Bruce Mailman made a number of changes to the Saint in order to keep it afloat in its sea of controversy. In 1985, Mailman began to sell liquor at the club; though he later opened the disco to heterosexual people on Fridays, attendance at the club still waned dramatically (McEwan, 42). The “ghosts of friends” haunted many members of the New York City gay community (Rist, 18). Most of the crowd that had frequented the Saint were older gay men who had either died from HIV/AIDS or were grappling with the grief of knowing those who had (Rist, 18). Many people avoided the Saint.
The younger crowd that began to populate the Saint didn’t come as often as older members once did because they didn’t have as much money; financial troubles swiftly appeared on the horizon, and Bruce Mailman began to feel that he could only own the Saint “for so long” (Rist, 18). Soon thereafter, the Fillmore East Village Associates Ltd. offered to buy the Saint from Mailman for 6.5 million dollars; by the Saint’s 1987 Halloween Party, the sale of the building had already “passed the point of no return” (qtd. in McEwan).
In 1988, the Saint’s surviving DJs and lighting technicians enlivened the club for the last time. The “Last Party” spanned “three days and three nights,” with Saint regulars attending 30 of the 36 hours (McEwan, 42). Jimmy Ruffin’s song “Hold On To My Love” played near the end of the Last Party; appropriately, the words HOLD ON TO MY LOVE have been stitched onto the bottom of the Saint’s memorial quilt. The words’ ash-colored lettering overlay a thick strip of the same shiny, silver material found elsewhere in the panel.
Jimmy Ruffin’s “Hold On To My Love”
Gay nightlife was “quiet” without the Saint (McEwan, 42). TheParadise Garage and Flamingo dance club had already closed when the Last Party took place, so, when Halloween came around after the Saint’s official closing in April of 1988, Bruce Mailman decided to host a party (McEwan, 42-44). This Halloween Party commenced a series of parties that became known as Saint-at-Large events (McEwan, 44).
Saint-at-Large parties now annually commemorate the four holiest celebrations of the original Saint: Halloween, New Years Eve, the White Party, and Black Party; the White and Black parties are the most popular events of the year (McEwan, 44). This annotation describes the Saint-at-Large’s 2016 Black Party trailer, whose wicked marine imagery elicits awe from the viewer. Further showcasing the living legacy of Bruce Mailman’s inventive artistry is the 1998 poster advertising the Saint-at-Large’s White Party.
Though the Saint-at-Large seeks to “keep the spirit of the original [Saint] alive,” many people have noted that the Saint-at-Large celebrations are mere “shadows” of what the Saint’s parties used to be (Peters, 142). The permanent loss of the euphoric disposition of the Saint’s heyday emphasizes the irretrievable nature of the past. Memories can never be replicated; the Saint will always maintain a “mystique” that is impenetrable even by vigorous research (Peters, 141). Generations now will never learn the liveliness of the original Saint; young gay men will never enjoy the “wonderful playground” that was Bruce Mailman’s very own haven of vices (Peters, 141). Though men still dance beneath dazzling lights and kiss in rhythm with Hi-NRG melodies, they cannot relish the gratification of the hours upon hours men their age spent in the original Saint (Peters, 142). They cannot travel back in time. To Jason McCarthy, the former night manager of the Saint, this restraint on any true comprehension of the Saint is lamentable (McEwan, 44). Younger gay generations who never experienced the original Saint “don’t know what it was [or] what they’ve missed” (qtd. in McEwan, 44). The naivete of this generation is astonishing to him given that they are grossly unfamiliar with the brilliant spark of their antecedents (Peters, 143).
The disconnect that exists between the disco generation and the grunge youngsters saddened Bruce Mailman (Peters, 143). Mailman worried that his generation would not get to share its “collective wisdom” with the next generation of queer youth because of the devastation of AIDS (qtd. in Peters, 143). The sense that the “young [gay population] arrived newly born and can’t benefit from anything that went before them” is upsetting to Mailman (qtd. in Peters, 143). For the men and women who emerged out of the disco era and the sexual revolution, it seems the Saint is best appraised in recollection rather than revival (McEwan, 44). For them, nothing can compare to the original Saint and the original high of liberation (McEwan, 44). The freedom of the 70s never included the burden of AIDS now attached to gay identity; Mailman feels that the epidemic has darkened an otherwise beautiful expression of gay sexuality and identity (Peters, 143). He hopes that future gay generations will find the “same freedom [his generation] once had,” otherwise the community will continuously struggle to recover its historical vitality (qtd. in Peters, 143).
Even if the Saint cannot be relived, its narrative must still be retold. The Saint is not irrelevant, even if, as Frank Courson acknolwedges, there “are entire portions of the city where [the gay community] can be comfortable” (McEwan, 44) The magnetizing majesty of the Saint comforted young gay men and offered them a “safe place” to be themselves and to love their significant others and lovers (McEwan, 44). The Saint shone like a beacon within the gay community, offering shelter and a supportive celebration of patrons’ self-hood that may seem unfit for the currently saturated generation (McEwan, 44). However, even despite the progress of civil rights within the LGBTQ+ community, the dissemination of the Saint’s story is still necessary.
Theunusually large size of the Saint’s memorial block attempts to communicate the club’s extraordinary impact on New York’s gay history. The quilt’s size symbolizes both the magnificent breadth of the physical Saint as well as its metaphorical significance in history.
The Saint was a sinfully sexual disco that manifested the spiritual realization of an unapologetic existence (Peters). Serenading its customers with the rapturous anthems of a liberated generation, the Saint dance club was emblematic of the entire disco generation (“Chapter 4: The Era“). Primarily, the Saint bestowed a jubilant embrace of unrestrained, open desire upon its gay patrons (“Chapter 4: The Era“). In the Saint, desires and dreams were set free as a hot revolution of self-respect unfastened the binds of closeted men and women and turned them towards self-acceptance and sexual liberation (“Chapter 4: The Era“). The lifetime of the Saint embodies the rise and fall of the gay generation during the 1980s due to the AIDS epidemic by encapsulating both the heroism and vulnerability of New York’s gay community. The Saint’s memorial block fails to communicate the tremendous culture of the Saint, however its archival materials convey the club’s life span well.
As Carol Cooper acknowledges, the lack of firsthand documentation from the people “most qualified” to tell the story of disco threatens to diminish the presence of the “rich social history of New York club life” (Cooper, 164). If future generations cannot access firsthand accounts of disco’s growth, transformation, and divergence into various cultural expressions, then “myths and rumors” will begin to dilute and destroy the truth (Cooper, 165). Cooper laments that writers purporting to be “authorities on cult clubs like the Paradise Garage never interviewed its visionary owner Michael Brody, or its principal deejay Larry Levan” (Cooper, 165). However, quite a few of the materials cited in this essay involve direct quotations from the Saint’s founder, Bruce Mailman. Darrell Yates Rist, Brooks Peters, and Jonathan McEwan are authors whose invaluable articles contain interviews with Bruce Mailman himself as well as interviews of other close associates of the Saint. Though direct experience is the only way one can truly understand disco clubs or feel the true impact of disco music, written narratives still provide a crucial glimpse of the nature of the disco revolution. Without the circulation of firsthand documentation on the Saint, Mailman’s concern that there is no “continuity in the gay population” will come true (Peters, 143). To communicate across generational lines the struggle, liberation, and resilience of the gay community (particularly in New York, U.S.A.), the story of the Saint must be shared, as it both explains the importance of discos to the gay community as well as the role of uninhibited sexuality in the community’s freedom from oppression.
After the First Party, the Saint dance club became the “hottest, most exclusive ticket in town,” partly because of its astounding technology. The Saint set “new standards for lighting and sound,” that showcased the truly unique properties of a club with a planetarium inside of it (McEwan, 39). According to Jason McCarthy, the former night manager of the Saint, the planetarium dome of the club “was like a canvas” (qtd. in McEwan, 39). Lights “aimed at the [dome from the] mothership, from the base of the walls and from the catwalk that circled the outside of the dome” (qtd. in McEwan, 39). The effect of the multitude of lights cast onto the dome was breathtaking; splendid stars and psychedelic designs delighted audiences as they danced beneath the large dome. Susan Tomkin, Bruce Mailman’s assistant, states that “being under the dome on the crowded dance floor with the lights and the stars was a spectacular visual experience that if you didn’t have, you’ll never know” (qtd. in McEwan, 40). Tomkin’s declaration demonstrates the impossibility of conveying any true experience of the Saint to a person who has neither seen, felt, heard, nor entered the club. Essentially, without experiencing the Saint firsthand, men and women will never truly know what it meant to dance under the Saint’s dome.
The Saint aroused a spiritual thrill in its masses. Many have described the disco as a deliverer of near religious rapture. Frank Courson, a management consultant in Manhattan, describes the Saint as a temple (McEwan, 40). Author Jonathan McEwan expounds upon Courson’s claim in his 1994 article entitled “The Saint Goes On.” McEwan explains that the Saint had “four opposing entrances that led to the circular dance floor, an icon of worship (the mirror ball) and even an altar (the DJ booth). The DJ played a liturgy designed to engage the congregation in ritualistic dance” (40). Thus, the Saint seemed to provide the services a traditional church would. Going to the Saint certainly provided experiences that many would call religious; however, devout members of the Saint were not puritan men solely concerned with enjoying the night’s music or getting emotionally stimulated (McEwan, 40). Men chased the high of unreserved worship, which lasted for hours, beginning Saturday night and concluding on the following Sunday afternoon (McEwan, 40). During this time, deliciously “decadent” drug use and sexual pursuits sinfully silhouetted the Saint against its rather innocent namesake (Rist, 18). Author Darrell Yates Rist remembers “a perpetually euphoric storm of orgies in the balcony above the planetarium dome” as well as an “endless fountain of drugs from […] men who themselves were intoxicating” (18). What was saintly about Mailman’s disco was not its innocence, but its absolute embrace of male pleasure.
Stories of the Saint – Chapter 3: The Trip
to be special, to be beloved
Open only on Saturdays and Sundays, the Saint made sure to wow crowds with unique experiences every time they attended the club (McEwan, 40). Former manager of the Saint Joel Teitelbaum notes that on Saturday the staff of the club would “set up art installations or fill the club with balloons and cotton clouds. Then, right after the last dancer left on Sunday afternoon, a crew would remove all traces of the Saturday night party and reset the lights so that Sunday’s would be completely different” (qtd. in McEwan, 40). The continuous production of remarkable art for the promotion and adornment of the Saint gratified members and visitors by making them feel “special” every time they walked into the club (qtd. In Rist, 17). Other discotheques attracted celebrities as famed, esteemed guests, yet at the Saint, “no one looked at other people” (qtd. in Rist, 17). The people themselves “were the stars,” and the Saint devoted every passionate night to its audience so that each person there could receive the best experience possible (qtd. in Rist, 17). Parties at the Saint were planned ahead to an impressive amount of detail; (McEwan, 40). DJs contained playlists of songs to which they envisioned specific staging cues (such as the descent of the mirror ball, or the appearance of the stars) being enacted. The Saint dance club’s unique holiday schedule also challenged staff members to entertain crowds according to different themes (McEwan, 40).
DJ performances at the Saint also contributed to the club’s dominion of disco. In Brooks Peters’ 1994 article “The Sexual Revolution Mailman Delivered,” Michael Fierman, an esteemed DJ of the Saint, explains that DJs had a responsibility to “make a musical statement” (qtd. in Peters, 140). At the Saint, evenings were given structure by the DJ’s desire to “take the crowd someplace” (qtd. in Peters, 140). Their desire to establish a musical journey developed into a methodological procedure for eliciting various emotions from their audience. First, lighter fare music escalated intoHi-NRG music (now known as EDM or electronic dance music in 2017). Then those Hi-NRG “hard-driving beats” would melt into “melodic morning music,” before concluding with songs later classified as “sleaze” (Weinstein). Sleaze described the swoon of romantic ballads that cascaded from the Saint’s planetarium dome like stardust.
Joel Teitelbaum witnessed the transcendent nature of music and dance in the Saint. He states that dancing at the Saint was “a kind of trip […] that started around midnight and didn’t reach its destination until 2:00 the next afternoon” (qtd. in McEwan, 39). The trip that Teitelbaum references symbolizes the ability of the Saint to transport crowds to a spiritually resonant realm. Carol Cooper cites Chaka Khan, the Emotions, and The Talking Heads, as famed performers of music traditionally played at The Saint (162-163). According to author Jonathan McEwan, songs fitting the club’s “interstellar” theme such as “Rocket to Your Heart” by LISA and “Trippin’ On The Moon” by Cerrone were also “instant Saint standards” (38).
Unfortunately, despite all the liberation the Saint stirred in its gay members, many populations in the queer community never directly received a similar hearty welcome. John Preston recounts that at the Saint there was “a sense of exclusion of those [individuals] who weren’t pretty enough” (qtd. in Peters, 141). Author Brooks Peters states that black people “complained” that they were discriminated against at the Saint because they did not fit the culturally-imposed ‘ideal’ gay man or woman, who were white (141). Peters also notes that “drag queens were definitely not welcome” at the Saint and that lesbians were just “not included” (141). Others steered clear of the Saint by their own volition; the sexual nature of the club was off-putting to them. Critics of the Saint believed that gay liberation should not be equated with promiscuous and anonymous sex, however, others felt that their physical excursions in disco clubs like the Saint were freeing and necessary (Peters).
The Saint was nevertheless highly influential despite these internal debates.
Bruce Mailman was an entrepreneur based in New York City, U.S.A. who was integral in providing sensual havens for the gay community during the 1970s and 1980s (Peters). In the eras of the Sexual Revolution and of disco culture, Bruce Mailman endeavored to engineer an oasis of open desire and free expression in which gay men could engage (Peters). To do this, Mailman first created the St. Marks Baths, a bathhouse described by author Jonathan McEwan as an “exciting place in which to enjoy the pleasures of the then unhindered sexual revolution” (36). Later, Bruce Mailman founded the Saint disco club, which, to many, came to represent the apotheosis of the disco era.
Mailman’s inventiveness sculpted the Saint into a matchless, mammoth disco. Born in Chester, Pennsylvania, U.S.A. to a family of merchants, Bruce Mailman first developed his creative spirit through thespian engagements. In high school, Mailman became involved in art, theater, and music. He went on to attend Temple University and the Tyler School of Fine Art in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Later, after he graduated with a master’s degree from New York University in the early 1960s, Mailman met his long-time partner, John, a cardiologist. Together, Mailman and John began to invest in real estate, whilst Mailman started producing his own creative works and plays (Peters, 140).
Mailman’s enterprising attitude helped him succeed as both an entrepreneur and an investor; importantly, many of Mailman’s businesses were spaces that encouraged the gay community to live openly and freely (McEwan, 36). Several experiences in Mailman’s life inspired him to create such liberating environments. When he was four years old, Mailman observed a man wearing a “suede jacket without a shirt on underneath” walk into his father’s store. He remembers wanting the man to remove the jacket; he “knew it wasn’t right, [but] didn’t know why.” (qtd. in Peters, 140). Additionally, though he knew of other gay men in university, Mailman still “had to hide” his sexuality. He pronounces that, at the time, being gay was “mysterious, like being part of a private society. […] There was no openness” (qtd. In Peters, 140). Mailman despised this obligatory charade and desired to counter his lingering internalization of the country’s homophobia. For many, the 1969 Stonewall Riots realized Mailman’s aspiration for he and other gay men to be out and honest. Mailman hoped the fierce resilience that arose in the gay community during this time would create an unapologetic sentiment among gay men. It was time to be frank, and it was time to have pride (Peters, 140).
come as you are
At first, gay men did not seek familiarity from one another; most preferred to remain closeted by keeping their nightly escapades private and maintaining their anonymity, even in seemingly safe spaces. Mailman knew well that being gay was “dangerous,” but the shame of some of the men he saw was disheartening (qtd. in Peters, 140). Mailman found it strange, and sad, that “people wouldn’t sign their own names [at gay bars],” and that men were “very embarrassed to see someone they knew on the street” (qtd. in Peters). His observations demonstrate the stifled nature of gay identity during his youth in the 1960s, which Mailman yearned to combat. He intended to untie the fists of gay men bound to closetedness by creating a community where people could be “honest” with each other and with themselves (qtd. in Peters).
Mailman’s particular philosophy of honesty generally manifested itself as a type of sexual expression; at Mailman’s own St. Marks Baths, the physical rapture and release from oppressive confinement exhilarated many customers (Peters, 80). Attracting millions of dollars per year, the St. Marks Baths became synonymous with the 1970s gay and queer culture. Visitors and staff members indulged carnal pleasures on every one of the bathhouse’s five floors; the sexual revolution was truly ablaze (Peters). One visitor to the Baths states that “if you didn’t like the baths, you had to examine yourself. Maybe you had a serious case of self-loathing, or maybe you hadn’t gotten the message. It was part of the culture to have a lot of anonymous sex” (qtd. in Peters). This quote shows how Mailman’s equation of genuineness with uninhibited sexuality was a commonplace ideology in the 1970s.
However, the men who attended the Baths connected more than just their bodies. Mailman’s bathhouse was also a “gay social scene” that affirmed the identity and increased the fraternity and camaraderie among the young men there (McEwan, 36).
In the early 1980s, the St. Marks Baths became known as the “epicenter” of a deadly disease later known as AIDS (Peters, 82).
During this time, Bruce Mailman was accused of being an exploitative, “merciless profiteer” when he “resisted shutting down the baths early in the AIDS crisis” (Peters, 82).
To Mailman, the St. Marks Baths were a “hard-won symbol of fraternity, equality, and liberty.” Author Brooks Peters explains that the “right to be a homosexual man without harassment from society was closely linked to the right to have promiscuous sex.”
Civil rights was on Mailman’s mind when he failed to close the Baths as early as critics wanted him to. Anyway, Mailman believes that more would have been done to “control the epidemic” during the virus’s germination period in 1980, but no one knew of the impending public health crisis back then (qtd. in Peters, 82).
To Mailman, accusations against him presented an argument based on hindsight bias. Critics falsely believed that Mailman should have been better able to protect his customers against a disease that only seems predictable in hindsight. In reality, AIDS descended without warning.
Additionally, the AIDS crisis was exacerbated, not only by what some consider to be the failures of individuals, but also by governmental neglect. The Reagan administration remained silent whilst AIDS devastated the gay community. Kenneth Bunch, or Sister Vicious Power Hungry Bitch of the order of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, felt afraid that the gay community would “disappear” because of AIDS, but the government proved its ugliness through gross inaction (qtd. in La Ganga).
To what extent would Mailman, as an individual, have been able to alleviate the severity of the AIDS when the federal government itself refused to acknowledge the thousands of sick and dying men and women?
Research into AIDS was not being funded. Healthcare provisions were abysmal. The gay community was forsaken.
The government had abandoned its responsibility for its citizenry because of homophobia, ignorance, spite, and indifference.
A binary that persisted throughout the crisis described AIDS as a gay cancer. AIDS affected the gay community, not anyone else, not anyone normal. A blatant segregation of consciousness stated that AIDS has nothing to do with us, and everything to do with them. The government felt no responsibility for heathens.
a conservative manipulation
Tom Steele wrote that AIDS was like a “shark attack” (qtd. in Peters, 82).
For a while, New York experienced a “dreadfully grim” period of despair in which a “sexual shutdown” created an emotional “black hole” (qtd. in Peters, 82).
Pat Buchanan and William F. Buckley, two conservative commentators at the time, began to advocate for “quarantine camps,” and “tattooing,” in response to the AIDS crisis, procedures reminiscent of the protocols of Nazi concentration camps. By condemning him and “not supporting the [St. Marks] baths,” Mailman believes the gay community was “really feeding into the hands of the right wing” (qtd. in Peters, 82).
Bruce Mailman insists that in 1983 the Baths were doing more good than harm in the gay community. His bathhouse offered counseling and distributed condoms in packages that read: “The contents of this envelope can save your life” (qtd. in Peters, 82). Still, he continued to be villainized.
To Mailman, it is clear that the media hoped to scapegoat a distinguished gay businessman in New York City in order to “appease people’s hysteria” (Peters, 82).
But is it just to fault one man for the devastation that resulted from a complex network of inaction and ignorance? Mailman wondered why members of the gay community would blame him or themselves for a disease that was unpredictable and, thus, uncontrollable.
His next business venture similarly entered a cloud of contention, just as the St. Marks Baths did.
According to Janece Shaffer, the Communications Director at the NAMES Project AIDS Memorial Quilt, the size of the Saint disco club’s singular memorial panel is much larger than the average panel submitted to the quilt. Typically, panels are3×6 feet (0.9×1.8 meter); however, the size of this quilt is that of an entire 12×12 foot (3.7×3.7 meter) “block” (“AIDS Memorial Quilt”).Blocks are usually composed of eight individual 3×6 foot (0.9×1.8 meter) panels, yet this block is its own individual dedication (“FAQs”).
The primary colors featured in the quilt are black, burgundy, and silver, though there are exceptions; the quilt’s inky colors evoke a funereal quiet. Many of the objects on the block have been stitched onto an expanse of either black or burgundy felt material, which raises them from the quilt’s flat surface. Three prominent features of block 1087 are its moon-like mirror ball, its expanse of golden five-pointed stars, and its colorful light structure (read more about this block).
In this essay, I intend to address how disco clubs liberated the gay and queer community in New York City by offering a historical account of the disco movement as well as a narrative of its seeming culmination in the creation of the Saint dance club. This paper will examine the effect of AIDS on the gay disco generation by honing in on remembrances and discussions of the Saint and other disco clubs in New York City.
My position on this topic will address the complexity of the influence of erotic social scenes, such as the Saint or founder Bruce Mailman’s other creation, the St. Marks Baths, on the spread of AIDS. I will attempt to answer the question that dominates Bruce Mailman’s controversy: did he condone the spread of AIDS through his refusal to close down his businesses? Was Mailman really a “merciless profiteer” who continued to ruthlessly benefit from the sex that took place in his establishments, despite growing awareness that HIV/AIDS was sexually transmitted (Peters, 82)? Neither a ruthless villain nor a sinless business owner, Bruce Mailman is a man who believed that he was protecting and affirming the civil rights of his customers.
My essay will first begin with a description of Bruce Mailman’s biography as well as a discussion of his philosophy towards gay male identity. Then, I will detail Bruce Mailman’s inspirations for the Saint dance club and examine the evolution of the extraordinary discotheque. I will conclude with an analysis of the impact of Mailman’s creation, as well as reactions to the onslaught of AIDS in the gay community and what that meant for the reputation of the Saint.
By describing the lifetime of the Saint, I will expand upon the current general knowledge of the disco era and make the details of disco’s presence in the 80s known. I will display the interaction between the gay community and the disco community by demonstrating the formation of the gay community around gay clubs that embraced the sexual liberation of the disco era (“Chapter 4: The Era”). As discos became cultural emblems of the gay community, their musical, physical, and emotional embrace liberated both young men and women by providing the space for their self-determination and youthful exploration (“Chapter 3: The Trip”).
I hope to increase awareness of the different ways that AIDS destroyed disco culture and the continuation of gay history. Once the disease disseminated throughout disco clubs and the larger gay community, AIDS ruptured the vitality of gay oral history. Death, sickness, and the isolation of the epidemic’s survivors disrupted the narrative of the gay disco generation (Peters, 143). Block 1087 captures only a fragment of the Saint’s significance.
Large, The Saint At. SUBmerged: The Black Party 2016 Trailer, 2016. https://vimeo.com/156787064.
underwater, sunken and submerged
The Black Party arouses and praises acts of Domination, submission, sadomasochism, and other explicit play (mature content: general information about BDSM).
Performances at the Black Party cover a broad range of activities, including, famously, a boa constrictor, according to Darrell Yates Rist’s article. This video advertises the Saint-at-Large’s 2016 spring Black Party.
Entitled SUBmerged: The Black Party 2016 Trailer, the video is marked as mature on its host site, Vimeo.
Within the first four seconds of the video, the words THE SAINT AT LARGE PRESENTS materializes on the screen. In what appears to be a bold white Arial font, the opening announcement emerges atop a black and gray background of viscous bullet-like shapes. These black gelatinous forms start shooting up from the bottom of the video frame like bullets, spiking to random heights to an unknown beat until the forms closest to the middle rise to the top of the frame and the words THE SAINT AT LARGE PRESENTS disappear.
The sound of a radar’s ping prompts the next images of the video to appear. Three old TVs sit side by side and depict the searching triangular slice of a submarine radar in a sea green color. The two TVs on either side of the middle TV depict flickering images of a radar’s grid and seem to be experiencing static.
An audio recording of a male voice repeating unintelligible words and the word “dive” begins.
Then, the TV in the middle showcases the text RITES XXXVII, denoting the 37th Black Party celebration. The TVs are barely illuminated and are framed by a dark, shadowy background. They seem to be experiencing interruptions in their signals.
With another sound of the radar’s ping, the image flashes to a singular TV with the same evergreen shade as background, whose center x axis along a typical Cartesian or rectangular coordinate system contains the words THE BLACK PARTY in the same font presented at the beginning of the video.
The image continues to flicker, before it becomes obscured by arrows and other geometric patterns.
The suggestion of an interrupted transmission evokes the presence of something haunted.
Next, the word SUBMERGED appears in thicker, bigger white font. The word “dive” is repeated with increasing volume. SUBMERGED flickers like a light, then disappears into a shifting gray ocean from its perch within a cloudy, overcast sky. The video turns black.
Then, suddenly at around 15 seconds, the tempo of the video rapidly increases. An alarm sounds from the video’s audio as a red light surrounded by white and gray water and a red warning symbol (typically associated with radiation warnings) flash across the screen.
Black dye diffuses in a red koolaid-like liquid. Green tentacles wiggle through red water, stirring large bubbles.
Two men engage in a heated wrestling of the arms and torso, their angered faces visible in the black and white film as their metal earrings glint against the incoming light. The men’s muscles bulge, and their closely-shaved Mohawks reveal pulsing veins in their foreheads. Random numbers, symbols, and letters appear in small, gray font across the clip of the wrestling men in an upside down triangle shape that has a bar running through it.
Their pearly white teeth glint.
The symbol for anarchy (an A inscribed within a circle) opens the next sequence of images.
In between flashes of the caution symbol is a clip of an anonymous male dripping in the black viscous fluid found at the beginning of the video. His body, though covered in the sliding black liquid, is otherwise naked. His eyes are closed and his head lolls to his right side as his back arches. His photo remains still, and is soon superimposed by an upside down crimson triangle. The triangle is outlined in a lighter red strip with a line cutting beneath its top point (near the bottom), which then disappears, taking the man with it.
reach, glide, hands, octopi
Eight TVs flicker green images of radar scans, and the sound of the alarm calms to a rapid sputtering of radar beeps.
Gray octopus tentacles sway in black waters, before the video quickly cuts to clawed hands dripping in similar black viscous fluid as they disconnect from each other in a slow parting.
Bare tan skin lies stark against the black liquid netted on its surface. An arrow on what appears to be a sphygmomanometer, which measures blood pressure, swings back and forth. A hand clenches a red object beside a naked man’s muscled butt and thigh, around which a black strap squeezes.
Several hands reach across two outstretched legs encased in nearly thigh-high, leather stiletto boots.
The gelatinous fluid reappears, as well as a green, smooth tentacle which swishes out of frame and leaves only red water. A symbol of a trident whose handle tip is inscribed within a triangle appears within a plethora of similar small numbers and letters as those seen earlier in the video.
These images last for less than half a second on the screen.
The radiation symbol once again appears in red.
A steady club beat opens the next succession of images.
Glitching gray text informs the viewer of the music artists who will be performing at the 37th Black Party.
Their names type across the video screen swiftly, appearing under the header MUSIC.
Following the presence of this text are more octopus tentacles, which first wave through iron-colored waters as rusty limbs. Next, the tentacles reflect a greenish color at the viewer from within rose-wine illuminated waters, rippling like ribbons across the screen. WITH is the header that announces the final three musical acts to be seen at the 2016 Black Party, which include Massimiliano Pagliara (click here for more information about Pagliara, but you must have a Facebook account to view it), Ron Like Hell (click here and here for more information about Ron Like Hell), and Will Automagic (click here for an additional profile on Will Automagic).
A sound like static emits from the video as the gelatinous goo vibrates. The symbol of chaos, which is represented by eight arrows piercing out from the circumference of a circle, appears twice in different scarlet red designs over a circle of darker red water through which black dye diffuses. A clawed hand covered in black gelatinous goo reaches out from within the bullet-like stalagmites seen at the beginning of the video, and the sound of static and white noise intensifies.
Thick octopus arms, complete with suckers, extend from an unseen center body.
The octopus arms are as thick as human arms or calves; they twist in gray water in a counter-clockwise motion before the image transforms into a clip of several masked and anonymous shirtless men reaching along the bare legs encased in the boots from earlier. Most of these lean men wear various hoods found in Dom/sub play, including a leather skin that obscures the entire face, and an elastic mask with eye holes and a mouth hole. One wears a gas mask.
The pentacle, or symbol of witchcraft denoted by a pentagram inscribed within a circle, appears upside down in red over a lighter red nautical grid. A blip in the sound of static is soon perceived.
Green clawed hands sweep across a phallic structure in water, with another sudden blip unveiling a close-up of a gray face, over which an octopus arm sweeps. The right eye of this face is startling, both because of its wideness and because of its white iris. The man appears to be screaming, with an open mouth, yet only soft echos dominate the audio track at this point in the video.
In the next scene, however, as tentacles frame his face, the man’s head appears tilted back, away from the camera. His half-lidded eyes peer beneath his eyelashes and his mouth opens slightly, as if in a gasp.
The audio sounds like a soft wind and remains subtle for the next few images. Orange octopus arms, lit by a white light, drift close by the camera’s lens. Individual suckers can be examined for their size and shape.
A man’s tilted face, framed by light brown stubble, rests beneath the same dripping black viscous liquid as before. The liquid reaches the corner of his mouth and slides off his lip.
There is an extreme close-up on the man’s face in this shot; only the mouth, nose, and part of his neck is visible.
Next the camera gives the viewer a closeup of the same man’s chest, which is covered in the black liquid. He slides a hand down his right pec.
Then, the two wrestling men from before rest their foreheads against one another as a tone sounds from the previously quiet audio.
white eyes, bright eyes
The same white eyes from before now stare into the camera from within a black hood. The person fits into the center of the frame exactly.
The black hood the person wears covers his or her entire face, and visibly stretches across his or her nose and cheeks. Lips seem to be visible, but have likely been painted black so that they could blend into the surrounding fabric. Or this person’s lips may be concealed by the hood. It is hard to tell.
The white eyes continue to stare intensely and directly into the camera.
The person wearing the hood appears to be crouched or hunched.
Bare shoulders are visible beside the person’s face, and the person’s skin, particularly the creases found around his or her exposed collarbones, is illuminated by a red light that shines from beneath their body.
What I have just described of this hooded figure is the top half of this particular image.
The bottom half of the image acts like a reflection of the top half.
On the bottom, the person’s face appears upside down, and his or her eyes stare at the camera less noticeably. The entire “reflection” is subdued and softened by the black shadows that surround it, whereas the top half of the image stands out due to its ominously red spotlight.
Soon, these faces disappear with a sound somewhat similar to crinkling newspaper or a camera shutter.
HOOKS IN YOUR FLESH
Two men in gas masks stare each other down under green lighting as they stand with their arms braced against the other’s neck and back, respectively. A radar scans over their image, before the man on the left pushes his companion away. The image flickers to the same sound of static or crinkling newspaper.
The steady club beat from before reenters the video, increasing the pace of the images once more.
Green and blue bars fly across the screen, and the scene changes to a man in a beige gas mask, whose eyes are just barely visible, cradling the man from earlier, whose thigh and butt was encased in a black harness (though only a strap was visible at the time). The piece of clothing he wears is likely a jockstrap.
The man who wears the gas mask, which has a black mouthpiece, has tan skin, and may or may not be naked. His thighs and chest are completely bare, and only the other man he holds blocks the viewer’s view of his genitals.
The man being held has silver hair and smokey eye makeup. He is pale and possesses a neck tattoo as well as a sleeve tattoo on his right arm. His stomach is lightly muscled, and his legs are bent. The other man holds him underneath his back and his knees.
The other man is sitting down, and the tattooed man rests on his lap, sideways. His head lolls to the left in open air. The backdrop of the two figures is a molten gray.
The steady bass beat picks up with a bit of an electronic melody.
Small numbers and letters cross the screen in the pattern of the anarchy symbol and pulse over the two men. The two figures disappear leaving a black background beneath the white and gray anarchy symbol, before reappearing, then flashing away to reveal a mirror image of the hooded face from before.
The person wears a black hood and has white irises and looks at the camera with an open mouth. Orange tendrils divide the screen between the two nearly identical faces.
Red vats of boiling liquid appear, and the words STRANGE LIVE ACTS strike across the screen in the same thick font used to announce the musical artists. The music has a prominent melody now, and sounds like something you would hear in a club.
The next clip shows a person’s skin being punctured by a gold metal hook under bright fluorescent lighting.
The hook looks like a bait hook, and its place of piercing lies next to a bloody 6 inch line of metal additions. The camera pans out and focuses on a similar golden hook already pierced in that body’s expanse of skin.
What might be a silver fish’s open red and orange mouth appears in the next clip.
The next clip really flutters one’s stomach; it depicts forceps pulling out something clear from beneath the skin of an indescribable mass. I would guess that the the lens of a fish eye is being removed by the metal tool. I can not be sure. A nautical grid overlays these gray and white images.
The next image portrays a similar monochromatic scheme.
A merman’s swaying tail appears in gray atop a starry black background. The camera zooms out to reveal the entire body of the figure, whose tail appears to be confined in a starry underwater environment. The merman bobs up and down lightly and is the same tattooed man who was being cradled in the lap of another earlier. This man has the same tattoos, and now wears black gloves. His arms are bent at the elbows and are raised on the level of his shoulders, with his palms facing the water below him. He has been illuminated with white light from his right side, though the image remains black, white, and gray.
An upside down pentacle appears on the screen once more, in gray, atop the merman’s body. It’s quite large. Then the pentacle changes design and appearance, and appears smaller, covering most of the merman’s tail, and not his entire body. The music continues to intensify.
DRESS: HEAVY are the next words to appear on the screen (in the same font as the other words, if not a little bigger this time. Condensation drips down the words.
Next, a flurry of images beat across the screen to the sound of melodic sixteenth notes. The images are of octopus arms the color of oxidized iron whirling back and forth in active white waters frothing with bubbles. These images move at a lightning speed and comprise a narrative about as long as a second.
Then, the music cools off into a sound of an indistinguishable mash of techno voices, and the video slows its pace.
a heated caress
At this point, a man wearing a black jock strap faces away from the viewer, so that his bare butt is visible. His arms are flexed at his sides, as another male caresses leather-gloved fingers down his behind, slightly squeezing it.
The beat picks back up.
Then the clawed hands seen earlier in the video begin to hold the long, phallic shape (which has a pointed end, like an eel) in either palm against a lime green backdrop.
Again, someone appears to poke around a fish eye.
The wrestling men reappear and arm wrestle as they glare each other down.
The man on the right is shorter than his companion.
The wrestling men still appear in black and white, yet this time they have the nautical grid superimposed on them, which almost looks like the lens through which a sniper might view a target.
Flames dance over the image of the wrestling men before a man smoking a cigar and wearing a garrison cap appears behind a porthole framing. He wears the same necklace as the shorter wrestler and appears to have the same tattoos. This is the first time the viewer will have seen this man face on, instead of from his left side.
The phallic, eel-like forms reappear in red water and in four reflections of each other, with each shaft pointing from the center of the video frame. The upside down triangle with the bar crossing through it reappears as well.
The upside down pentacle is expressed in thin white lines over an open fish eye.
The hooded figure with the white eyes appears underwater, and bubbles sprout to the surface.
The symbol of chaos reappears over a black background before transitioning to the image of the men caressing the booted legs between them. Their hands reach up, up, and up until they touch the top of the screen.
Octopus arms lick around their figures as the music fades to the quiet gurgling and breathy sounds of underwater existence, before picking back up with an image of the phallic eel and sphygmomanometer. The arrow gauge on the clock-like device swings back and forth on the right side of the instrument. It is not exactly like a sphygmomanometer, or even a speedometer, because the numbers on this device increase in increments of 100 from 0 to 1000.
Next, we see the two wrestling men making out or kissing passionately (with tongue).
More octopus arms gleam gray in the video frame. At one point the tentacles turn colorful and expand like a flower in the center of the frame, before shivering downwards and turning gray again.
The men wearing the various hoods and masks reach the feet of the legs wearing the black leather boots, and together, they drag the legs down.
3_19_2016 appears on the screen next, followed by the word BROOKLYN.
This denotes the location and date of the Saint-at-Large’s 2016 Black Party: March 19th, 2016 in Brooklyn.
The heavy club beat that had been recently narrating the video’s rapid imagery drops off to a tinny noise within the last frames of the video.
BLACKPARTY.COM is the last text of the video, and it is quickly obscured by the previously-seen black bullet-like forms pulsating from the bottom of the video frame.
The video is 1 minute and 15 seconds long.
about the video
The text in the summarizing section of the video states the following:
“Video Trailer Directed by Rob Roth
For Tickets & More Information: blackparty.com
THE SAINT AT LARGE
THE BLACK PARTY
Saturday March 19, 2016
10 pm until Sunday afternoon
1260 Atlantic Ave, Brooklyn
Main Floor DJs:
Back Room DJs:
Ron Like Hell
Strange Live Acts | Dress Heavy
Set in world of surging oceans and drowning cities, rogue submarines break surface in the black of night to whisk willing survivors to an unregulated subterranean world of brothels, dungeons and decadence.
The Rites of Spring celebration, an intensely immersive environment ignited by world-renowned DJs and infamous Strange Live Acts, has firmly established itself as gay New York’s biggest night of the year.
The nature of this video is intense, and the narrative displayed is extremely fast-paced.
Images flit across the scene, and remain for barely half a second before flashing to another potent, well-crafted, and emotionally-charged photograph or clip. Colorful frames are juxtaposed by dark, monochromatic scenes. The video’s beauty is haunting.
This source does well to display 2016’s Black Party theme, which suggests themes of submersion, water, danger, and maybe even a Little Mermaid-like tale.
The source presents a compelling narrative that arouses the viewer’s interest, increasing the heartbeats of many with its dramatic storytelling.
One of the drawbacks of the source is that some of the images move so fast that one can only glimpse them before they disappear.
However, manually moving the dial on the video to control its pace allows one to view images in more detail, otherwise they move too fast for proper assessment.
This source is digital, so it requires an internet connection to be accessible.
The video does not name any of its actors, creators, or current hosts and organizers of the Saint-at-Large, which might be helpful information for someone who wants to learn more about the Saint-at-Large organization, however, it does offer a link to the organization’s website at the end of the video.
Still, the 2016 Black Party trailer video may still be limited in its impact, if only those with the means to visit the party it is advertising can attend the celebration (people who live close to or in Brooklyn and people who are able to travel there and find housing accommodations are the only ones who could go).
Yet even if the video advertises an unattainable dream for those people who cannot travel to Brooklyn, it still presents many elements of the Saint-at-Large’s creative energy and atmosphere in an impactful way. The viewer should not be disappointed if he or she may only be able to watch a video this time.
The art this organization creates to advertise its holiday events is stunning on its own.