Beat writers are notoriously difficult to adapt into cinema, probably something to do with the intense interiority of their narratives (some might even say, solipsistic). Luca Guadagnino, though, manages to turn William S. Burroughs’ early, semi-autobiographical novel Queer into an interesting piece of cinema unto itself, though this is a film designed to provoke and confound.
Guadagnino reunites with his Challengers collaborator, Justin Kuritzkes, who adapts Burroughs’ text for Guadagnino to direct. Queer follows the Burroughs-esque figure of William Lee through post-war Mexico and South America, as Lee searches for connection, intimacy, love, and drugs. Specifically, he wants to find the yagé plant, which is renowned for its telepathic properties.
Daniel Craig stars as Lee, a drunk and a drug addict who slurs his way through the bars and no-tell motels of Mexico City, though this is a vision of Mexico that only exists in an ex-pat’s mind, all play, no work. The setting is unapologetically fake, at times, the Mexican streets and bars look like sets from a Technicolor musical. In contrast, Craig’s performance is raw and aching, and so acutely needy it’s almost second-hand embarrassing. Lee is a mess, to say the least, a heroin addict who chugs tequila and takes impoverished but pretty young men to bed. Craig throws himself into the role, working every unflattering angle, physically and emotionally. At no point does he court audience acceptance, Lee is self-loathing, and Craig’s performance invites us to loathe him, too.
One day, though, he spots a sleekly handsome young man slipping past in the street, and his attention is caught. The man is Eugene Allerton, lately of the US Navy, played with remote dispassion by Drew Starkey, who arrives with the kind of confidence and gelled blonde handsomeness that seems designed to give Austin Butler and Glen Powell migraines. Allerton is beautiful, cold, emotionally unavailable. He dresses impeccably in a series of sharp shirts and cozy sweaters (the wardrobe by J.W. Anderson is, indeed, divine). He is equally likely to rebuff Lee as he is to welcome him. Allerton may or may not be queer, either way, he is amenable to traveling on Lee’s dime in exchange for bi-weekly sex.
Guadagnino veers between historicity and anachronisms with glee, Nirvana and Prince and Sinead O’Connor singing on the soundtrack in between one of Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross’s thumping scores. Besides the patently fake sets, Guadagnino utilizes miniatures and matte paintings, but he also uses a double exposure motif to show Lee’s internal longing, a shadowy hand reaching to touch while Lee’s physical body remains still, which is haunting and sad. Guadagnino’s willingness to use whatever craft or visual effect is most evocative makes Queer a visually dynamic feast, a mix of old and new that perfectly underscores Lee’s journey, both emotional and literal.
Queer is divided into chapters, and it’s in the third chapter that Queer will most challenge viewers to roll with Guadagnino’s gambit. Lee and Allerton go to the Amazon in search of yagé, eventually arriving at the jungle hut of one Dr. Cotter, played with wild woman ferocity by Lesley Manville. Once again, this set looks especially set-ish, like something right out of South Pacific or maybe Gilligan’s Island. Guadagnino’s total disinterest in realism is one of Queer’s most charming aspects. But here they do, finally, find yagé, or as it is better known in its brewed form: ayahuasca.
There are three things that are terminally boring when depicted on screen: hacking computers, the act of writing, and other people getting high. Your mileage may vary depending on how willing you are to watch an extended sequence of Lee and Allerton tripping balls in the jungle, but Guadagnino does approach the sequence with verve, and with an eye toward Lee’s longing for connection. It goes on too long, though, and as Queer runs overlong in general, this sequence is the most obvious culprit for narrative glut.
So much of Queer is in the eye of the beholder. It’s either overly busy pastiche, or a precisely gauged staging of an idea of a time and place. I found it to be one of Luca Guadagnino’s boldest visions yet, a mix of the character-driven drama that defined his early career, and an outrageous visual style last seen in Suspiria. Daniel Craig and Drew Starkey are outstanding—Jason Schwartzman is also very fun in a smaller role—and Guadagnino and Kuritzkes succeed in translating a Beat text to the big screen in a way that cinematically makes sense.
Queer is not for everyone, as Lee knows himself not to be for everyone, but it is very much Cinema! in bright lights, unapologetically big and bold and gay and sexy and sad and there is always more, more, more. It’s a lot, but it’s trying to be a lot, and Queer does a lot very well.
Here are Luca Guadagnino and Drew Starkey at the TIFF premiere of Queer earlier this week.
