Desires That Haunt Us | Queer (2024)

It's not often that a mesmerizing trailer turns into an equally captivating movie, especially in recent years, especially with long films. And yet, every last tantalizing thing the trailer has promised is delivered in Luca Guadagnino's Queer. Adapting the eponymous novel by William S. Burroughs, the film tells a story as old as time - desperately desiring something that will not desire you back. Or won't admit to, anyway.

Queer is the story of Lee, middle-aged expat in Mexico (played to perfection by Daniel Craig) who becomes obsessed with a much younger ex-GI, Eugene. Though the young man appears indifferent and, at times, downright mocking, it does little to dampen Lee's fixation. He is a man consumed by desire, and it's a beautiful, tender but also raw, portrayal of what it means to want somebody. It's difficult to put into words, so Guadagnino puts it into images, instead. The long stare, the stifling heat, and quasi-permanent arousal that Lee is mired in has an uncanny way of bursting through the screen.

Sometimes, all that's needed is a look.

Undeterred by Eugene's attitude (nor by the fact that he appears, by all accounts, straight), Lee begins spending more and more time with him until at last, after several agonizing weeks of hanging out, of wondering and not daring, the two become intimate. You'd think it marks a change in their relationship, and in a sense, it does, but not necessarily for the better. After some seeming initial bliss, Eugene blows cold once more toward Lee, returns to his other friends, ignores him. Looks down with pity and contempt on this aging man, consumed by a desire for something he knows, in reality, he can never have. Not in the way he wishes.

"No one is ever really alone. You are part of everything that is alive. The difficulty is to convince someone else that he is really a part of you."

Yet, as infuriating Gene's attitude is, Lee's persisentcy and devotion were all the more moving (I thought). It's tricky to name, especially in situations where there's such a marked imbalance of power. They're not clear-cut and pretty, but then, neither is life. We do, unfortunately, find ourselves often tied to lovers who dismiss us, yet whom we desire desperately. What then is to be done?

Finally, Lee reaches a breaking point and decides to leverage the only thing he still has over Eugene - money. Offers his young lover an all-expenses paid trip into South America, overtly in the quest for yage (ayahuasca). Lee is compelled by the notion that this is what's missing from his relationship with Eugene (and perhaps the cure to the larger lack of connection in life). If he can achieve telepathy via ayahuasca, he can perhaps convince his lover that they are, in fact, the same. We all are.

Reluctantly, still keeping the older man at arm's length, Eugene agrees. What follows is a chaotic collage of illness and tenderness. Scenes drenched in sexual desire and loneliness in equal measure - it's as hard to watch Eugene shove poor, doting Lee as it is satisfying to see them in bed together, happy.

At last, they do reach a wise old woman who offers to prepare the yahe and guide them through it. There follows a fantastically surreal scene (as much the movie is) where the two men vomit out their hearts and appear to merge at last. It is the moment of breakthrough and hints perhaps at Gene's own fragmented identity.

While Lee wears his desire, sexuality and that ultimately humane need for love and affection on his white, pressed sleeves, Eugene seems to be in denial of his. He's tormented by that all-too-familiar devil of wanting something you don't want to want. We tell ourselves "the heart wants what the heart wants", but few of us are actually prepared to submit to the terrifying primacy of that desire, sometimes.

Often, we forget the necessary addendum. The heart wants what the heart wants... and won't be denied (except at one's own - not unsignificant - peril).

But no high can last forever. In the morning, the men wake once more as two instead of one, and we can immediately see the uncomfortable shift in Eugene's manner. It is the wise old woman who dares address it directly.

"For most people, the first time is just an introduction. The opening of a door. But for you two, it was something else. It'd be a shame not to see where it might take you. What are you so afraid of? Door's already open. Can't close it now. All you can do is look away. But why would you?"

Except Eugene fails to rise to the challenge. He vanishes, leaves poor Lee behind, though he continues to haunt him for the remainder of his life.

Why look away from the door? Because what we see within frightens us. Because we live in a culture that seldom, if ever, celebrates that tremendous courage needed to stare through openly without flinching. And because looking away, remaining within the tepid bounds of familiar safety is still a valid option.