In February 1991, queer writer-director Derek Jarman set out to adapt a 400-year-old Shakespearean play, Edward II, into an avant-garde protest film that he hoped would capture the hostile homophobia of Thatcher-era England in his typical radical fashion. Thirty-five years later, armed with a treasure trove of intoxicating unseen behind-the-scenes footage, writer-director Theo Rollason uses their debut feature to transport viewers to the set and witness history being made. 

With an £800,000 budget – some of that very controversially coming from the BBC – and just five weeks to shoot, Jarman completely re-imagines the story of the gay king who was murdered for his ​“tyrannical” sexuality. The artistry is something to behold, but getting to know Jarman himself is the real jewel of Rollason’s film, and his greatest directorial strength is a clear sense of focus.

In 97 minutes not a single frame is wasted on the uninteresting. Rollason knows that the most intriguing element of his behind-the-scenes documentary isn’t the Shakespearean story Jarman chose to tell – as anyone might fairly expect a film with a Shakespearean title to hone in on – but the man behind the camera. The queer film icon has an absolutely contagious presence; one that makes everything about his trailblazing career make sense. How did a gay man in a world scared of gay men ever define the zeitgeist? How did he get films funded, much less made, with such a subversive perspective? Spend five minutes in his presence, on one of his jubilant sets, and you’ll quickly understand.

He weathers every storm with a soft smile and says things like ​“runcible” and ​“Merchant-Ivory will like this film.” He waxes poetic about falling in love with the film industry after Ken Russell asked him, a mere painter, to design The Devils. Watching Queer Edward II is akin to hanging out with Paul McCartney in The Beatles: Get Back; a well-shepherded unseen footage project that allows us to witness the charisma of these artists in their prime. Both films allow us to easily understand how and why certain time-and space-transcending artists became such. (Rollason gives a brief, flowering history of Jarman that begins with him and David Hockney in the 1960s and ends in the mid-90s in heartbreaking fashion with footage of the filmmaker in exponential decline due to AIDS.)

After watching Queer Edward II, it’s nearly impossible to imagine anyone having spent time in a room with Derek Jarman and not coming out the other side utterly charmed, if not changed on a molecular level. The way he speaks with such calm, endearing confidence infuses his cast and crew (and viewers) with a courage that can’t be thwarted by the powers that be or the social and political threats that hang over the production. Moreover, he’s an effortless thought leader by nature. It’s not just the way Jarman speaks, but the way he thinks and the insight he provides that continually guide his crew toward situational enlightenment.

The portrait of the gentle, honest, fearless Derek Jarman is enough to warrant a watch of Queer Edward II, but there’s so much more to the film. A darling 31-year-old Tilda Swinton traipses casually around the set in preparation and patience. Eventually, we catch glimpses of her delivering the performance that would win her the Volpi Cup for Best Actress at the Venice Film Festival in 1991. On a more zoomed out scale, Rollason’s picture succinctly depicts the universal tribulations of making a film (budgets, schedules, extras, invasive press, suffocating expectations, everything working against the production) and how the best brilliantly navigate it, along with how entrenched the daily fight for queer dignity and equality was at the time. It’s the kind of film, and personality, you have to see to believe.