Queer
Directed by Luca Guadagnino
Screenplay adapted by Justin Kuritzkes from a novella by William S Burroughs
Starring Daniel Craig, Drew Starkey, Jason Schwartzman, Henry Zaga, Omar Apollo, Lesley Manville
Released on November 27, 2024 by A24
Running Time: 137 mins
Luca Guadagnino’s latest creation, Queer, is a visual poem from a master filmmaker. Viewers who marveled at the magic he wrought upon Andre Aciman’s Call Me By Your Name will not be disappointed, even if left feeling unsettled. Eviscerated. Casting Daniel Craig as Burroughs’ altar ego William Lee is a genius choice. Like Armie Hammer and Timothée Chalamet’s erotic dynamic duo in the Aciman adaptation, the question of whether “straight” actors can do “gay” (or whether only queer actors should be hired for queer roles) is besides the point. Such categories dissolve when in pursuit of an erotic high that hurls its addled adherents into a non-dual awakening that cannot be sustained.
What is a film review doing masquerading as a poetry review in the electronic pages of Plume, pray tell? Remember Cocteau’s Orphée? Even this film is not without an actual poet, a role played by Jason Schwartzman who keeps getting all his things stolen while in pursuit of the unattainable. Both he and Lesley Manville are so altered in their looks that it’s easy to overlook their participation during the debauched proceedings.
Which brings me back to 007 Daniel Craig. This film stands as a corrective, stripping Craig of any leftover Hollywood veneer by exposing him as the wrecked shit show we never quite knew he could be. Spoiler alert: Craig’s privates remain private! though other delectable cocks can be sighted throughout the hand-held frolics. Body-doubled ass? You decide. Rather than wishing for some scenes reshot as porn, I walked away from the film dumbstruck by the risks the participants took, obscene as off-script gets. The point is less about seeing Craig give head or Craig getting jerked off by a junior, more about seeing two men literally vomiting their hearts out one moment, then blasting off into the cosmos the next, leaving their bodies behind.
IMHO, the best films (and poems) do not work like tantric sex manuals or self-help guides. Rather, binaries like straight/gay, young/old, top/bottom, body/mind get cooked before they crack under the erotic pressure of some nasty plate tectonic heat. And a few shots of that psychedelic jungle juice fka yagé couldn’t hurt along the way.
How all this translates into moving sets of images is at the lyric heart of this at times almost-requited hypnagogic affair. Clocking in at over two and a quarter hours, you won’t have time to slip out for popcorn or take a leak or give a shit because what you miss cannot be explained by those you have left behind in their seats. Stay present for the whole ride or not at all, this out-of-the-box cockbuster flick as outlandish as desperate prayer can get.
