Iconic queer American photographer Peter Hujar agreed, in December of 1974 — the same year he had a major exhibition of his work that, according to legend, led to a book contract — to narrate the events of a day in his life to writer Linda Rosenkrantz (famed for her novel Talk, which was based on tape recorded conversations she had with friends). Rosenkrantz had the idea of turning the account of a day’s doings into a book — a project she did not complete, but which resulted in a typewritten transcription of Hujar explaining what he had been up to December 18, the day before they met for the marathon taping. That manuscript, rediscovered decades later, has now become a book after all, but, more surprisingly, a movie… or rather, a cinematic cornucopia.

Out actor Ben Whishaw co-stars with Rebecca Hall in Peter Hujar’s Day , an unexpectedly captivating two-hander, with Whishaw adopting an American accent and a charming affect while Hall radiates charisma simply by listening and adding the occasional question or comment. Hujar is so obliging to Rosenkrantz’s request for an accounting of the minutiae of his day that he offers a wealth of detail that could feel trivial — and often is trivial, and yet often carries a charge of fascination: The man compulsively drawing squares while awaiting an order at a Chinese restaurant, for instance; the amount of change Hujar got back when he paid for a pack of cigarettes with a $10 note; the friend who phoned him up to announce his erotic doings of the moment; and, of course, this being the New York arts scene in 1974, Hujar’s New York Times assignment to photograph Alan Ginsberg, as well as his musings on friends like Susan Sontag and Fran Liebowitz.

Hujar could easily have chatted about any of a number of luminaries, having worked with Andy Warhol and been, for a brief time, a lover of painter David Wojnarowicz. His description of the day includes a need for naps, a cadre of oddball buddies (one of whom drops by to take a shower), and discussions of his work: Could he perhaps arrange to take William S. Burroughs’ portrait? Can he salvage the sparkless photos he took of Ginsberg? As with any natural flow of discourse, certain motifs surface time and again, and Rosencrantz’s well-placed comments give us greater insight into both herself and Hujar. It’s in one brief exchange that the film’s core essence can be discerned, when they agree that they both often have a sense of accomplishing hardly anything at all on any given day — a startling admission for two high-achieving people, but one to which any ordinary mortal can relate.

Ira Sachs (a filmmaker with an unrivaled sense for queer life and queer cinema, having made notable films like Love is Strange and Passages) punctuates Hujar’s recitation with moments both ethereal (Mozart plays while Hujar and Rosenkrantz fall silent and stare into space, lovely afternoon light falling across them or the evening’s dusk gathering) and meta (we glimpse the sound guy setting up a microphone over the actors for an outdoors scene). The movie feels like it could have been made in the 1970s, with film grain shimmering and tiny imperfections flickering by while the lighting — so natural looking as to qualify for Dogma 95 status — imparts a sense of time and place, the day waxing and waning as the duo move around in a Rosencrantz’s apartment.

Films like this attract adjectives like “quirky” and “brave.” In this case, those lukewarm words fall short. There’s humor and deep emotion under the placid surface of this talkfest, but not a trace of the jokey gab that fills faux documentaries famed for their verbiage (such as My Dinner with Andre). Hujar almost speaks in photographs, his imagery direct and his participation unhesitating, while Rosencrantz, perhaps subconsciously, helps guide and shape the flow of words.