The engaging HBO documentary “Rock Hudson: All That Heaven Allowed,” both a guilty pleasure and meaningful slice of queer history, delivers a loving yet irony-laced tribute to a closeted movie icon whose tragic death from AIDS changed the course of the epidemic and cemented his place in LGBTQ lore.

Few figures in Hollywood have influenced our culture more than Rock Hudson, who became a sexy symbol of American masculinity during the 1950s, a time of intense anti-gay fervor and an era when the nation was longing for butch heroes. Then in 1985, this matinee idol’s death from AIDS created cultural shock waves, putting mainstream America on notice about the epidemic and helping open the door for widespread and frank discussions about sexuality. The world has not been the same since.

It’s little wonder that to this day, the life and times of Hudson have attracted significant interest from filmmakers and storytellers. In the case of “All That Heaven Allowed,” director Stephen Kijak skillfully explores Hudson’s unlikely trajectory, from his meteoric rise in the movie business as a closeted gay man to his history-making demise at age 59, all from a queer perspective.

In the opening moments, we learn how in his heyday, Hudson appealed to everyone with his strapping figure and with a stage name that cried out “heteronormative.” Women found a handsome, congenial man they could swoon over, and men discovered a decent, non-threatening man they wanted to emulate.

Kijak frames Hudson as a likable person who embraced his dual lives, one as a Hollywood legend who convincingly played womanizers, the other as an actively gay man whose sexual orientation was known to just about everyone in the film community. Even if there were hints of this open secret outside of Tinseltown, most people didn’t see it — or chose not to see it.

Kijak’s boldest move in this straightforward documentary is to weave in Hudson movie clips that serve not only as an acting reel, but as a running commentary about Hudson’s complicated persona, both on- and offscreen. These uncannily ironic clips, loaded with double meanings about gay bachelors and whatnot, may prompt some of those less familiar with Hudson to check out his filmography.

Occasionally, Kijak overuses the clips, getting in the way of the narrative and powerful testimonials from the likes of actresses Piper Laurie and Kathleen Hughes, who never appear onscreen and provide only a disembodied presence. “Dynasty” co-star Linda Evans offers one of the most emotional interviews, but sadly, we also never see her. Making a stronger impression (and appearing onscreen) is writer Armistead Maupin, who plays a key role in Hudson’s ultimate legacy.

“所有的天堂允许”并不羞于碟形out gossip, whether it’s Hudson’s sexual escapades, pool parties or backstage squabbles with James Dean. Rather than being tawdry, these tidbits serve to humanize Hudson, and remind us that details of his real-life character are in relatively short supply here. Because Kijak is more interested in the big picture of Hudson’s place in queer history, he glosses over the superstar’s troubled family life, drinking and insecurities, leaving us wanting to know more.

It’s apparent from the excellent footage and access that Kijak and his team had an embarrassment of riches at their disposal, and not everything could be stuffed into this 104-minute movie. But whatever the time and space limitations, Kijak’s film will stand as a lasting testament to Hudson’s unlikely mark on history, a fate the towering figure could never have foreseen.

David Lewis is a freelance writer.