It’s tempting to watch Blue now and view it first and foremost as Jarman's swan song, the grace note he left us with, etc. Time has allowed a work like this to become something canonized, stately, funereal.
but Blue also contains so much of Jarman’s insolence, as confronting as it is elegiac (“We would wish our lives to be recorded in an oratorio by Beethoven or Mozart, not in the auction sale of a Keith Haring tea towel.") The simulcast…