Watching Jennie Livingston’s Paris is Burning (1990) gave me a fascinating perspective on Harlem’s ballroom culture, a world I hadn’t known much about before. I also don’t watch documentaries very often which made this feel like a unique viewing experience for me both content-wise and stylistically.
One of the elements that stood out most to me was the concept and importance of chosen family. The film emphasizes how the “houses” function not simply as performance groups, but as emotional homes for participants who might not have been accepted in their biological families.They even have familial roles within their Houses, such as mother of the house. I liked the way the participants describe the role of the mother; they talk about how important she is and how she emotionally and financially supports the rest of the family. The House offers a safe haven for many individuals experiencing homelessness or economic hardship, and the sense of belonging feels just as important as the creative expression.
It was really impactful to hear the stories of the participants and learn about why they loved being a part of the ballroom space so much. A specific moment that resonated with me was when one of the participants talked about how performing made them feel famous, recognized, and loved, even if just for a few minutes. That line stuck with me because it felt so universal. Even though I don’t have any connection to ballroom culture, the feeling of wanting to be seen and appreciated for what you’re good at is something most people relate to in their own lives and fields of work. It didn’t seem like a desire for fame, but a longing to be acknowledged and to feel like you matter in the space you choose to exist in.
When thinking about this film in terms of genre, I felt that the documentary format made me feel very immersed in the era. The archival style and raw visual quality made it feel like I was genuinely in late-1980s New York rather than watching a movie from decades ago. I know that movies are often immersive and transport you to a different world, but this felt different than a fictional movie. It was more immediate and intimate rather than a sort of escape. Overall, I enjoyed the experience of being immersed in this unfamiliar world.
Some questions I’m posing to the class: is ballroom “realness” a form of escape, empowerment, or assimilation? Does the camera feel observational, celebratory, exploitative, or something in between? How does the film’s documentary style shape our emotional reaction to the people on screen?
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