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Brokeback Mountain (2005)

There are probably a lot of films out there that don’t get made, for lack of funding, support from producers/directors, a lot of artistic direction which goes unused, untold, uncared for; one of the miracles of life is that Brokeback Mountain, of it all, is something that exists. 

For Annie Proulx’s short story to have been so widely acknowledged and both praised and criticised in 1999, for Ang Lee to be able to direct a feature length film adaptation of it in 2005, starring two young talents whose careers would be defined by these beautiful performances, for it to win three academy awards, to be nominated for five more: every bit of it comes to me as a miracle. 

My favourite element of Proulx’s collection is that she so starkly characterises the Wyoming state as though it can’t possibly exist, entirely fantastical, an extremity, a farce. Namely in People in Hell Just Want a Drink of Water, wherein a disabled, mute young man dies from an infection because his neighbours castrate him with a dirty knife. My personal favourite is The Mud Below, all about a short, smart-ass rodeo cowboy who throws his life away in pursuit of 8 second glory, destroys his body for, nothing, he finds in the end. The collection ends with Brokeback, arguably the most normal and human story, of course the novelty being in the protagonist’s sexualities. And you can feel the fantasy in this film still, the setting, the huge, empty, middle-of-nowhere places Jack and Ennis sneak off to, in Ennis’ recollection of Earl’s corpse as a boy, even in Jack’s death, which we do not truly know the reality of: these all provide some myth to Brokeback, that make you consider perhaps no one lives like this, no one has ever been beaten to death with a tire iron, because Wyoming is not a real place. Interested mostly in geography, Proulx does not hide that the sparsely-populated state comes alive through her stories, and Ang Lee I think does an impeccable job of translating the sentiment. The gushing rivers, empty roads, fierce and strong animals, the unbelievably tiny population, clunky vehicles, characters’ accents, the costuming - each of these factors express the importance of location cleanly. It’s Wyoming that prevents the two coming together as much as it is the thing which puts them beside one another: Wyoming’s storm forces Ennis inside the tent, Wyoming’s hardened landscape keeps his mind small and heart afraid. 

Wyoming does something else, too: it condemns them both. That was Proulx’s prime concern in writing the story and surely Lee’s interest in it, too, since Ennis’ fear and internalised homophobia dominates the narrative so intently. What’s not interesting is the external homophobia they face, because no one is interested in bigotry. The film’s charm is how brazenly homophobic Ennis is, both to himself and Jack. No matter how many times I read or watch Brokeback, I can hardly reconcile just how staunchly familiar the shame, guilt and self-loathing Ennis is so practiced in. His quick and easy violence, the minimal speech, how low he keeps his head: it’s obvious to anyone he loathes himself. But he’s self-righteous, too, and prideful, and determinedly masculine, while strikingly curbed by this self-hatred - it’s a hell of a job from Heath Ledger to have performed so beautifully, an eternally moving piece of art from an insanely talented actor. I think part of what makes Ennis feel so real is this multi-faceted denial and guilt, his queerness and masculine identity coming to a head over his bursting desire and love for Jack, and if you can’t fix it, you’ve got to stand it; Ennis stands it by making himself tough, being gruff and hard, just like Wyoming likes its men, can hardly even keep a woman to stick around, because he is too hard to make love to anyone. 

Wyoming makes Ennis rough, but Brokeback Mountain itself softens him completely. The entire film is freezing cold, the snow storms and frosted rivers and chattering teeth, but that first night Ennis willingly goes to Jack, the glow is warm and he is unclothed and there is heat for once, heat and desire. This intimate scene is my favourite of the whole film, one that doesn’t exist in the original story, and conveys so solidly what is it about Brokeback that gets me so wound up. The pair are only 19 when they go up on Brokeback, but they look younger in the small glow of the tent, namely Ennis of course, whose bashfulness and fear make him so young and sweet. While Jack lies there shirtless, whispering “Its alright, it’s alright,” Ennis yearns to be held, and that is what he cannot reconcile, that he desires comfort and closeness, he doesn’t want to be lonely anymore, and Jack can provide him with that. But a man isn’t supposed to feel lonesome or tired, he is supposed to endure. But "the imagined power of Brokeback Mountain” isn’t strong enough to reach him once he comes off that mountain long enough to fix it, so he stands it, and lives alone in his trailer as an old man, dreaming endlessly of Jack Twist. Although an intimacy scene, Ennis remains clothed, likely because his connection to Jack is not solely sexual; perhaps if it was he would not have been so afraid and ashamed. That scene brings a lurch to my stomach no matter how many times I see it because, in all, shame is almost a pre-requisite for desire, and there’s a staunch hesitation that surely coexists alongside vulnerability. 

[safsunderc]

Queer (2024)

I’ve tried about a hundred times to write this in a delicate and beautiful way, but it's hard to articulate the feelings Luca Guadagnino’s Queer gave me.

I want to start off by acknowledging all the movie aspects of it. The performances, Daniel Craig first and foremost of course, I think allows the film to be as great as it is, he is the entire soul of it, and his performance as Lee is one of the most striking I’ve watched. In a similar essence to other performances I love, Drew Starkey is wonderful in this limited role; Eugene says little, but has lots on his mind, Starkey makes this so evident and, has anyone ever looked so beautiful in a role as he does playing Eugene? The costuming, hair and make-up certainly play a part, but he is simply so chic, so beautiful, so encapsulating. There’s no wonder Lee is so wrapped up in Eugene with him looking and behaving as Starkey does. 

I know I say this about every film I watch, but it was stunning, and more than that, Queer is visually striking. The bars, hotels, scenery, particularly when travelling, that just looked so otherworldly, as Luca’s films usually do (Bones and All particularly is an incredibly stunning film). Some parts with models for sets felt very reminiscent of a claymation; there’s been a lot of comparisons drawn between Space Odyssey and Queer, but Chicken Run seems more adept personally, because it looked and felt so cartoonish in some parts, so unlike the realm of the real world, as though Mexico City and Lee’s life as a queer man were not really his life. There is perhaps always a distance between what you think of yourself and the reality you are living. I always love the texture of Guadagnino films, the smell and taste of them more than look and sound, like you are within the film, more than observing. How dry the place felt, how hot it was, the cool night air, you can feel it all on your skin, close your eyes and be there in a moment. It's not a feature unique to Queer, but of Guadagnino movies generally (particularly Call Me By Your Name, which is a feast for the senses entirely).

Nowadays ‘queer’ is simply a name for a minority group who, while may face hardships, are not condemned to sad, fragile lives as they might have once been. But in this film, by Lee’s definition, ‘queer’ is by no means a good thing. Interactions with other queer men are always bad, the jewelled centipede wrapped around a young man’s neck proves it, hung like a noose - no matter how beautiful the necklace is, however, it is still a parasite. The thought crosses Lee’s mind (or bleats through like a blazing fire) that he might want payment because on what planet would someone want him and not expect a cash payment? The thoughts of self-deprecation, self-hatred and shame are a lifestyle, not weekend habit. Later scenes with Eugene reinforce this, he tries to make a move too soon after the last time, comments he is breaking the contract they’ve made up; why would anyone want him unless there were conditions? 

Another user put it as “Queer beyond sexuality, Queer as a state of mind. A state of being,” and I’ve yet to read something so accurate. Lee’s desire for Eugene is propelled by his immense loneliness, which exists due to his inability to connect, because of his shame, of the unreality of his reality. Not being able to coincide this life with the one you thought up for yourself; “I’m not queer, I’m disembodied.” Denying yourself so easy and so quick you won’t even let yourself think it, question it. “I know.” The strings of comfort you feed yourself, even if you know you enjoy it, can’t help being drawn to everything of it, but you do look away, god, how many people look away from the open door. 

The surrealist gore and unimaginable scenarios are some of the best of the film, my favourite being the morphing of bodies, the becoming of one from two. I have nothing to say really except that scene was beautiful and I have never felt so singular. I try to keep my reviews non-personal because, frankly, I don’t think it aids your point to have a whole segment about your personal experiences in there. For this film, however, it is impossible for me to not speak on the things that touched me so profoundly. 

I’m only eighteen, but I’ve always felt isolated from everyone I’ve ever met. Friendships full of paranoia, people I never really know or even like, family who never seem able to enter into my feelings of disconnect, distant parents, and never a single romantic prospect because I’m always too withdrawn, too caught up in myself that I hardly find space for others. When I do allow myself to think of others, I think so much, and I think and I imagine, I play it over and over in my head like a winding roll of film and I sit beside these people, pretend I have not imagined a thousand things, a hundred lives with them, I make no move toward them; I take no step, I speak no words, and I breathe no breath. I understand nothing except the imagined, except that which does not exist. 

For the first part of the film, Lee is the same, not even motioning toward Eugene, merely imagined touches and caresses, because he cannot face his desire for fear of scorn. He is intimate with Eugene, but the second part finds Lee still merely reaching out, hand desperately outstretched and alone, hand splayed out against the canvas of beautiful skin, ribs all in a cluster protecting the heart from damage. He wants to claw it out and take it for himself. Rather, in the third act, they cough their hearts up; everything comes out with that, and without the distance of singular hearts, the pair are merely bodies, two that can become one. There is no longer any need to reach out when the one you love lives within your skin. Lee finally has what he wants, to communicate without speaking, through touching, the effortless language of lovers, for he’s never had a lover and cannot understand how it works. For Eugene, he still cannot come to terms with his sexuality. He might sometimes enjoy it, but he’s not queer and that’s it, he is slipping from Lee once again. When they leave that jungle, everything is lost. Too afraid, too slow to catch; too much done and not enough said. They are singular once again. 

What intrigued me most though is just how beautiful the film was. Visually, yes, but emotionally, physically, in every realm; how Luca Guadagnino manages to make such immense feelings of deprivation, loneliness, desire beautiful is beyond me. Daniel Craig does a wonder of communicating the beauty of lifetime loneliness, of penetrating desire. Even the sex scenes are beautiful. This film is palpable, you can taste the sweat in your mouth, feel the mud on your skin; above all, the loneliness and desire takes hold of you, and you leave starstruck and hopelessly determined to carve out a better life for yourself. But the next morning you wake and you’re still alone. When you close your eyes you see the merging bodies of Lee and Eugene and that singular feeling is still there, and you feel so completely alone in the world. 

[safsunderc]

The Blue Caftan (2022)

I just want to put something down about this absolutely insanely beautiful movie. I've never watched such a sensitive, heartwarming, beautiful performance as the one played by Lubna Azabel as Mina, and I don't think I ever want to: it touched me so deep to my core that I wouldn't want to feel that seen ever again. So many beautiful shots, such fantastic direction, the plot, dialogue, and the caftans. Oh my god the caftans were beautiful. The titular motif of the film, the petroleum blue caftan, I must say is one of the most beautiful garments I have ever seen. A lot of this film reminded me of Call Me By Your Name with the way you could feel, smell, taste everything through the screen. The spritz of tangerines, the old cloth scent of the shop, the sticky humidity in the hammam, even the food I felt like I could taste it, like I was dining with Mina and Halim. And then there's the intimacy scenes: some are far less intimate than others, just a hug, small touching of hands, but they felt like everything. And I think that's exactly how those small things felt for Halim and Youssef: like everything in the world. The openness to be yourself and share that part of yourself, the openness to love.

"Don't be afraid to love."

The ability to create something beautiful from your own hands, to teach that skill to another, to give back to the people we love; to know someone and let them know you in equal measure: I think these are the most beautiful things we are afforded as human beings.

[safsunderc]

The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999)

A beautiful film, centring beautiful people, whose melancholic stories of neglect and deprivation spring no sympathy to mind, The Talented Mr. Ripley is an ode not only to one man’s jealousy, obsession and desire, but the shame he has been taught to carry as a low-class, gay man in modern western society.

Beautiful Country

The major bulk of the film takes place in Italy because Dickie loves it there, it is only there Marge is finally in her element to write her book. Italy has always been a place for bourgeois aristocrats to spend expensive summers, even now you think of Capri and images of Gucci stores spring to mind, of hundred euro meals and fashionable little sailing boats. I’ve been briefly, and it happens to be one of the most beautiful places in the world, worth every penny on the planet, and then some. But if you are as Dickie is, and pennies aren’t of your concern, why wouldn’t you spend all your time in Italy? It’s a lifestyle most of us can only ever dream of, but he carries it like a burden; Meredith says that those with their kind of money are driven to despise it, but if that is true they surely don’t behave that way. 

In all honesty, it’s pitiable to watch the sob story of a man with so much more than yourself, and for me, that’s what I find most irritable about Dickie and the characterisation of the bourgeois characters generally. As a woman of working stock myself, it’s hard for me to sympathise with any of Dickie’s hardships, and it must be the same for Tom, who is even closer to the excessive wealth they all flaunt; me, I’m just watching through a screen, Tom lives, for about the first hour of the film, my very worst nightmare: to have everything you’ve only ever dreamed about dangled in front of your face, and you’ve got to pretend like it’s nothing, like you’ve seen it all before. It’s excruciating watching Tom try and fit himself into this new bourgeois dynamic and navigate the extravagances of his new Italian lifestyle, as though he’s got to learn two new languages instead of one. 

Along with designer fashion brands and espressos, 20th century Italy comes to us off the back of the Roman empire and the renaissance, arguably two of the most culturally impactful events in all pre-modern history. Shakespeare’s final play, The Tempest, takes place on an isle off the coast of Italy and centres Italian nobility. The driving force of the plot is of a betrayal between brothers, an ironic parallel to Tom and Dickie. Italy is certainly home to the most beautiful buildings, paintings, literature, to the largest and mightiest military force in history, but it is also a haven of deceit and discomfort for the aristocratic class; Brutus had been Caesar's closest friend after all. 

Italy is also an uncommonly religious state, of course, it’s home to the Vatican city, home of the Pope. Catholic (or simply religious) guilt plays a large part in any person’s life who struggles dealing with their sexuality, and in a place like Italy, where religious superstition is at the heart of its people and communities, there is always an underlying sense of guilt for Tom during his time there. In a scene where Tom is accused of homosexuality by a police officer, it is made all too blatant the imperfections of the place. After a dreamy, hazy Italian holiday where Tom can kid himself into acceptance, it’s time to wake up and go back to the real world, it exists in Italy too. It’s a culturally progressive yet simultaneously conservative country, and that’s why the upper class thrives: there are boundaries safe to cross so you might feel like you’re living large, when really there is nothing extraordinary about Dickie’s life. In all its extravagance, it’s ultimately devoid of what Tom’s fruitless life has got: passion, devotion, and love. 

“But, because it spares my shame”

Along with those things, however, comes heaps of shame. The working man’s inner plight is that of trying to prove to others your worth through what labour you can provide for those whose own worth lies within their pockets; more than that even is trying to prove it to yourself. Tom deals with a lot of prejudice from other characters, but the one he is really facing judgement from is himself. This guilt and shame is ultimately what drives him to kill; it’s arguable that he kills Dickie out of pure obsession with the man, but if we follow the rest of his killing spree, it’s made obvious that it’s really because he is ashamed of his sexual and general identity. 

First, he kills Dickie. It’s honestly one of the most horrible, difficult scenes I've ever sat through, thanks to the way Tom cries as he does it, how he girlishly screams and is genuinely horrified at what he’s done. He’s just confessed his love for him and then Dickie is saying he is going to marry Marge and he realises that’s what is supposed to happen: boy meets girl, boy falls in love, boy and girl get married. But Tom is nothing if not gifted at spinning the narrative around so he lies blameless. No, it’s all Dickie’s fault for leading him on, and he’s so embarrassed of himself he can’t do anything but kill Dickie. Faced with the horrifying nature of his sexuality, Tom tries killing it, along with Dickie. You see a gross, incessant bug and you hit it hard as you can; a natural human response to disgust. 

Talented Tom Ripley’s Chains

You could say his next victim is arguably Tom Ripley himself when he assumes Dickie’s identity. Throughout the film I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, expecting it to be revealed that Tom Ripley wasn’t his real name either, and that Tom doesn’t exist at all. Instead, I’d like to think that Tom Ripley is already dead before the start of the film. There is so little we know about who Tom is: he’s musical and plays piano; he’s of low class; he of course has a knack for imitation and impersonation. He’s not academically-minded, cultured, charismatic, Tom Ripley is hardly even talented. The film spends about a good hour portraying Tom as calculated and brilliant and apparently he becomes Dickie with ease, something psychopathic about how good he is at what he does. But, when you really think about it, he gets caught at least twice and is almost caught another three times. Tom isn’t the intellectual mastermind he is famously cast as, rather he is driven by his passion and desire, and of course his shame. 

When Tom first reveals his ‘talent,’ it sets Dickie off laughing, like it’s some kind of party trick. As much of a talent as it is, Tom hardly uses it, signing maybe one paper as Dickie. Even Tom’s greatest talent is a meagre trick to impress and entertain people like Dickie; once again, he is the low-class laughing stock amongst the crowd of trust-fund babies and Princeton prodigies. Every small conversation between Dickie and Tom is laced with mockery and the class difference is blatant, even posing as an actual Princeton alumni he can’t hide he’s classless: can't ski, can’t sail, can’t even wear a different set of clothes each day. Class is something entrenched in a person’s being and you can’t escape whatever situation you were brought up under, and Tom is no different. 

Peeping Tommy

Tom’s relationship with Freddie is an anomaly, being the only person Tom seems to dislike. Maybe it’s because Freddie is genuinely Dickie’s friend and can flawlessly pull off what Tom himself is hanging by a thread trying to achieve. Tom is jealous of Dickie, yes, but he doesn’t hate him. When Tom kills Freddie he’s waiting for him behind a closed door, like an actual premeditated murder. It's also the only time we see him actually disposing of the body, like maybe he doesn’t mind us seeing this one, because there is no feeling for Freddie. This is really the only time we see Tom in all his glory, being that calculated psychopath. However, the act of killing Freddie is the same as killing Dickie: he’s just plain embarrassed and angry at himself, because Freddie is right, he is peeping Tom, he does know his ass from his elbow.

Later, when Tom is close to taking Marge as his third victim, he cuts himself on the razor that was meant for her, except, why are you clutching the blade of a weapon you’re about to use? It almost seems like Tom never intended on harming Marge at all; he can only afford this for the simple fact that she is a woman. This means two things: 1) He isn’t afraid of his attraction to her, and 2) No one would believe her if she uncovered the truth. This makes the women safe territory and he doesn’t feel the need to kill them.

There is a split second near the end where you think Tom might just push Meredith off the boat, but, of course, he doesn’t. He would never hurt a woman because Tom idealises them to the point where they could never be blamed for his shortcomings. Of course it’s Dickie’s fault Tom is sexually attracted to him, but there is no fault in his attraction to Marge because there would be nothing wrong with it. Except there seems to be no case of Tom actually desiring a woman as he does Dickie or Peter. 

The scenes of sexual intimacy between Tom and any other man I often found uncomfortable, or at least that Tom himself was uncomfortable; it is obvious he cannot stand himself and he says as much in the very first line: “If I could just go back, if I could rub everything out, starting with myself, starting with borrowing a jacket.” This sentiment is consistent through to the end when he accuses Peter of lying when listing good things about him, particularly when he’s told he’s beautiful. The crux of Tom’s psychopathic motivations is a crippling self-hatred, and that extends to his physical form. “Tell me some good things about Tom Ripley.” He asks, practically pleading. He’s so close to having everything that he wants, a man to love him, a huge sum of money, elevated social status. Except he can’t have the one thing he really wants, to be someone else. In the end, he is Tom Ripley and he can’t get away from that, in mind, body, and in all his talentless, displeasing spirit. 

This film is what I think is the most accurate portrayal of struggling with your sexuality and overall identity. It’s not a moving, sensitive experience that movies like Call Me by Your Name or All of us Strangers portray; it’s anguish, it’s violence, it’s losing the people you love and feeling like you did it yourself; it’s fearing being alone for the rest of your life. It’s pretending a whole section of you is not there and lashing out when you’re confronted with the basement full of unhappy thoughts. It’s hearing good things and not believing them; it’s hating your body and being afraid of it. It’s looking in the mirror and not knowing who you even are. It’s feeling like you made all the wrong choices and, like Tom puts it, believing it would be better to be a fake somebody, than a real nobody. 

[safsunderc]

Premiere:

Hello!! I'm not hoping to gain a lot of popularity or traction with these posts and I'm largely here to keep all my thoughts about movies in one orderly place that's not a word document or note on my phone. I would love nothing more than to be able to make a living out of giving my opinions, but unfortunately I am a victim of my circumstance and probably won't ever be afforded the opportunity. So! I turn instead to social media and the comfort of an account with no followers. The main aim of this blog is not only to act as an archive, but also to hone and improve my film analytical skills so maybe I have something to show for my love of them. Where my twitter acts as a digital garbage dump, I'd like for this to be more of an actual digital diary for all things film, which is like 90% of all my thoughts!