Queer: Perfect Blend of Auteur and Author

I'm glad I bought the ticket online

Luca Guadagnino has been a busy bee. Fresh off his three-way sports drama Challengers, which was met with glowing critical and audience acclaim this past spring, Guadagnino already has another film out. And it couldn’t be more different. Queer, starring former James Bond Daniel Craig, Drew Starkey, Leslie Manville, and Jason Schwartzman, is an adaptation of William S. Burroughs’ novella Queer released in 1985. Burroughs ' work has been widely influential, an icon of the Beat Generation and a premier post-modern writer, directly contributing to the 1960s counter-culture movement. His work is identified by his highly experimental style, unreliable narratives, and risque storylines based mostly on his experiences as an addict, homosexual, and veteran. Guadagino has developed quite a name for himself as well in the cinematic landscape sharing much with Burroughs exploring identity, sensuality, and the queer experience. While Guadagnino’s work is far emotionally richer and less grungy than Burroughs's, the two find themselves sharing the same space. This time exploring the complexities and unmet desires that unfortunately plague the queer experience. So, do Guadagnino and Burroughs get along? Or is Queer an unclear mismatch of personalities?

Queer follows expatriate William Lee (Daniel Craig), a loose surrogate of the author William S. Burroughs who in 1950s Mexico City spends his time bar hopping, fraternizing with the local gay social scene, and indulging himself in sex with younger men. GI Eugene Allerton (Drew Starkey) captivates Lee on one of his evening strolls, propelling him into a spiral of obsession, longing to grow close to him. Eugene eventually acquiesces as the two begin a hot and cold sexual fling. Eugene does not consider himself “queer” in the traditional sense while Lee desires deep human connection that he fails to find on the streets but sees in him. All the while, Lee fills this gaping hole with opioids and alcohol as he’s pushed to and from Eugene. Lee is then captivated by a new plant yagé (ayahuasca) discovered in Ecuador that’s allegedly being harvested by foreign powers for its telepathic abilities. Lee sees it as an opportunity not only to experience a new drug-induced sensation but to tap into its telepathic capability to grow closer to Eugene. Eventually, they both agree to go on the trip to South America where the two continue to grow closer and apart in equal measure.

Guadagnino’s latest follows a very loose narrative unlike Challengers this past year, focusing less on specific character dynamics, themes, and plot progression but emphasizing mood and feeling. This is best exemplified by the film’s visual style, easily one of the most striking films of the year. It’s a cliche to say every frame looks like a painting, but that may be an understatement this time around. There is a deliberate sense of artifice splashed into each frame that’s composed to feel like a painting, transforming Mexico City from something “accurate” into something strangely beautiful, almost as if the paragraph of a book came alive. Nowadays, films look dark and atmospheric and are “shot well” but provide little for the imagination. But, Queer manages to be different, at times even cracking the Technicolor look that’s been missing since the strip’s dissolution in the mid-50s. This distinct look fails to fall for imitation but rather comes alive in the vein of an Edward Hopper painting. Yet, there’s never the sense that Guadagnino is going for “the look” for the sake of it. It’s all in direct communication with the subject matter where style begets substance. In the early stages of the film, as Lee and Eugene begin their romantic relationship, the tone is marked by a sensual, romantic atmosphere, enhanced by the color scheme and the way light bounces off their faces. Some of these moments are reminiscent of master cinematographer Vittorio Storaro’s sun-drenched photography. The film’s intentional artifice and pastel design, driven by top-notch production, add a dream-like other-worldliness that complements the exquisite photography. There are other small details to enhance this mood like miniature buildings, painted backgrounds, and seemingly toy cars in fast motion. I wax euphoric about the film’s visual look because the film relies so heavily on atmosphere to convey its point. The visual style only serves to enhance the character's feelings of longing, and his desire to be loved, heard, and seen.

Guadagnino takes advantage of every crevice of the cinematic medium. The sound design and eclectic score from Reznor and Ross are brilliant. The score is somehow eerie, romantic, and dazzling all at once. Guadagnino also splashes in music that spans decades, blending pop and rock-and-roll in the 1950s setting which feels odd at times but works as we wrestle between the up and down feelings of Lee’s obsessions. During the intimate scenes, the sound design felt most pronounced as the film balances the inherent tension and eroticism present in the homosexual experience. As the sex scenes ramp up, the soundscape grows increasingly more intense and almost sinister which is then balanced by smooth windy synths to underlie the tender moments. For my money, Guadagnino is currently the foremost erotic storyteller: the king of titillation. In a world where people question the necessity of sex in storytelling in a dreary quest to root out passion on the screen, Guadagnino pushes the limit. Some scenes are so brazen they make your jaw drop to the floor. Yet, he understands the understated, unspoken nuances between partners, prioritizing the human side of these interactions rather than the scandalous. It’s fascinating to see Guadagnino translate these strengths of his into the world of Burroughs, commanding the visual language to complement an especially distinct author. Using every trick in his cannon, Guadagnino finds a way to blend his sensual, homoerotic fascinations with an author whose worldview is far less forgiving and reckless. Still, the two creatives are a match made in heaven. I haven’t read the source novel but am familiar with Burroughs style and obsessions. Given that the source novella is somewhat incomplete, the world seemingly found the best filmmaker to fill in the puzzle. The film masterfully honors the Burroughs myth, with Guadagnino’s frenetic, surreal interpretation of the Queer experience always staying true to the material. The surrealist scenes are particularly brilliant, blending elements of Kafka and Fellini, capturing the essence of reading a novel.

Earlier, I mentioned how the film cares little about traditional narrative. I’ll admit that I am not technically the target audience for the film as a straight male. So, I cannot deliver deeper insights on how effectively Queer lays bare the homosexual experience, but it’s clear the film aims to successfully capture that feeling. Guadagnino explores the internal hesitations, walking on eggshells to search for what we all want to attain: love. All the instances when Lee imagines intimate moments and desires to get close to Eugene are saddening. The film captures the character’s self-loathing and guilt that lingers like a lump in your throat. The film's title suggests a broader exploration of the homosexual experience, but it also works as a romance depicting the desperation, sensuality, and longing for love. The film centers on a single character's perspective, with Daniel Craig appearing in nearly every scene. Despite this specific focus, Guadagnino effectively conveys the universality of the character's predicament, a high mark. Lee's habitual indulgence in men, drugs, and alcohol is interrupted by moments of raw truth, driving his ongoing struggle with himself and the emptiness in his heart. This is what prompts Lee to search for ayahuasca in the deep forests of South America to articulate feelings and desires. In a world where queer expressions of love are silenced by internal and external forces, he yearns for communication that transcends fleeting societal constraints. I appreciate how Queer avoids the simplicity of clear antagonists opposing the characters' freedom or identity, refusing to fall into the common trap of "progressive" narratives where conflicts are easily framed as battles against external oppressors. Often, the film returns to a quote, “I’m not queer, I’m disembodied”. It’s a most damning quote that is never quite explained but always felt. The sense of being untethered from self as external perceptions perpetually bombard you, fragmenting any sense of normalcy or reality. I must admit that I struggled to fully grasp Queer on an intellectual level, but Guadagnino operates in a fluid framework that feels entirely fitting.

Along with Guadagnino, Craig renders a fun, generous, and heartbreaking performance. For an actor who’s been expending his talent on commercial roles like James Bond and Knives Out, it’s fun to see a big name go all out. Craig’s task isn’t to give a traditional Oscar-worthy performance, rather it’s far more complicated. In a completely uninhibited performance, Craig manages to portray the varying ups and downs that are associated with queerness in a seamless fashion. He balances the character’s discomfort with his environment and himself with equal parts humor and frustration in a brilliantly empathetic performance. Portrayals of homosexuals in film often carry a tragic undertone, but Craig takes a different approach by incorporating moments of levity. These moments feel natural as Lee uses humor to keep appearances while concealing his inner pain. Of course, a straight person exploring the depths of queerness is a tall task even for a gay actor, but Craig is up to the task. Brave may be a cliché to describe Craig’s performance, but for James Bond to shed all inhibitions and fully embrace the required “physicality” of this role is truly impressive. Drew Starkey as Eugene Allerton is also remarkable as the object of obsession perfectly conveying the stoic, hot-and-cold nature of his relationship with Lee. His performance keeps a distance between the audience and Lee. We can sense Eugene is struggling with identity issues, but it’s all implied as the film stays focused on Lee throughout.

Of course, Queer is not without faults. The reception has not been particularly unanimous, much of which is due to the vague nature of the film. Again, this makes some sense since the large swath of critics and audiences are not queer (including myself). I’m sure those in the LGBTQ community will more easily identify with the ambiguities that go over the general audience’s heads which may disassociate audiences. However, I will admit that there is certainly an over-reliance on the visual style to hold our attention. Possibly a shorter length could combat the film’s vagueness but that’s merely a hypothesis not fact. The film’s overly esoteric vibe at times make the audience question what the film’s really about. A never-ending debate on style and substance. Any negative buzz is undoubtedly exaggerated, as dismissing Queer as an exercise in style over substance is a lazy critique. I don’t claim to understand everything that happened and it certainly earns a rewatch (or even a read of the novella). But, I’ll never discredit a film because I didn’t figure everything out. As critics (even online ones), we need to encourage riskier, more complex filmmaking. Sometimes films don’t have to be about something specifically but rather the essence of a shared experience. Fortunately, Queer resists being reduced to a simple list of pros and cons, making it the best kind of film. This year, Luca Guadagnino has etched himself a place in the upper-echelon of filmmakers working today with a significant voice. Blending his own sensibilities with Burroughs’ vision, Queer serves as both a deconstruction of the Burroughs myth and a poignant exploration of the queer experience. [3.75/4]