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Unconventional 2024 holiday films mostly not for families

Erotica thrillers, ‘Nosferatu,’ and the explicit ‘Queer’ among entries

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Harris Dickinson and Nicole Kidman embark on a dangerous affair in ‘Babygirl.’ (Image courtesy of A24)

As soon as Thanksgiving is behind us, it’s time to look forward to another crop of holiday movies, and this year offers some excellent ones – though most of them seem to have very little to do with the season itself. Unfortunately, after the last year or so, when the number of queer-themed and queer-inclusive holiday films seemed to be increasing, this year’s selection is notably short on queer representation. Of course, with a couple of exceptions, they’re also notably short on seasonal cheer, too. Nevertheless, there are several promising gems headed to theaters over the next month, all of which should be of interest to any movie fan, queer or not, and the Blade is ready to break them down for you.

WICKED (Now in theaters) Our first preview also serves as a mini-review, since it jumped the holiday queue for an early release, but that’s OK, because it turns out we needed it more than we knew. The first installment of director John M. Chu’s much-anticipated two-part adaptation of the Broadway phenomenon, in turn based on the eponymous book by queer author Gregory Maguire’s book of the same name, stars Cynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande as the two iconic witches of Frank Baum’s classic “Wizard of Oz” (Elphaba, the formerly anonymous “Wicked Witch of the West” as named by Maguire in his novel, and Glinda, the “Good Witch of the North,” respectively), and, without hyperbole, truly surpasses all expectation. Expanding the stage version’s Disney-ish whimsy (reinforced by its catchy song score from “Pocahontas” composer Stephen Schwartz) by incorporating elements from Maguire’s novel to bring additional gravitas (and timely relevance) to the family-friendly fun while showcasing the amazing, no-expense-spared artistry of the film’s visual design. Played out on elaborate real-life sets by a uniformly superb cast – which also features out gay “Bridgerton” heartthrob Jonathan Bailey, Oscar-winner Michelle Yeoh, veteran screen eccentric Jeff Goldblum, “Game of Thrones” star Peter Dinklage, and queer “SNL” stalwart Bowen Yang, among many other talented performers – it is that rare stage-to-screen transition that not only captures the appeal of the show that inspired it, but enhances its magic by embracing a purely cinematic expression in doing so. Add the sweet irony that can be found in the post-election success of a musical fantasy about a marginalized woman being persecuted for daring to speak truth to an authoritarian power (who also happens to be an incompetent charlatan), and you have a film that is easily the movie of the year and then some. Something tells us that Baum would be proud of what his clever little satire of American “exceptionalism” has come to inspire more than a century later. If you haven’t seen it already, what are you waiting for? Get on your broom and head straight to the next available showing at your local multiplex.

GLADIATOR II (Now in theaters) Also crashing into the arena ahead of the holidays is Ridley Scott’s sequel to his Oscar-winning original “Gladiator” from 2000, which won Oscars for Best Picture and Best Actor (Russell Crowe) among multiple other honors. The queer appeal here lies mostly in the hunkiness of its stars – allies and queer-fan-favorite heartthrobs Paul Mescal and Pedro Pascal, who join Denzel Washington as the big-name-triumvirate that drives the film – but that doesn’t mean there’s not plenty of big-budget sword-and-sandal excitement to entertain anybody with an appetite for such things; and let’s face it, as cheesy as they are, who doesn’t love a movie about barely dressed muscle men swinging swords at each other in the midst of Roman depravity? Revered queer British thespian Derek Jacobi reprises his role from the original film, among a cast that also includes Joseph Quinn, Fred Hechinger, Lior Raz, and Connie Nielsen.

QUEER (now in limited theaters, wide release 12/13) From Italian filmmaker Luca Guadagnino – the man responsible for “Call Me By Your Name” and this year’s earlier bi-triangle tennis romance “Challengers” – comes this eagerly anticipated adaptation of a semi-autobiographical novella by queer “beat generation” icon William S. Burroughs, set in 1950, in which an American expatriate (Daniel Craig in a reportedly career-topping performance) trolls the local bars looking for connection and becomes enamored with a former soldier (Drew Starkey) who is new in town. Already controversial (in some circles, at least) for its explicitness and its unapologetically raw perspective – an unsurprising element, considering that Burroughs’s legendary status as an author and personality has more to do with his countercultural radicalism than his queerness – this one is probably the standout must-see title of the season for LGBTQ audiences, or at least those not completely transfixed by “Wicked.” And although Craig (who is no stranger to “playing gay”) has said in a recent interview that his character’s sexuality is the “least interesting thing” about him, we’ll wager that millions of queer fans will disagree. Also featuring the incomparable Lesley Manville (most recently an MVP in Ryan Murphy’s “Grotesquerie”), Jason Schwartzman, Henrique Zaga, and Omar Apollo.

MARIA (in theaters 11/27, Netflix 12/11) For the opera-loving crowd comes this widely touted biopic starring Angelina Jolie as legendary soprano Maria Callas, which covers the diva’s final days when she was living as a virtual recluse in Paris. The third and final film in Chilean filmmaker Pablo Larraín’s cinematic trilogy about the lives of important 20th century women (after 2016’s “Jackie” and 2021’s “Spencer”), this one competed for the Golden Lion prize at this year’s Venice Film Festival, where it sparked Oscar buzz for Jolie’s tour-de-force turn as the operatic icon.

NIGHTBITCH (in theaters 12/6) Queer viewers can dive into their feminist allyship with this body-horror-ific drama about an artist (Amy Adams) whose role as wife and mother (to a towheaded toddler) triggers a canine-esque transformation, complete with an enhanced sense of smell, unexpected body hair, and extra nipples on her belly. A metaphoric exploration of discovering personal power and transcending cultural expectations defining womanhood around traditional roles of homemaker and mother, it will undoubtedly spark complaints from the anti-”woke” crowd, which obviously scores points with us, every time.

THE ORDER (in theaters 12/6) There’s nothing specifically queer about this one, which stars Jude Law as a veteran FBI agent who confronts a zealous white supremacist rebel leader (Nicholas Hoult) in a “war for America’s soul,” but there are obvious points of connection in its fictionalized “what-if” fantasia based on 1980s headlines about the Aryan Nation spinoff group “The Order” and its campaign of robberies, bombings and murder. If you’re not a fan of Nazis (because no matter what they happen to call themselves, a Nazi is still a Nazi), this one is probably for you.

NICKEL BOYS (in theaters 12/13) Allyship is also the draw from this lengthy adaptation of Colson Whitehead’s Pulitzer-winning bestseller, starring Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor as a hotel housekeeper whose grandson (Ethan Herisse) is unjustly incarcerated in a reformatory during the “Jim Crow” era. Directed by Peabody Award winner (and Emmy and Oscar nominee) RaMell Ross, this anti-racist drama is based on a true story.

THE ROOM NEXT DOOR (in theaters 12/20) If any upcoming movie deserves a spotlight it’s this one, the first English-language feature by iconic queer Spanish filmmaker Pedro Almodóvar, in which a pair of former New York magazine colleagues (Tilda Swinton and Julianne Moore) reunite after many years when one of them is faced with a terminal cancer diagnosis and asks the other to help her “die with dignity.” With three such transcendent artists uniting to collaborate, our confidence level is elevated enough for us to suggest that this might be the highlight of the season for lovers of pure cinema.

BETTER MAN (in theaters 12/25) If you’ve never heard of Robbie Williams (and you’re an American), you can be forgiven, since the phenomenally successful pop singer-songwriter from the UK is a relatively unknown sensation on this side of the Atlantic, but this unorthodox musical biopic from “Greatest Showman” director Michael Gracey looks to be an introduction you’ll never forget. Depicting the well-publicized ups and downs of Williams’ personal life as it traces his rise to fame and beyond, it also depicts him as a chimpanzee – voiced by Williams himself and portrayed through CG motion capture by Jonno Davies – because, as the Brit-pop icon puts it, “I’ve always felt less evolved” than other people. It sounds odd, sure, but its September debut at the Telluride Film Festival was met with enthusiastic critical acclaim, and whether it works for you or not, it surely boasts the most unusual premise of any film this year that we’re aware of.

BABYGIRL (in theaters 12/25) Another unusual choice for Christmastime is this provocative erotic thriller from writer/director Halina Reijn, starring Nicole Kidman as a CEO who has become sexually bored with her husband (Antonio Banderas) and pursues an affair with a much-younger male intern (the incandescently beautiful Harris Dickinson), which weaves a steamy cautionary tale about the treacherous dynamics of power and sexuality within a professional setting. Another Golden Lion contender at Venice, it’s garnered heavy praise both for Reijn’s direction and Kidman’s performance; so while it may not be the kind of family-friendly holiday film you’ll want to see with mom and dad, it’s definitely one worth sneaking out for on a solo excursion while the rest of the family is sleeping off that holiday meal.

NOSFERATU (in theaters 12/25) Even less appropriate for the holiday season (unless the holiday is Halloween) but eagerly awaited nonetheless, this remake of F.W. Murnau’s venerable silent classic – a 1922 German Expressionist masterpiece based on Bram Stoker’s “Dracula” that is widely seen as the “granddaddy” of all vampire films – from always-buzzy filmmaker Robert Eggers (“The Witch,” “The Lighthouse”) is probably the perfect refresher after a month of cheer, festivities, sweetness, and light. Starring Bill Saarsgård as the sinister Count Orlok, with Nicholas Hoult and Lily-Rose Depp as the couple whose lives he infiltrates and Willem Dafoe as the professor who becomes his nemesis, it brings the gothic tale “into the 21st century” (says Eggers) and emphasizes the twisted obsessions and infatuations that tie its characters together. Long-delayed and much-anticipated, this one is already a guaranteed must-see for anyone who loves the genre – so if you need a seasonal connection, you can always think of it as a holiday gift for horror fans.

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‘Pink Narcissus’ reasserts queer identity in the face of repression

Gorgeously restored film a surreal fantasia on gay obsessions

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Bobby Kendall stars in ‘Pink Narcissus.’ (Photo courtesy of Strand Releasing)

Back in 1963, there really wasn’t such a thing as “Queer Cinema.”

Of course there had been plenty of movies made by queer people, even inside Hollywood’s tightly regulated studio system; artists like George Cukor and Vincente Minnelli brought a queer eye and sensibility to their work, even if they couldn’t come right out and say so, and became fluent in a “coded” language of filmmaking that could be deciphered by audience members “in the know,” while everyone else – including the censors – remained mostly oblivious. 

Yes, the movie industry was adapting to the demands of a generation that had grown increasingly countercultural in its priorities, and topics that had once been taboo on the big screen, including the more or less open depiction of queerness, were suddenly fair game. But even so, you’d be hard-pressed to find examples of movies where being queer was not tied to shame, stigma, and a certain social ostracization that remained, for the most part, a fact of life. Hollywood may have been ready to openly put queer people on the screen, but the existence it portrayed for them could hardly have been described as happy.

Yet this was the setting in which a Manhattan artist named James Bidgood began a filmmaking project that would dominate his life for the next several years and eventually become a seminal influence on queer cinema and queer iconography in general – all executed, with the exception of an ambitious climactic sequence, in a cramped New York apartment utilizing elaborate handmade sets and costumes, which would define an entire queer aesthetic for decades to come. Though disputes with the film’s financiers would eventually cause him to remove his name from the project, resulting in years of anonymity before finally being credited with his work, he has now taken his rightful place as one of the architects of modern queer sensibility.

The movie he made – “Pink Narcissus,” which has been newly restored in glistening 4K glory and is currently being screened in theaters across the U.S. after an April premiere at Manhattan’s Newfest – didn’t exactly take the world by storm. When it finally premiered on “arthouse” theater screens in 1971, it was slammed by mainstream critics (like Vincent Canby of the New York Times, who compared it to “a homemade Mardi Gras drag outfit” as if that were a bad thing) and largely ignored, even as a new spirit of creative freedom was bringing more and more visibility to openly queer content. A screening at 1984’s “Gay Film Festival” reintroduced it to an audience that was finally ready to embrace its feverishly stylized, near-surreal fantasia on gay obsessions, and since then it has loomed large in the queer cultural imagination, providing clear and directly attributable influence over the entire queer visual lexicon that has developed in its wake – even if it has remained widely unseen among all but the most dedicated queer cinema buffs.

With a running time of little more than an hour, it’s not the kind of movie that can be described in terms of a cohesive linear plot. “Official” synopsis efforts have typically framed it as the story of a young male hustler who, while waiting for a call from a favorite “trick,” fantasizes about various erotic scenarios in his spangled and bejeweled apartment. But since it is a film with no spoken dialogue that takes place largely in the imagination of its central character, it’s difficult to place a definitive construct upon it. What’s certainly true is that it presents a series of daydreamed episodes in which its protagonist – played by sultry lipped Bobby Kendall, a teen runaway who had become a model for Bidgood’s “physique” photography as well as his roommate and (probably) on-and-off lover – imagines himself in various scenarios, including as a matador facing a bull (who is really a leather-clad motorcyclist in a public restroom), a Roman slave thrown to the mercy and pleasure of his emperor, and both a Sheik and a harem boy obsessed with a well-endowed exotic male belly dancer. Eventually, the young man’s thoughts venture into the streets outside, where he is immersed in a seedy, sordid world of sexual mania and degradation, before facing a final fantasy in which, as an “innocent” nymph in the woods (perhaps the human embodiment of the film’s titular butterfly), he is engulfed and consumed by his own sexual impulses, only to be reborn in his apartment to face the inevitable transformation from “twink” to “trick” that presumably awaits all gay men who dedicate their lives to the transgressive desires that drive them.

All of that, to modern sensibilities, might seem like a series of stereotypical and vaguely demeaning tropes intended to warn us against the slippery slope of a hedonistic lifestyle, composed into a moralistic avant garde parable in which pleasure and punishment are intertwined with all the surety of fate; but what sets “Pink Narcissus” apart from so many early examples of queer cinema is that, despite its reliance on “rough trade” trappings and the performative “tragedy” of its overall arc from youth and beauty to age and corruption, it exudes an unmistakable attitude of joy.

We’re talking about the joy of sensuality, the joy of self-love, the joy of partaking in a life that calls to us despite the restrictions of societal “normality” which would have us deny ourselves such pleasures; in short, the joy of being alive – something to which every living being theoretically has the right, but for queer people is all-too-often quashed under the mountain of disapproval and shame imposed upon them by a heteronormative society and its judgments. Considering that it was made in a time when the queer presence in film was mostly limited to victimhood or ridicule, it feels as much an act of resistance as it does a celebration of homoeroticism; seen in a cultural climate like today’s, when joy itself seems as much under attack as sexuality, it becomes an almost radical act – a declaration of independence asserting our natural right to be who we are and like what we like.

That’s why “Pink Narcissus” looms so large in the landscape of queer filmmaking. It’s the irrefutable evidence of queer joy singing out to us from a time when it could only exist in our most private of moments; it’s unapologetically campy, over the top in its theatricality, and almost comically blatant in its prurient obsession with the anatomy of the anonymous male models who make up most of its cast (and Kendall, who seems to dress himself in various outfits only to undress for the next erotic daydream), but it feels like a thumb on the nose to anyone who might shame us for for celebrating our sexual nature, which Bidgood’s movie unequivocally does. 

Restored to the vivid (and luridly colorful) splendor of its original 8mm format, “Pink Narcissus” is currently touring the country on a series of limited screenings; VOD streaming will be available soon, check the Strand Releasing website for more information.

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Queer history, identity interweave in theatrical ‘Lavender Men’

Exploring one of Abe Lincoln’s most intense male relationships

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Pete Ploszek and Roger Q. Mason star in ‘Lavender Men.’ (Photo by Matt Plaxco courtesy Pride Flix)

For someone who’s been dead for 160 years, Abraham Lincoln is still hot.

No, we don’t mean it that way, though if we were talking about the Lincoln of “Lavender Men” – a new movie starring and co-written by queer playwright Roger Q. Mason, who also wrote the acclaimed play from which it is adapted – we certainly could be. We’re really just making the observation that the 16th POTUS continues to occupy a central place in America’s national imagination. And in an age when our America is torn by nearly as much division (over many of the same core values) as the one he presided over, it’s impossible not to compare the ideals he has come to stand for with the ones currently holding sway over the country’s political identity, and wonder at how short we have fallen from the mark.

Yet there has always been a gap between the historical reality of Lincoln’s “Great Emancipator” reputation and the romanticized pedestal upon which he has been placed; and if he looms large as an influence over American identity, it’s as much for his enigmatic nature as for the values he represents. Was he a true believer in the principals of “liberty and justice for all” or a political pragmatist who recognized that preserving the nation – and its growing power in the larger arena of world affairs – required the abolition of an increasingly unsustainable system that had divided it? Your answer to that rhetorical question will likely depend on which version of “American Identity” aligns most closely with your own.

It’s also a question that’s further complicated in the context of Lincoln’s private life, something that has itself been the subject of debate as modern historians and scholars consider the questions about his sexuality unavoidably implied in his well-documented biographical record, which reveals not only a pattern of closely bonded male “friendship” with various companions throughout his life but plentiful evidence that the romantic nature of these relationships was something of an “open secret” in his lifetime, as explored in last year’s brash but scrupulously documented “Lover of Men.” If Lincoln was himself an “other,” a queer man who had risen to position and power in a world that despised and shunned people like him, what new light would that cast on his legacy?

That’s the crux of the premise behind “Lavender Men,” which builds a “fantasia” around one of Lincoln’s most intense male relationships – with Colonel Elmer Ellsworth, a young family friend who helped him carry out his 1860 campaign for president and would later become the first “notable” casualty of the Civil War when he was shot while removing a Confederate flag from the window of an inn facing the White House. The film, however, doesn’t take place in a period setting; instead, it happens in an empty modern-day theater – an apropos allusion to the location of Lincoln’s ultimate fate – where the overworked and underappreciated Taffeta (Mason) oversees the production of a play about the romance between Lincoln and Ellsworth (Pete Ploszek and Alex Esola). After a particularly demoralizing performance, the put-upon stage manager ponders alone about their own life – as a queer, plus-sized, Black Filipinx TGNC person trying to find connection and community in a world where they feel invisible – through an imagined retelling of Lincoln’s doomed love story in which the narrative is projected through the lens of their own struggle to be seen, loved, and accepted,

Expanded from the play and directed by co-screenwriter Lovell Holder, a lifelong friend of Mason who helped develop the project and oversaw the original 2022 stage production at Los Angeles’s Skylight Theater Company, the film was in his own words “shot over 10 days on a shoestring budget” – and it admittedly shows. However, it leans into its limitations, letting the spare, isolated atmosphere of the empty theater exert its own influence over the material. In this framing, Taffeta becomes something like a reverse ghost, a spirit from the present haunting a past in which their own unfulfilled longings – and resentments – are reflected through the rumored romance of a president and his “little” man, and their exploration of the narrative, with all its inherent observations about the dynamics of power, gender, status, and physical attraction, ultimately becomes a meditation on the importance of redefining personal identity free from the shaping influence of other people’s experience or expectations.

Needless to say, it’s not the kind of movie that will appeal to every taste; highly conceptual in nature, with a nonlinear storytelling pattern that frequently calls attention to its own artificiality, it might prove perplexing to audiences used to a more traditional approach. Even so, it’s refreshingly unpretentious, acknowledging its own campiness without undercutting the authenticity of the voice which drives it – which is, of course, Mason’s.

Delivering an entirely charismatic, commandingly fabulous, and palpably honest tour de force, the playwright/actor is at the center of “Lavender Men” at every level, evoking our delight, laughter, tears, discomfort, and myriad other shades of response as they take us on their historically themed tour of queer identity, which involves its own collection of repressive and/or demeaning social expectations about “fitting in” – and illuminate this hidden chapter of queer history along the way. Indeed, capturing their performance – which Mason reprises, along with fellow original co-stars Ploszek and Esola, from the stage production – is arguably the film’s most significant accomplishment. It’s a powerful example of the kind of fierce, spirited expression that is rarely seen outside the half-empty houses of underground theaters, well worthy of several repeated viewings.

For Mason, however, the thing that matters most is not their performance, nor even their brilliantly conceived script. Discussing the movie, he describes it as something much bigger than that: “I hope this film serves as a rally cry, a fountain of joy and a grounding of purpose for the LGBTQIA+ movement in the U.S. and abroad at a time when we need stories which affirm, empower and embolden us more than ever.”

“Lavender Men” is showing in limited theaters now. Watch for information on streaming/VOD availability.

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Jacob Elordi rides high in ‘On Swift Horses’

Sony Pictures’ promotions avoid referencing queer sexuality of main characters

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The stars of ‘On Swift Horse.'

You might not know it from the publicity campaign, but the latest big-screen project for breakout “Euphoria” actor and sex symbol Jacob Elordi is 100% a gay love story.

Alright, perhaps that’s not entirely accurate. “On Swift Horses” – adapted from the novel by Shannon Pufahl and directed by Daniel Minahan from a screenplay by Bryce Kass – actually splits its focus between two characters, the other of which is played by “Normal People” star Daisy Edgar-Jones; but since that story arc is centered around her own journey toward lesbian self-acceptance, it’s unequivocally a “Queer Movie” anyway.

Set in 1950s America, at the end of the Korean War, it’s an unmistakably allegorical saga that stems from the marriage between Muriel (Edgar-Jones) and Lee (Will Poulter), a newly discharged serviceman with dreams of building a new life in California. His plans for the future include his brother Julius (Elordi), a fellow war vet whose restlessly adventurous spirit sparks a kindred connection and friendship with his sister-in-law despite a nebulously strained dynamic with Lee. Though the newlyweds follow through with the plan, Julius opts out in favor of the thrill of a hustler’s life in Las Vegas, where his skills as a card shark gain him employment in a casino. Nevertheless, he and Muriel maintain their friendship through correspondence, as he meets and falls in love with co-worker Henry (Diego Calva) and struggles to embrace the sexual identity he has long kept secret. Meanwhile, Muriel embarks on a secret life of her own, amassing a secret fortune by gambling on horse races and exploring a parallel path of self-acceptance with her boldly butch new neighbor, Sandra (Sasha Calle), as Lee clings obliviously to his dreams of building a suburban family life in the golden era of all-American post-war prosperity.

Leisurely, pensive, and deeply infused with a sense of impossible yearning, it’s the kind of movie that might easily, on the surface, be viewed as a nostalgia-tinged romantic triangle – albeit one with a distinctively queer twist. While it certainly functions on that level, one can’t help but be aware of a larger scope, a metaphoric conceit in which its three central characters serve as representatives of three conflicting experiences of the mid-century “American Dream” that still looms large in our national identity. With steadfast, good-hearted Lee as an anchor, sold on a vision of creating a better life for himself and his family than the one he grew up with, and the divergent threads of unfulfilled longing that thwart his fantasy with their irresistible pull on the wife and brother with whom he hoped to share it, it becomes a clear commentary on the bitter reality behind a past that doesn’t quite gel with the rose-colored memories still fetishized in the imagination of so many Americans.

Fortunately, it counterbalances that candidly expressed disharmony with an empathetic perspective in which none of its characters is framed as an antagonist; rather, each of them are presented in a way with which we can readily identify, each following a still-unsatisfied longing that draws them all inexorably apart despite the bonds – tenuous but emotionally genuine – they have formed with each other. To put it in a more politically-centered way, the staunch-but-naive conformity of Lee, in all his patriarchal tunnel vision, does not make him a villainous oppressor any more than the repressed queerness of Muriel and Julius make them idealized champions of freedom; all of them are simply following an inner call, and each can be forgiven – if not entirely excused – for the missteps they take in response to it

That’s not to say that Minahan’s movie doesn’t play into a tried-and-true formula; there’s a kind of “stock character” familiarity around those in the orbit of the three main players, leading to an inevitably trope-ish feel to their involvement – despite the finely layered performances of Calva and Calle, which elevate their roles as lovers to the film’s two queer explorers and allow them both to contribute their own emotional textures – and occasionally pulls the movie into the territory of melodrama.

Yet that larger-than-life treatment, far from cheapening “On Swift Horses,” is a big part of its stylish appeal. Unapologetically lush in its gloriously photographed recreation of saturated 1950s cinema (courtesy of Director of Photography Luc Montpellier), it takes us willingly into its dream landscape of mid-century America – be it through the golden suburbs of still-uncrowded Southern California or the neon-lit flash of high-rolling Las Vegas, or even the macabre (but historically accurate) depiction of nuclear-age thrill-seekers convening for a party in the Nevada desert to watch an atom bomb detonate just a few short miles away. It’s a world remembered by most of us now only through the memories and artifacts of a former generation, rendered with an artful blend of romance and irony, and inhabited by people in whom we can see ourselves reflected while marveling at their beauty and charisma.

As lovely as the movie is to look at, and as effective as it is in evoking the mix of idealism and disillusionment that defines the America of our grandparents for many of us at the start of the second quarter of the 21st century, it’s that last factor that gives Minahan’s film the true “Hollywood” touch. His camera lovingly embraces the beauty of his stars. Edgar-Jones burns with an intelligence and self-determination that underscores the feminist struggle of the era, and the director makes sure to capture the journey she charts with full commitment; Poulter, who could have come off as something of a dumb brute, is allowed to emphasize the character’s nobility over his emotional cluelessness; Calle is a fiery presence, and Minahan lets her burn in a way that feels radical even today; Calva is both alluring and compelling, providing an unexpected depth of emotion that the film embraces as a chord of hope.

But it is Elordi who emerges to truly light up the screen. Handsome, charismatic, and palpably self-confident, he’s an actor who frankly needs to do little more than walk into the scene to grab our attention – but here he is given, perhaps for the first time, the chance to reveal an even greater depth of sensitivity and truth, making his Julius into the film’s beating heart and undisputed star. It’s an authenticity he brings into his much-touted love scenes with Calva, lighting up a chemistry that is ultimately as joyously queer-affirming as they are steamy.

Which is why Sony Pictures’ promotions for the film – which avoid directly referencing the sexuality of its two main characters, instead hinting at “secret desires” and implying a romantic connection between Elordi and Edgar-Jones – feels not just like a miscalculation, but a slap in the face. Though it’s an eloquent, quietly insightful look back at American cultural history, it incorporates those observations into a wistful, bittersweet, but somehow impossibly hopeful story that emphasizes the validity of queer love.

That’s something to be celebrated, not buried – which makes “On Swift Horses” a sure bet for your must-see movie list.

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