both queer black and Latinx youth and general “audiences to queer forms of alternative kinship,” is among the most important (60). In the context of alternative kinships, they are alternative in comparison to the official national culture that is most commonly celebrated in popular media and often features white, upper-class, cisgender, and heteronormative families.

The kinship that is represented in Paris is most commonly between the ball children and the house mothers. These alternative relationships are formed as a result of societal rejection, in which the ball children are typically cast out of their homes and natural born families. When they are taken in by the ball mothers, out of a desire to support fellow queer black or Latinx youth, the children engage in kinship not only with the house mother, but with the other children of the house as well. Ball children thus gain a new and alternative family made up of members of their imagined community. Ball children form additional kinships with children of other houses as they are not always restricted to their immediate ball family. These relationships are not only alternative to mainstream kinships, but they also represent relationships that span between competitors. These kinships in particular show audiences that ultimately, ball culture is not entirely about winning or losing, but rather it is a ground on which the ball children can rebuild the supportive relationships they have lost. While ball culture is an imagined community, it also remains a physical community as it is bound by the reality of the ball room and its participants. In this way, the ball community differs from the official national culture, which is intangible as well as being imaginary. Both of these observations from Nyong’o and Hilderbrand make it clear that the mechanism for viewers to imagine themselves as a part of this community is through imagination and media. Paris is a form of media itself, but it also consumes media as a documentary with subjects who idolize popular icons and use them as inspiration in their own imagined and alternative community.

Paris presents itself as an alternative form of media, featuring alternative creatives, in response to popular media and popular icons. The landscape of independent and documentary film opened up a variety of different possibilities for alternative subcultures that countered popular media and mainstream society. This aesthetic of independent films, however, came to be its own capitalized aesthetic, and with popularization was no longer considered alternative. During its filming though, Paris captured the copy culture of the ballroom in which ball children came to understand that popular media was not accessible to them in the same way that it was accessible to people of privilege. This is when mainstream media is transformed into a kind of imagining in their community. Models and magazines are a means of inspiration for ball children, but they are not icons they could realistically aspire to emulate. The alternative imagined community of the ballroom is alternative with regards to the community represented by the magazine, but it is not alternative in the sense that ballroom culture upholds the standard of feminine white beauty. Ballroom culture is alternative to the mainstream media in the sense that it includes femme white beauty as inspiration, as an aspect of their imagination, but does not center or focus entirely on white femme beauty. “This is my idol,” Octavia Saint Laurent says to the camera as she points to a poster of supermodel Paulina Porizkova on her bedroom wall (45:08-45:31). “Someday I hope to be up there with her,” she continues, as she admits that being on par with Paulina would make her the happiest person in the world (45:08-45:31). “Just knowing that I am, that I can compare to Paulina, to stand next to her and take pictures with her,'' would fulfill Octavia (45:08-45:31). She deeply admires Paulina and channels her as she walks her categories at the balls, using her as inspiration for her own creative endeavors. Viewers watch as Octavia and her fellow ball members consume media and fantasize about their futures alongside supermodels and movie stars. “I want to be somebody,” Octavia says as she laughs into the camera, “I mean, I am somebody. I just want to be a rich somebody” (44:05-44:31). To be someone within the ball culture is rewarding, but it is not the same and being somebody in the outside world. For many participants, success is defined by recognition from mainstream media and by wealth; it is measured in the milestones their idols have achieved, or in the fantasy of an unattainable world. This success is played out in the imagined community of ball culture where the subjects of the film feel most accepted.

Many of the ball children, like Octavia, are confused by their own definitions of success and happiness as they desire both a normal life as well as one filled with wealth and fame. “I wanna live a normal, happy life,” she says as she lies on her bed and stares into the ceiling, “whether it's being married and adopting children, whether it's being famous and rich” (1:04:44-1:04:54). These lives are very different; one quaint and domestic while the other glamorous and exciting. What these dreams have in common, however, is how unattainable they must have felt at the time. Octavia confesses to the camera that she sometimes will sit with a magazine and “try to imagine [herself] on the front cover, or even inside” (1:05:00-1:05:07). For young women and men in ball culture, this imagining is what guides them through adversity. “Those balls are more or less like our fantasy of being a superstar,” Labeija explains, “you know, a lot of those kids that are in the balls, they don’t have two of nothing. Some of them don’t even eat. They come to balls starving” (6:41-6:57). Many of the subjects featured in this film put their lives on the line to participate in this fantasy and to belong to the imagined community of ball culture. As one ball child, captured in an interview on a park bench, puts it: “the balls to us is as close to reality as we’re gonna get to all that fame and fortune and stardom and spotlights” (5:20-5:27). These two perspectives, from Labeija and a ball child, show how the ballroom is both a fantasy and a reality. Livingston and Paris itself invite viewers to celebrate the fantasy and fantastical aspirations of the ball participants while simultaneously showing audiences the very real circumstances that preclude those participants from turning their fantasies into reality. I argue that it is Livingston who transforms the fantasy of the ballroom into a reality for the ball community. Her documentary, which exposed this fantasy, turned ball culture into a recognized subculture, rooted it in reality, and gave fame to the featured subjects of the film.

A prime example of the struggle between reality and fantasy in ball culture is when the ball children and their mothers perform at a spotlight charity event held in 1989 called Love Ball, put on by the Design Industries Foundation for AIDS. Only this display of fantasy, on real walkways and under real spotlights, wasn’t spoken of in quite the same way the mainstream media they fantasize about is discussed. There were star characters in attendance to judge, but their comments did not quite align with how Octavia spoke of her supermodel icons. Instead, when asked to describe the voguing taking place at the ball, American author Fran Lebowitz spoke of it as a, “kind of institutionalized showing off. But not without its entertainment value” (1:06:44). Ball culture, at its debut in mainstream media (not in Madonna’s music video), is valued for the entertainment it contributes rather than the creativity or inspiration the ball children provide. “It's just so theatrical,” American actress Gwen Verdon commented, “And the energy. Oh, it's just terrific” (1:06:55). This response seems to epitomize scholarly critiques of white audience reactions. To these celebrity individuals, ball culture is not art per say, but theatrical entertainment to be consumed and not to be given the power of influence. Paris captures how ball children, through their imagined community, place themselves in fantasies, the spaces they desire to inhabit, and alongside the stars they idolize. It also captures the reality in which these fantasies are not capable of being more than just imaginations. One unnamed man featured in the documentary articulated that, for young queer black and Latinx individuals who go to the balls, they enter the ballroom and they feel “100% right” while “being gay” (4:54-5:00). Then, from behind the camera, Livingston asks the real question of the film: “that’s not what it’s like in the world?” (5:00). To which the answer is: No, that’s not what it's like in the world, it's the way it should be and the way the subjects wish it was. Because these subjects are excluded from and cannot present genuine portrayals of themselves in the real world, they must use their imagined community and nation-state to express themselves and to play out their fantasies and dreams.

Re-enacting popular media as a vehicle for self-expression in an imagined space is a result of societal rejection. The ball children understand that, due to larger limitations within the system, they are excluded from the real world and that marginalization will prevent them from achieving the dreams their icons represent. Whether that be in fashion, modeling, or any kind of fame in general, there is an awareness that the media ball culture consumes is only a means of inspiration for their alternative world. In an interview, Labeija explains how the unification of these alternative kinships came to be in ball culture: “When someone has rejection from their family, their mother, their father, when they get out in the world, they search. They search for someone to fill that void” (Hilderbrand 60). That someone is not necessarily an individual, nor is it necessarily even the house mother that takes them in, but the community as a whole. The imagined community of ball culture was invented as a means of filling that void in the marginalized subjects of this film, many of whom were cast out of their homes or out of society itself. Anderson goes on to analyze a passage from philosopher Ernest Gellner, who ruled that “‘Nationalism is not the awakening of nations to self-consciousness: it invents nations where they do not exist’” (49). Invention here, ought not to refer to ‘falsity’ or ‘fabrication’, but to the creative imagination that Anderson has put forth. The community of ball culture was not simply awakened in the participants of the ball circuit, but rather created in response to a lack of community.

This framework for a nation may seem too loose to incite nationalism in its members, however, nationalism is not always the goal for imagined communities. They are legitimized because, “regardless of the actual inequality and exploitation that may prevail in each, the nation is always conceived as a deep horizontal comradeship” (Anderson 50). These imagined nations cannot be verified by government, nor by any larger nation-state, but are verified by each member of the community through the act of camaraderie. In opposition to this idea, Author Chandan Reddy argues that “the ’houses’ never replace the ‘home’” (Hilderbrand 62). He stipulates that the alternative kinship set forth in the film, though well-intentioned, “cannot be extracted from broader socio-economic realities or, indeed, the dominant domestic unit” (Hilderbrand 62). Reddy’s argument specifies that the “finite, if elastic, boundaries,” Anderson describes, are unable to be separated from the larger nation-state of the oppressive society from which the members of the ball culture are attempting to escape (50). This argument complicates Livingston’s role as director of Paris by inviting the idea that she is not only a guest in the subjects' homes, but a visitor in foreign parts. If the ball culture is an imagined community, or even a nation-state, complete with borders and citizens, then Livingston is crossing both a literal and figurative partition as she crosses the threshold of the ball room.

The Ball Children as Documentary Subjects and Directors of Informal Education

Determining New York’s 90s ball culture as an imagined community, and subsequently its members as citizens of a separate nation-state, lends itself to viewing the subjects of Paris through a lens of ethnographic otherness. Paris was viewed with suspicion as it was presumed to offer its subjects as “representations of other (i.e., other than white) ethnicities and to reflect a kind of intellectual and cultural imperialism” (Hilderbrand 132). In some of the scholarly critique of Paris, it seems as though academics forget they are writing about, and critiquing, real individuals along with their real hopes, dreams, and struggles. They critique the subjects “for failing to live up to an ideological ideal” (Hilderbrand 137). This ideal negates the realness that comes with the autonomy of documentary subjects. People in documentary film are “cultural participants rather than theatrical performers,” and “their value consists in what their own lives embody” (Nichols 31). The drag mothers and ball children are not actors in a fictional film, but instead are real individuals who are laying their lives on the line for the sake of the documentary. While the ball children display a theatrical performance of fantasy inside the ballroom, their lives outside of the ballroom are still being captured by the reality of the documentary. There is clear autonomy and individuality to be witnessed in all of the subjects of Paris. For example, Labeija exemplifies this autonomy with a simple question, directed just beyond the camera. “You want me to say who I am and all of that?” she asks. This moment suggests that Labeija “has significant agency during the interview itself” (Hilderbrand 18). When Labeija questions Livingston’s direction it's as if he is saying: you, and your viewers, should already know who I am. Throughout this interview it is clear that Pepper “has the power to call the shots” (Hilderbrand 19). Not only does this exemplify the control that the subjects take, but the informal education they deliver in this film. While Labeija and the other subjects of the film don’t necessarily direct Livingston, they do point her and the audience to their fantasies of what and who they want to be. Labeija wants to be recognized and known, even outside of the ballroom, this scene in which he questions how recognizable he is, is how he points Livingston to that fantasy. While the subjects can’t enact many of the fantasies surrounding fame and fortune, Livingston does give voice to them. In allowing her subjects to take some control over the film by providing an informal education and a description of their fantasies, Livingston gives a voice to many previously silenced subjects. This informal education from the ball children, however, is nothing like the one Livingston has received from Yale. Instead, these are lessons on the real world, and on realness. In some instances, it is the mothers who instruct Livingston and not the other way around. They instruct her on what is real and how reality works for them, so in a way, they school the viewers as well. The subjects of Paris challenge Livingston’s control over the film and give audiences an informal education on the “‘reality’ of the street” and the “‘fantasy’ of the ballroom” (Hilderbrand 37). The power imbalance in which the subjects school the director, and the education the subjects provide, challenges the ground between Livingston and her subjects.

The gap between Livingston and her subjects lies deep in the complexities of drag and gender identity in 90s ball culture in which Livingston represents the feminine realness that the female subjects of Paris strive for. As Dorian Corey explains it, realness is the ability to blend (Hilderbrand 53). “If you pass the untrained eye–or even the trained eye–and not give away the fact that you’re gay,” she says, “that’s when its realness” (Hilderbrand 53). In scenes such as these, Corey seems to be giving Livingston, and the audience, another informal education on the reality of ball culture. As a cisgender female Livingston embodies this realness and in this sense, safely passes through the world. She has been, and possibly was at the time of filming, the “spoiled, rich white girl” Venus Extravaganza so desperately wanted to be (Hilderbrand 69). As seen in Octavia’s hopes and dreams, there is a desire in many of the young women of the film that reflects “the contradiction of American ideology: the desire to be ‘normal’ and to be exceptional (rich and famous), the conflation of family affection and materialism” (Hilderbrand 78). For feminist audiences who “emphasize the oppressive nature of the ideal of femininity that Venus finds so appealing,” Paris may offer a surprising rebuttal in which “white femininity could be the object of fantasy” (Collins, et al., 155). This rebuttal serves as a reminder “of the privileges of straight, white, middle class women relative to the men who frequent the drag balls” (Collins, Collins, and Radner, 155). For Venus and Octavia, their dreams are bound up in transitioning into biological women, and even obtaining all of the privileges that come with that transition (Hilderbrand 78). This vulnerable display of the desires of the subjects may, without empathy from the audiences, lead to a voyeuristic and misunderstanding gaze.

The fantasy of white femininity that is hinted at in Paris also entails a fantasy surrounding whiteness that, for some subjects, is embedded in ball culture. One of the subjects who believes in the fantasy of whiteness, Junior, delivers a monologue that dictated the true ambitions of the ball children, which he is not necessarily entitled to speak on behalf of. “This is white America,” he says, “This is everybody’s dream and ambition as a minority, to live and look as well as a white person...and when it comes to the minority, especially blacks... We have had everything taken away from us. And yet we have all learned how to survive. That is why in the ballroom circuit it is so obvious that, if you have captured the great white way of living or dressing or speaking, you is a marvel” (Hilderbrand 66). This monologue provides an additional informal education to audiences on the trials and tribulations of what it means to be a marginalized person in America. It highlights how whiteness is idolized by the subjects and transformed into their own means of inspiration and creativity, particularly through consumption of popular, white-centric media. This statement also highlights how ball culture presents a fantasy in opposition to reality. Junior educates audiences on the escape the ballroom circuit provides as it is a way for subjects to create their own standards of what constitutes “a marvel”. Not only does Junior school viewers on the reality of race in America, one that challenges the fantasy of the American dream that is often taught to students in formal education, but he paints a picture of assumed white idolization in America. This assumption, as former ball participant turned scholar Marlon Bailey points out, implies “that ballroom members are obsessed with white femininity and illusions of material wealth” and therefore discounts “the actual labor in which its members are constantly engaged to create an alternative existence for themselves within their marginality” (Hilderbrand 144). Reducing the ball subjects to individuals enamored with white femininity, and consequently enamored with Livingston’s white femininity, disregards their work as creatives, as marginalized and rejected individuals, and as vulnerable subjects of Paris. Instead, their love of what white femininity symbolized to them came from popular media influences which they transformed into their own unique inspirations and alternative creative mediums. As a result of societal rejection, the ball children and drag mothers formed their own imagined community, redefined popular media and inspirations, and laid the groundwork for the creative subculture that is the ballroom circuit.

After the release of the film, Livingston was interviewed about her role in the documentary as a person of privilege and how that might affect the subjects and potentially incite voyeuristic behavior. These interviews suggest that she was “well aware of complex issues of race and class as well as gender and sexuality,” as a byproduct of, “her education, her years working to make the film, and her experience as an AIDS activist” (Hilderbrand 131). Her awareness, as Bill Nichols would argue, does not necessarily justify her role as director. Much of the critique she received in the years following the release of the documentary focused largely on “the question of whether an ‘outsider’ has the right to represent (on film) and speak for (as Livingston did in interviews while promoting the film) a structurally marginalized community” (Hilderbrand 134-5). Hilderbrand approaches this question with a series of his own: Is it ethical for a white person to portray people of color? Does it make a difference if that person is a woman, is queer, is feminist? If so, what are her responsibilities to her documentary subjects? (134-5). 

Livingston, through the documentary genre, presented audiences with the realities and fantasies of the ball children and the house mothers. To be privy to the imagined community of the ballroom and the alternative kinships it housed is to be educated on the ball children’s reality of race, class, and gender in America, as well as their fantasy of normalcy, beauty, and fame. This education, however, is a privilege to receive and comes with responsibilities. “I knew the children were not walking for me,” Nyong’o confesses as he recounts his experience of the documentary, “even if I was there and privileged to watch”. The genre of documentary inherently frames subjects as spectacles and it is up to the viewer to choose to witness that spectacular performance rather than engaging in a voyeuristic gaze. The ideal viewers, like Nyong’o and Hilderbrand, witness Paris and understand that their spectatorship is a privilege. As a viewer myself, I am drawn to the ball community, but am aware that I am not a part of it. I understand that voyeurism is inherent to documentary and recognize the dangers of that voyeurism. As a figurative guest in the houses of ball culture, it is my and the viewers responsibility to acknowledge the voyeuristic gaze that accompanies the spectacle of Paris. The representation of minority subjects in Paris through an upper-class, college educated, white lens may have contributed to the inherent voyeurism of the documentary, but it is the viewers who are responsible for either perpetuating that voyeurism or witnessing the film responsibly. The ideal viewer becomes witness to the subject's ultimate desire: “to leave something behind them,” Corey explains as the documentary comes to a close, “some impression, some mark upon the world. And then you think, you’ve left a mark on the world if you just get through it...and a few people remember your name” (1:10:34-1:10:48).