gay, who instrumentalized the AIDS crisis to impose their moralism. Alongside the political fight, Crimp and others were trying to maintain sexual camaraderie, love, and friendship in the darkest times. They continued to live. Some conjured death with laughter—Copi’s play Une visite inopportune (1987), Gregg Bordowitz’s “The AIDS Crisis is Ridiculous” (1993)—while acknowledging pain. They taught us that a crisis is never reducible to a well-ordered pathetic script. Decades later, when faced with the legacies of John Giorno and Tom of Finland, Rirkrit Tiravanija and P. Staff were once again confronted with the question of promiscuity. Neither Tiravanija nor Staff attempts to police excess through order. There is no archival impulse, no willingness to create an organized narrative out of the abundance of material. P. Staff doesn’t even open the boxes that contain the drawings. We barely get to see any of Tom of Finland’s celebrated iconography through the film. Is it because the artist is more interested in how a sexual culture exceeds sex? Or is it because carrying someone else’s promiscuity is about maintaining the rhythm, hence the choreography that occupies the second part of the film? Rirkrit Tiravanija provides an answer that is as simple and efficient as Giorno’s poetry. Yes, the artist’s promiscuity is about enthusiasm and enjoyment. The picture is devoid of any ornamentation—Giorno stands in his loft and recites or reads text. But it’s never dry, never boring! He smiles, he looks at the camera, he is agitated, he is animated. He is having fun performing, and we’re having fun watching him. His excess is captivating.
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