Film and Felt

With Brokeback Mountain, director Ang Lee faced a daunting challenge: cinematically portraying homosexuality as romantic and erotic in an era where homophobia still intensely rages (those who object to this perception are living in denial). That he succeeds—resoundingly, at that— is a testament to his filmmaking prowess: Brokeback Mountain is a beautiful love story, and one of 2005’s best movies. Set in the grasslands of Wyoming, Brokeback Mountain is the story of ranch hand Ennis Del Mar (Heath Ledger) and Texan rodeo cowboy Jack Twist (Jake Gyllenhaal), both paycheck-to-paycheck laborers who meet while sheepherding together on Brokeback Mountain in 1963. Alone in the fields, they begin to develop fierce feelings for each other, feelings which boil over into sexual release inside a tent—no discussion is needed, just carnal passion and a little spit. It’s the type of sequence that would have sexual voyeurs applauding…if it involved your standard heterosexual pairing. Among many of our more narrow-minded viewers, however, a moment like this is bound to elicit controversy at best, if not outright revulsion. And that’s unfortunate, because seen from a strictly human-to-human perspective, Brokeback Mountain is as pure as any romance in quite some time. It’s one of Lee’s gifts to inject ardor into genres that are normally devoid of it—Betty’s relationship with Bruce Banner in Hulk, or Jen & Lo’s relationship in the martial arts masterpiece Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. All of his films are much deeper than their topic matter hint at (how many, “oh, is that the gay cowboy movie?” jokes have you likely already heard?), and linger long after you leave the theatre.

Unfortunately for Ennis and Jack, the 1960’s wasn’t a kind time for gay people, and the West wasn’t a kind place. Rather than embrace their passion, they’re forced to hide it. After their freewheeling summer, both return to their homes: Jack to Texas, Ennis to Wyoming. Ennis marries his high school sweetheart Alma (Michelle Williams), and has two daughters. Jack continues to flop off bulls at the rodeo, and weds Lureen Newsome (Anne Hathaway), the vivacious, work-obsessed daughter of a filthy-rich farm-machinery tycoon. Four years pass, and neither man has been able to shake the magic of their summer on Brokeback. Ennis finds himself struggling to show his wife the appreciation she deserves but the resonances are ambiguous: one particularly wonderful scene involves Ennis flipping his wife around to penetrate her from behind, obviously wishing that she was Jack. As it’s filmed from a very similar angle to the first homosexual sequence on Brokeback, it has an eerie sense of unfulfilling déjà vu that rings a strong emotional chord. Even more excruciating is Ennis’ relationship with his daughters. His marriage is destined to fail (and it does), but his children are forever…and they love him to death. It’s evident, in his tormented forgetfulness as a father, that he feels he was never meant to have kids, and that his path has gone completely awry. When he shakily tells Alma Jr. that he can’t take her for a few extra days, it’s obvious that he wishes he did want to. And despite his clear realization that he’s meant to be with a man, he’s unable to garner the inner strength to fight the system: Jack’s constant requests that they should both just toss everything to the wind and go away together fall on frustrated, deaf ears. Jack, meanwhile, loathes his father-in-law (who returns the favor), his corporate routine, and his existence without Ennis. His bull-bucking lifestyle gives him a more assertive and heart-on-his-sleeve approach than Ennis’, and he’s unable to survive on their measly allotment of weekend-of-fucks a few times per year (the two periodically escape to Brokeback on “fishing trips.”) He’s forced to take other male lovers, and when he reveals it to Ennis in a poignant explosion late in the picture, we’re given one of the film’s most powerful, unsentimental moments.

Given that Ledger and Gyllenhaal are both straight when not working, their performances are nothing short of remarkable. They attack their onscreen infatuation with zeal and zest, and the spark in their eyes when they’re together is unmistakable. Ledger’s emotional outbursts are much rarer, which makes them even more powerful than Gyllenhaal’s: still, it’s difficult to find fault with both of the actors’ raw, untamed fire in their respective roles. The supporting work is less noteworthy, but more than competent, with Michelle Williams’ tormented performance as the token wife the most moving. And all the actors greatly benefit from Lee’s meat-and-potatoes script, which is completely unpretentious without being banal. The dialogue flows naturally, as do the time shifts (Brokeback Mountain spans 20 years, and the passing of time never feels awkward). Visually…well, I’m sick of directors exploiting nature with no real purpose (see: Walter Salles in The Motorcycle Diaries for an example), and Lee refreshingly utilizes the natural aesthetics pointedly and with focus. His camera sweeps the Brokeback, emphasizing the emptiness of the surroundings: the wilderness serves as a metaphor for both the helplessness of the men’s predicament, and the isolation that brought them together in the first place. Elegant long shots on the mountains properly create a contrast with the more intimate close-ups that ironically capture their false lives at their homes. Brokeback Mountain is a complete picture: strong in all technical aspects, dramatic without resorting to sop, and bound to reap the benefits of repeat viewings. A rich love poem with boundless soul, Brokeback Mountain is another wonderful gem to be placed atop Ang Lee’s filmic mantle.

© Gabe Leibowitz 2005