Long live the New York auteur! But, where have they all gone? Curiously, Michael Atkinson’s essay, “Whatever Happened to the New York Auteur?” omitted the dynamic Ira Sachs, whose eclectic cinematic universe is often rooted in Brooklyn, Manhattan, or sister boroughs. Sachs’ “Peter Hujar’s Day” (2025) had its New York premiere at the New York Film Festival, and it’s a return home for the director after a couple overseas detours, most recently he rambunctious, horny roundelay “Passages” (2023). But unlike the kinetic French energy in “Passages” or the shattering heartbreaker “Love is Strange” (2014), Sachs’ latest is a claustrophobic affair, keeping the city’s chaos at a remove, confining the only two characters to a space that is, admittedly, luxurious by Manhattan standards. And so this stylish two-hander coasts through a surprisingly strained hour-plus run-time, looking and sounding (those accents!) like a genuine artifact, but never quite justifying a feature-length close-up.
A scroll of onscreen text introduces the film’s conceit and source material: in 1974, the writer Linda Rosenkrantz (Rebecca Hall, nailing the phlegmy, guttural nuances of Bronx-ese) interviewed her friend, the star photographer Peter Hujar (Ben Whishaw) for what she intended to be part of a larger anthology profiling how extraordinary artists spend their mostly ordinary days. Of course, even the lunch plans of a famous New York photographer in the 1970s might necessitate some name-dropping, and Sachs’ screenplay (based on a Rosenkrantz’s transcript) gleefully rattles off the copious luminaries (Allen Ginsberg, William Burroughs, Susan Sontag) who crossed and deflected off Hujar’s daily orbit. While Whishaw’s droll delivery and effortlessly slinky physicality (not to mention his accent) grabs each frame and commands attention, the script’s reliance on starry gossip becomes a crutch, wearing off its warm welcome and shrinking Hujar in relation to his anecdotes.
A Credible New York Guide
As a hang-out film, it’s a joy to witness Hall and Whishaw dishing. When Hujar’s mind wanders off topic or Rosenkratz completes his sentence, there’s a tender glimpse of mutual love, and genuine care for the other person’s health and hygiene. (“I think you’re malnourished,” says Linda to Peter after he relays that he’d only had a liverwurst sandwich for lunch.) An arresting backdrop is a given, and Cinematographer Alex Ashe bathes the city in a stripped down, wintry haze, which to me, stirred up anxiety for the colder months ahead. But, besides Rosenkrantz’s passion project, the film doesn’t establish well its emotional stakes, and the meandering conversation strives more for entertainment than enlightenment. Granted, that’s not to diminish the story’s worth or complain that it’s being told, I just found myself wondering if a more suitable format might have been an Off-Broadway stage or a smaller screen.
Atkinson’s essay called out John Cassavetes’ rule-shattering “Shadows” (1959) for speaking to “what life was like right here.” Sachs’ newest New York film weds a bit too much to that idea, amounting to an lengthy journal entry rather than an attempt to define an era—or at least a time and place. The title doesn’t lie, but it sets a ceiling on the film’s ambition. So while “Hujar’s Day” is faithful to its subjects, Sachs seems to settle at that accomplishment: to dictate, instead of recreate. And so “Hujar’s Day” disappoints compared to Sachs’ own high standards, which rose after a decade-long winning streak of skillfully and humanely blending the light and dark (“Love is Strange,” “Frankie”), sexy and ugly (“Passages”). Still, for a zoom back in on what the downtown arts scene looked like on a micro level, Sachs is a credible guide, a consummate New York auteur.
“Peter Hujar’s Day,” a Janus Films release, screens at the New York Film Festival on September 27th and 28th. It opens in theaters on November 7th.
