Director Ira Sachs delivers a captivating glimpse into the life of an underappreciated artist in "Peter Hujar's Day," where Ben Whishaw masterfully embodies the late New York City photographer in an intimate performance that chronicles a single day in 1974. The film, based on a recently rediscovered transcript, offers audiences a diary-like window into the mind and routine of a struggling artist who would only achieve widespread recognition after his death from AIDS-related complications in 1987.
The narrative unfolds on December 19, 1974, when photographer Peter Hujar visits writer and close friend Linda Rosenkrantz, played with nuanced warmth by Rebecca Hall, at her meticulously curated apartment on Manhattan's 94th Street. Rosenkrantz had invited Hujar to participate in an ambitious project: recording detailed accounts of artists' daily lives for a planned book that would never come to fruition. What emerges is an exhaustive recounting of December 18, with Hujar sharing every mundane detail, stray thought, and significant moment from that arbitrarily chosen day.
Whishaw's performance stands as one of his finest achievements, particularly in his meticulous attention to Hujar's distinctive New Jersey-bred, New York-inflected accent. The actor creates an immediately endearing presence that makes viewers feel as though they're sitting in the room with the photographer, experiencing his cigarette smoke, listening to his rants, and sharing moments of comfortable silence. Hall complements this perfectly with her own carefully crafted Bronx intonation as Rosenkrantz, creating an authentic warmth between the two friends that drives the film's emotional core.
The film exists only because this very transcript was rediscovered and published as "Peter Hujar's Day" in 2021, decades after the original recording session. At the time of this conversation, Hujar remained largely overshadowed by his more famous contemporaries, including Andy Warhol and Robert Mapplethorpe, despite having photographed cultural luminaries like John Waters, Susan Sontag, Fran Lebowitz, and William S. Burroughs. He was a struggling artist who had previously earned a Fulbright scholarship and worked commercial photography jobs before dedicating himself entirely to his personal artistic vision.
Sachs choreographs the actors' movements on a speculative basis, since only the transcript remains unaltered from the original encounter. All production and costume design choices represent fictional interpretations, yet the way Whishaw and Hall move through the apartment feels remarkably intuitive and natural. As hours pass and natural lighting shifts throughout the space, their interactions create an authentic sense of time's passage and genuine friendship.
The film's most breathtaking sequence occurs when the pair ventures onto the building's rooftop. Looking out over a stretch of Manhattan skyline that genuinely appears to be from 1974, complete with chaotic analog sounds, distant smokestacks, and classic architecture, viewers experience a poignant glimpse of a New York that many consider lost forever. This moment evokes the era when affordable rent allowed an impoverished but inspired artistic class to flourish in the city.
While the narrative culminates with Hujar's account of photographing Allen Ginsberg for The New York Times—an assignment he found particularly challenging for reasons best experienced firsthand—the film's true power lies in its smaller moments and casual revelations. These intimate details emerge naturally through conversation with a trusted friend, someone comfortable enough to hear any thought, no matter how weird, ugly, or seemingly unnecessary.
The random asides prove just as compelling as the famous name-drops throughout their extensive conversation. Hujar admits to eating virtually no vegetables at age 39, complains about money owed from freelance work, and reveals his preference for sleeping in and taking frequent naps. These personal admissions demonstrate the universal value of having someone in life who accepts every aspect of one's personality without judgment.
Photographer Nan Goldin, writing about the published transcript, captured the film's emotional impact perfectly: "Read it and weep if you didn't know him. Or read it and weep if you did that we lost him." The same sentiment applies to Sachs' cinematic adaptation, which benefits from Alex Ash's lush, era-appropriate cinematography that comes close to matching the striking incisiveness of Hujar's own visual artistry.
The film ultimately celebrates the unvarnished presentation of individuality that makes people genuinely interesting. Few viewers will be able to emulate Hujar's artistic vision, but his sense of self resonates universally. His struggles with diet, smoking, and demanding better treatment for himself and his passions reflect challenges that transcend specific circumstances, suggesting that perhaps our personal diaries shouldn't remain hidden but displayed prominently in our homes as honest reflections of our humanity.
