James Lyons 1960-2007

I am incredibly saddened and shocked by the news that James Lyons, my editor on Shooting Porn, has passed away. I loved working with this man. He taught me so much and I taught him nothing. It was a completely one-sided relationship. I've never worked with another person who I trusted more. I knew that I was damned lucky to have him on my film. We never socialized outside of the editing room but for 6 months, while working together, I felt like we were brothers. We haven't stayed in touch through the years but certain people visit your life for a brief time and impact you deeply and they're always with you in a way; that's how I feel about Jim. I'm sad about his death but I'm also angry. He should still be alive, he should still be making movies. He was only 46.

This is from Indiewire:

Remembering Jim Lyons: 1960 - 2007

James Lyons, known for his frequent work with Todd Haynes, died last week in New York. The editor and actor starred in and edited Haynes' "Poison," winner of the Grand Jury Prize at the Sundance Film Festival in 1991. Lyons edited Haynes' other projects: "Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story," "Dottie Gets Spanked," "Safe," "Velvet Goldmine" (for which he also co-wrote the story) and "Far From Heaven." He also edited Esther Robinson's Berlinale Teddy Award winning documentary "A Walk Into the Sea: Danny Williams and the Warhol Factory," which will have its U.S. premiere at the Tribeca Film Festival next week. Born in October of 1960, James Lyons was a member of Act Up and was treated for H.I.V. for many years. He died of cancer on Thursday in a New York City hospital.

Lyons' other editing credits include Sofia Coppola's "The Virgin Suicides," Jesse Peretz's "First Love, Last Rites," and "The Chateau," along with Peter Friedman's "Silverlake Life" and Ronnie Larsen's "Shooting Porn," as well as Dan Harris' "Imaginary Heroes," Christopher Herrmann's "Ghostlight," Erik Skjoldbjaerg's "Prozac Nation," Tom Gilroy's "Spring Forward," Rea Tajiri's "Strawberry Fields," and John Johnson's "Ratchet."

In addition to his work as an actor in "Poison," Lyons also appeared as Billy Name in Mary Harron's "I Shot Andy Warhol," played artist David Wojnarowicz in Steve McLean's "Postcards from America," and also acted in "The Chateau," and Todd Verow's "Frisk."

A memorial visitation will be held today (Tuesday) in Port Washington, NY. In lieu of flowers donations are suggested to the James K. Lyons Memorial Fund, 47 Davis Road, Port Washington, NY 11050.

And here's a lovely piece John Cameron Mitchell (Hedwig) wrote about seeing Jim for the last time:

We met in the early 90's at the "Poison" party at Limelight. He and his boyfriend Todd were impossibly glamorous. I was embarrassed to invite them to see me in "The Secret Garden" where I sang to birds. They came. He said he loved it. I cringed. He was only being kind. We became friends. He was the coolest. Not only did he have great taste, he was also brilliant. And funny! And hot. A dark, sexy, sexual man. Melancholy. We almost worked together but not quite. Two years ago he was going to make his short film. A beautiful story about Andy Warhol going home to feed his cat. A haunting image of him undressing for bed. He's wearing a diamond necklace under his shirt. Then he touches the scar on his chest. From the attempt on his life.

Last Wednesday. I'd been avoiding visiting. Too hard to watch him waste away. I texted him to see if he wanted me to come. No answer. John Bruce said he was too sick for a visit. Jim had been editing John's film from his hospital bed up until a couple of months ago. Terry suddenly called to say that Jim wanted to see us.

Friends in their early middle-age huddle in the cafeteria talking about the new bad news. "He wants to see people in ones and twos." "Hospice care." "Last chance chemo?" "Too weak." Amy says, "I told him there's a time to let go." Jim whispered, "There is a time to rest." What does that mean? A call comes. He's ready to see John and me.

His head is a rotting fruit on a stalk, the oxygen mask like a candy dish on his face. But he's still all there. Still Jim. Responding to the nurse with his funny Long Island Jewish shrugs. "Do you want more pain medicine?" Shrug, like "Meh." He wants to be lucid. "Agitated? Do you want Ativan?" Another shrug, like " What's the point, doll? I'm dying." John and I didn't know what to say. We can't understand his words, only the shrugs, which make us laugh. We don't know if we should. It was hard for him to write, words written over other words, like Cranium when you have to draw blindfolded. I try to make it out: "I don't...have anything to say... except...I love you...guys." We're barely able to speak ourselves. He tries to write again. We can't read it. This upsets him. King Lear: "When you can say it's the worst, it's not the worst." What is this then? Does he need something? He starts to write it again. Oh God. Wait... "What...are...you...up to?" Jesus Christ. I try to be light. "I'm looking at a script. Thinking about acting again. It's about..." He starts to nod off. That's how I felt about the script. The nurse wakes him. She's worried. He starts to write again. I shout out the words like it's a game show: "I need to pee soon!" She says, "You're wearing a catheter, hon. Go ahead." He lets go. A brief moment of relief on his face. We're starting to choke up. I say, "You've got a lot of wonderful friends downstairs, honey. High-caliber friends." He writes. We can't read it. He starts over. He tries to speak. It's a garbled cry. He must be feeling pain. Does he want his mother? She's lying down in the next room. What is he writing? Is the oxygen working? He writes: "High...fiber..count...friends." We burst out laughing. Goddamn it, Jim! "Your timing has not failed you I see. You're like a Beckett character," I say. He nods slowly. It's hard for him to see. I want him to see me seeing him. I move closer and look into his right eye. Very still, we stare, a single eye into a single eye, unblinking. I look so hard into that eye: "I love you. I love you. I love you." He hears. He doesn't blink. He's been so close to death so many times. Never has anyone clung so fiercely to life and been so ready for death. We kiss him on the forehead and mumble a few broken words. We don't want to take up his precious time. There are more people to say goodbye to. More people that he loves and that love him. We go down to the cafeteria and tell Tom that Jim wants to see him now. -- John Cameron Mitchell