When I first heard about Luca Guadagnino’s newest big screen project, “Queer,” I was all ears. Not only was I intrigued by the film’s premise, but over the past few years, Guadagnino has become one of my favorite working directors. I was 15 years old when I first watched “Call Me by Your Name,” not quite wise enough to deduce all of its nuances but undoubtedly blown away by what I’d seen — I still vividly remember the lush Italian countryside and the haunting glances between Elio and Oliver. It remains a comfort film of mine, and Guadagnino’s other works are no less impressive.
In early 2024, Guadagnino released “Challengers,” a vibrant, sexy, fast-paced game of seduction — or tennis? — that I still think about to this day. It felt like a breath of fresh air from Guadagnino, whose projects typically have a more melancholic focus. On the heels of such a thrilling film, I was beyond excited to see what he could do with “Queer.”
Starring Daniel Craig and Drew Starkey, “Queer” is an adaptation of William S. Burroughs’ 1985 novella of the same name. It is a semi-autobiographical account following Wiliam Lee (Daniel Craig) as he wanders through Mexico and South America in search of connection and a means to fuel his addictions. He drifts from young man to young man with the hopes of experiencing reciprocated passion, and after mindlessly roaming the streets of Mexico City, Lee’s gaze shifts to Eugene Allerton (Drew Starkey) with an epic needle-drop to Nirvana’s “Come As You Are.” In the sensuality of the slow-moving camera and the lingering eye contact, the viewer can feel the importance of this connection for Lee, as if he is projecting his fantasies onto this stranger.
As the relationship between the two builds, Lee embodies all the different dimensions of human longing. With his other partners, he is the “cool, older man,” but with Eugene, he becomes a giddy young boy again. He acts with an almost childlike need for Eugene’s attention and affection, relearning how to exist in a pair. While he still has much room to grow, his partnership with Eugene allows the inner work to begin.
Nevertheless, one striking scene begins with Lee preparing to indulge in one of his more harrowing addictions, the camera focused in on his materials — the spoon, the substance, the flame. Once he finishes, the camera pans up to his face as he leans back in his chair and simply stares; the scene encompasses Lee so poignantly. “Leave Me Alone” by New Order begins to play, and he numbly lights a cigarette. His face is expressionless, yet it conveys everything: regret, fragility, emptiness. His eyes are bloodshot and hollow; he is cursed by wishful thinking. At this point, even he knows that he is the only one to blame for his reality.
The New Order song could not have been a more perfect choice, mirroring Lee’s own isolation. The scene speaks to the back-and-forth between being understood and feeling completely alone. Ironically, and by some stroke of luck, I had the theater all to myself during my viewing, which only added to this atmosphere of solitude. At first, I felt small in the room, sinking into the leather seat, but Lee’s vulnerability pulled me out and toward the screen, unable to peel my eyes away. It was as if I was there with him, and neither of us was truly alone.
Apart from “Challengers,” Guadagnino’s works are categorically very similar. Films like “Call Me by Your Name” and “Bones and All” center an air of tragedy in their love stories, composed with a spiritual quality that is simultaneously moody, sensual, and electrifying. While “Queer” is no different, what sets it apart is its surrealist nature. There are moments when Lee and Eugene are shown side by side and the ghost of Lee’s hand reaches out to touch him. It is eerily beautiful, revealing Lee’s most innate desires and blending his imagined fantasies with his reality. He himself is almost a ghost, passing through other men as a way to bring life back into himself.
Justin Kuritzkes, writer for both “Challengers” and “Queer,” describes Lee and Eugene’s relationship not as an unrequited love but as an unsynchronized one. I found this very accurate as a viewer — there’s an uncertainty in how Eugene reacts and behaves around Lee, and we finally see a moment of synchronicity toward the end in the Ayahuasca sequence. The novella ends before the two embark on this “trip,” but it is a fundamental scene for understanding the nature of this love. Through gorgeous editing, their flesh breathes and melds together in a blurry, disorienting manner, and at last, they are one. All of Lee’s longing has led him here — to be complete is everything he wants, a simple acknowledgement that he is alive, and worth something.
Rating: 4.5/5
