David France’s 2017 documentary looks into the 1992 death of trans icon and activist and the history of a movement
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The Pick: The Death and Life of Marsha P. Johnson (2017)
Award-winning documentary filmmaker David France (How to Survive a Plague) explores the history of the gay liberation movement, incorporating archival video into a modern day investigation into the death of transgender icon Marsha P. Johnson. Trans elder Victoria Cruz researches possible suspects behind Johnson’s 1992 death while the current trial of the killer of a young New York trans woman highlights continued violence targeting the transgender community. France’s documentary delves into the exclusion Johnson and sister trans activist Sylvia Rivera faced within the gay rights movement, despite their involvement in the pivotal Stonewall protest.
The Death and Life of Marsha P. Johnson is currently streaming on Netflix. Trailer below:
Victoria Cruz is at the center of The Death and Life of Marsha P. Johnson; we follow her through interviews with aging activists and past friends of Johnson. She makes for a compelling and empathetic figure throughout her investigation. Her story about meeting Sylvia Rivera after years apart had me tearing up (so did her candid talk of the abuse and harassment she faced before coming to work at the Anti-Violence Project).
Johnson’s family and friends speak for her in France’s film, along with a few glimpses we’re shown of her on video. Though a moving storytelling style as archival video is effortlessly woven into the modern day events, we learn about Johnson’s warm, welcoming and friendly nature. I will note, for a documentary about Marsha P. Johnson, this film seems to spend a good deal of time on the life and work of Sylvia Rivera.
There’s impressive footage from a 1994 interview where Rivera talks about Johnson and the night of the riot at Stonewall, the gay club operated by the mob which wouldn’t allow women. Rivera speaks lovingly of Johnson and their founding of Star (Street Transvestites Action Revolutionaries) House for young trans folks in the early 70s. One of the most powerful moments in the doc is the archival clip of an irate Rivera taking down a booing crowd at a 1973 gay rights protest for leaving out trans voices: “I will not forgive the movement.” I ended the film far more aware of Rivera’s impact and activism than that of Johnson. Perhaps this is because the video footage of Johnson is so limited, but it seems worth mentioning.
This isn’t a documentary with easy answers, and we share Cruz’s disappointment and exasperation as the end of her search nears. France’s film becomes clunkier in its last third, losing the momentum that drove the earlier chapters. Still, Cruz’s determination and desire for some justice, as well as the incredible archival footage involved, make the work worth the watch.
This Pride/Riot theme at Cinapse’s Two Cents this month is one of true exploration for me as I’ve seen none of the titles my teammates have programmed for us! I’ll also admit that not only had I never heard of Marsha P. Johnson before, but upon watching this documentary, I’ve realized I know almost nothing about the iconic Stonewall incident that is so crucial to the gay rights movement. I hope my confession here isn’t judged too harshly, as I see this month of angry LGBTQ cinema we’ve programmed as an opportunity to learn, uncover works of art and experiences I know little about, and hopefully come away a little wiser and more connected to the hopes and dreams of the gay community.
While this documentary was informative and revealed some of the history and culture of the NYC gay scene in the early 1990s, the film itself isn’t structured like an informational doc, but rather as an investigation into whether trans activist Marsha P. Johnson was murdered like so many other trans folks from that time and place. There’s a bit of a true crime, track down the answers vibe with a couple of other “main characters” emerging in the story like the woman doing the investigation, Victoria Cruz, and trans activist Sylvia Rivera.
Honestly, the great takeaway of the film for me, and what most tugged at my heartstrings, is the sheer amount of violence and vitriol our trans brothers and sisters have leveled at them, from society, from authorities, and even from within the wider LGBTQ movement. Marsha’s death isn’t conclusively solved, but the investigation opens our eyes to the massive amount of trans deaths and murders that happen and promptly go unsolved, and sometimes even uninvestigated. And yet, the profound community that emerges as individual people reach out and help one another, is moving. Marsha herself lived with a roommate for 16+ years that seemed to have been a loving and supportive friend who kept her off the streets. And Victoria, a prominent activist, does find herself on the streets and is loved and restored back to a place of belonging through individuals in their community.
We see much joy being spread by Marsha in footage of her, and yet the film is tinged with the tragedy of moments when there wasn’t an ally there to save so many from violent or under-investigated deaths.
This documentary was one of those titles I had often heard about, yet for whatever reason, had always escaped my grasp. It’s a real shame since The Death and Life of Marsha P. Johnson is one of the most compelling documents about the struggle for trans rights that, unfortunately, is still just as relevant today as it was back in 1992. Mixing vintage footage from the 90s with that of present day to give as complete a portrait of Marsha’s life as possible was not only a stroke of editing genius, but proved the only way to give this icon her proper due.
The story of Marsha P. Johnson proved to be as involving a documentary experience as one could hope to have, thanks to the many narrative threads that make it up. Going into the film, one would expect to be thrust into Marsha’s world and the force of nature that she was in the years leading up to her death. Her presence at the forefront of the gay liberation movement and an unflinching willingness to be totally herself everywhere she went, no matter the cost, helped to make her the revolutionary figure she remains to this day.
But at a certain point the film expands to be something beyond Marsha and the quest to find out what led to her untimely death. Along the way we are introduced to Sylvia Rivera, Marsha’s close friend and co-founder of the movement (a figure so intriguing and inspiring she deserves her own documentary) and Victoria Cruz, a victims’ rights advocate leaving no stone unturned in the search for truth regarding Marsha’s death, which she is determined to solve in her final months before retirement.
As director David France’s film moves between the three storylines, this trio of women emerge as the true stars of The Death and Life of Marsha P. Johnson, each one with her own dogged desire for the truth, no matter what it looks like. It would be easy to shake one’s head at how the film shows the many strides that still need to be made in the decades following Marsha’s death. Yet Marsha, Sylvia, and Victoria each prove to be pioneers in their own ways, giving their all to a fight that is still ongoing and making sure that voices like Marsha’s remain loud and clear.
I feel fortunate to have grown up in a generation of Queer Youth where Marsha P. Johnson wasn’t a forgotten or little-known piece of history. They’ve become a vital staple of LGBTQ resistance alongside the Stonewall Riots, an icon spotlighting how Trans and gender non-conforming people have always been a part of our fight for equality. Still, I’m ashamed to admit that beyond that iconic status, I knew little about Marsha’s personal history–something I looked forward to rectifying with The Death and Life of Marsha P. Johnson.
The doc’s strongest asset is the wealth of archival footage (with sound!) of Johnson in their element: a force for low-key goodness. Dressed like an absolute Queen in a mishmash elegant frayed finery, they give away everything they have and partner with fellow icon Sylvia Rivera to found STAR, both doing what they can to to break a cycle of violence forced upon them by the indifference and cruelty of cis heteronormative society. In a documentary that explores some incredibly dark places, David France doesn’t let the weight of unjust tragedy stamp out the light that Johnson and Rivera provided to countless others.
It’s an important doc because it recognizes that the fight for LGBTQ+ equality, trans rights in particular, isn’t over–and that getting justice for past misdeeds can be an insurmountable task when faced with an ever-growing avalanche of atrocities that continue into our present. By paralleling Victoria Cruz’s investigation into Johnson’s death with the case of Islan Nettles, France highlights the enduring apathy toward violence against Trans people. His critique of post-Obergefell LGBTQ+ complacency is sharp and necessary, exposing how some parts of the community seem content to assimilate rather than continue the fight for equality, abandoning those still most vulnerable. It’s especially vital we watched this film now, as a social tide seems to further accept the marginalization and dehumanization of Trans people in society as a method of averting the spotlight of hate from themselves, whether one is part of the LGBTQ movement or not.
However, the film’s legacy is complicated by its proximity to another project, Happy Birthday Marsha, created by Trans filmmakers Tourmaline and Sasha Wortzel. While circumstantial allegations of plagiarism have been largely debunked, I do find myself returning to the very valid question of who gets to tell Marsha’s story and why. France deserves credit for assembling a diverse production team of POC, Trans, and Queer filmmakers and using his platform as an established documentarian to amplify Johnson’s story on a major streamer such as Netflix. Yet it’s also fair to ask whether the film would have been even more resonant had it centered the vision of a Trans filmmaker of color, allowing such a definitive telling of this icon’s story to be more directly informed by deeper lived experience. That said, it would be unfair to dismiss France’s own lived perspective as a gay man—or the care with which he amplifies the voices closest to Marsha: her family, close friends, roommates, and especially her sister-in-arms, Sylvia Rivera. Ultimately, I believe France’s film honors both Johnson and Rivera. Most importantly, it shines a light on the Trans and GNC individuals still fighting today—those who, like Marsha, deserve to be heard and protected in return by the community they dedicated their lives to.
I’d be amiss if I didn’t close out this post with a more substantive call to action–so if you can, pitch in a donation to organizations like Trans Lifeline who are putting in active work to aid Trans individuals.
While the life of Marsha P. Johnson is fascinating and exploring the circumstances surrounding her death is compelling, I have to admit that this is a film that I struggled to be captivated by. For me, this was a case of the type of documentary where the subject matter was the main reason to keep watching, rather than the type of documentary where the presentation of that subject matter shined – in other words, Marsha’s life and death were far more interesting than this film made them feel.
To be clear, this is simply a personal preference for me, as the documentary is certainly competently made. For me, it simply didn’t do justice to the power of the story itself.
With this said, I still appreciated this as a jumping off point for the rabbit hole that it led me on in reading up and watching more on Marsha, her death, and other key figures touched on in the film. It also coincided with a post from an Instagram account I follow that highlights examples of “Christians who don’t suck” that sent me further down said rabbit hole.
