- Published on
Queer (2024) TIFF24 Review
- Authors
Whenever a Luca Guadagnino project hits theaters, I proceed with caution. On the one hand, I love his rendition of Suspiria (2018) and his latest flick Challengers (2024), but his style has prevented me from admiring other works like Bones and All (2022) and yes, Call Me By Your Name (2017). Unfortunately, the Oscar darling that brought him mainstream recognition has never resonated with me. Nevertheless, I approached this film more as a William S. Burroughs fan than a Guadagnino fan. Though I never read the source material it's based on, I did read the preceding novel, Junkie, which added interesting nuance to the film. If this review serves any purpose, it’s a reminder that familiarizing yourself with Burroughs’ material can enhance your appreciation of the film.
Queer (2024) follows the reclusive Lee (Daniel Craig), a self-insert for Burroughs, who roams the streets of South America. Lee’s loner tendencies soon come to an end when he stumbles upon Allerton (Drew Starkey), but their relationship is tumultuous and turbulent, mostly due to Lee’s fixation with drugs, particularly his quest for ayahuasca. A tale of drugs, sex, psychedelia, addiction, loss, aging—
It’s too much. Guadagnino is a passionate filmmaker, and while he may be capable of showing restraint, he’s not quite interested in doing so. His style may resonate with his patrons, but I don’t see this film reaching beyond that. One heartbreaking scene shows Lee crying over the end of what he thought was a blossoming relationship, and the camera lingers on Lee—one take, similar to the closing image of Call Me By Your Name. And while I would usually commend a director for doing a lot with little, the shot lingers for far too long. I singled this moment out as a beacon of Luca’s inability to restrain himself.
The movie is carried by its performances. Craig continues to show his versatility in the post-Bond era of his career. Starkey’s performance, while more nuanced, acts as an anchor to Lee’s sporadic behavior. The scene-stealer is an unrecognizable Leslie Manville. Towards the end of the film, I was awaiting her appearance, only to realize she had already appeared several scenes prior.
While the music by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross was welcome, some needle drops sprinkled throughout the film simply do not fit the world of Burroughs—more specifically, two Prince songs and two Nirvana songs, one being a cover that sounds like it was stolen from the back catalog of a trailer house. The screening I attended included a Q&A with the director. When an audience member asked him to elaborate on his decision to use these grunge classics, he said that the works of Burroughs are timeless, just like the works of Nirvana, and added that Cobain was a fan of the author’s writings. While lyrically you can spot some Burroughs influence in Cobain’s poetry, it sonically doesn’t fit the ’50s aesthetic. When I think of Burroughs, I think of Tom Waits. I think of Captain Beefheart. I think of jazz you hear in a dive bar at three in the morning.
This polished vision of Burroughs also seeps into the visuals of the film. Landscapes of Latin America are picturesque. What should be vile imagery of prostitution, drug use, and animal abuse is shot with perfectly motivated light and slow motion. The film is stunning from a cinematographic standpoint, but I don’t think it belongs within the themes of the story.
Something the film chooses not to explore is Burroughs' homophobia, which is a defining characteristic of his works. He loathes himself so much that it’s expressed through his treatment of other queers in his circle. I can’t speak for Queer, but Junkie had a fair use of homophobic slang. Including this aspect would’ve added more depth to Lee’s character. As it stands right now, I wanted more from the central character.
But Guadagnino’s inability to contain his vision definitely comes with its merits. The sex scenes are no-holds-barred and visceral. Some imagery, while sometimes distracting, is indeed creative. I can firmly say that the film is never dull, and I didn’t feel its runtime. However, most of these decisions invoke more of a “what the fuck did I just watch” reaction upon exiting the theater, rather than sparking a dynamic discussion with friends.
I’ve concluded that Burroughs’ works are among the hardest to adapt to the screen. So much of the entertainment value comes from the lens through which he views the world. His language is musical. His cynicism is dark. His descriptions are vivid and crass. Much like a writer like Bukowski, I read a book by Burroughs to hear his voice, and that voice can get lost when translated to a different medium.