Years late, as usual.

[alwaysamy]

I *just* watched Brokeback Mountain for the first time last night. Yeah, yeah, I know, a bit behind the curve. But man, am I glad I finally saw it.

First, BEAUTIFUL. The photography, the lighting, the tone. (And yeah, the geography certainly helped, but still.) Second, BEAUTIFUL. The performances were fantastic, with the possible exception of Anne Hathaway (whom wasn't given much to work with) and Jake Gyllenhaal's sideburns and mustache, which were obviously campaigning for a nomination themselves. Heath Ledger deserved every nomination he received -- his peformance was gorgeously restrained, but very intense. Lovely, lovely work.

And the story! Christ, I sobbed through the last twenty-five minutes. You all know at what, I'm sure, and even though I had absorbed some of the movie's key moments through cultural osmosis, it didn't dim their impact at all. Those shirts. God.

What was interesting, too, was that it made me a bit homesick. Homesick for a place I loved and hated, where I lived for only one year, but homesick nonetheless.

Stephen and I spent April of 1996 to April of 1997 in Powell, Wyoming, about two hours north of Riverton, where much of Brokeback takes place. Same enormous sky, same slightly barren landscape (in Riverton, that is, not on the mountain), same faded melancholy to aging buildings and streets, same circumspect realism to the people.

We didn't like it much when we were there. We were two kids from Jersey in a town of 2,500 people, two hours south of the closest mall and completely ignorant of hunting, ice fishing, and ranching, a bit unnerved by the empty stretches of land surrounding town on all sides. But there was a definite peace to life out there, and a lot of beauty -- hello, Yellowstone, and the ranches out on the South Fork past Cody.

Ben was born there, our "cowboy" baby. One day, we'd very much like to go back and show him where we lived, and visit Yellowstone again (when I'm not pregnant and therefore slow and cranky).

Also? If you haven't seen Brokeback Mountain and you can stand a romance without a happy ending, see it NOW.

Comments

[ste-noni.livejournal.com]

I saw the movie several months ago, but also way way after everyone else had already seen it. I didn't actually cry, but the movie just left me stunned. Stunned at it's beauty (I love the west and miss Colorado so much) but also stunned at the story. And the music.

I actually just purchased the DVD online and I'm waiting for it to arrive because I want to see the movie again.

I could go on and on, but I guess that's enough. Some day, if I ever have the time, I want to write up the complete story of how Joe and I met and got together. Our story has echoes of Bridges of Madison County, Shakespeare in Love, and in a more general sense, Brokeback Mountain.

Initially, in trying to explain BBM to my more homo-uncomfortable friends, I would say, "Look, it's a story about love where life gets in the way, regardless of gender." While I think that is true on some level, I also think that the fact that the story is about two men really adds a unique dynamic and the movie would not be nearly as poignant if it was about a striaght couple.

[ste-noni.livejournal.com]

(please ignore my typos. I hate the lack-of-edit feature here.)

[hilleviw.livejournal.com]

I liked the film a lot, though didn't love it as much as some people. There were times when the visual metaphors were so over the top it leached the scene of value for me. The scene you refer to, for example, with the shirt. I mean, he's sitting in a closet for dog's sake!

On the other hand, there wasn't a false note in any of the performances, which is remarkable. And Michelle whatsit totally deserved the recognition she got for her role as the wife - that was extraordinary work, in a role which really could have been a throwaway. And yes, the look of the film was exquisite. I talked one person into seeing it by saying "If you hate the story, ignore it. Treat the film as a travelogue." He loved it, and got over his squeamishness about the story and ended up loving that, too.

And I know what you mean about missing a place you weren't happy to be in. I spent several years in St. Cloud, MN, and I hated it. Almost from the day I arrived, I wished I was somewhere else; I know without a moments hesitation that the midwest is not my home and never could be. And yet...I watch Fargo, and I'm wistful.

[fufaraw]

I missed this post somehow.

Yeah.

I honestly don't think the movie could have been set anywhere else and have had the same impact. As strong an impact, maybe, but a completely different flavor, tone, feel to it. The landscape was a character, IMO. The landscape made the silences mandatory, and the silences said so much about where Jack had come from, and how Ennis lived. There's as much emotion in the movie's silences as in its dialog, as far as I'm concerned.

Jack's childhood bedroom--the whole house, really--still strips me down to a raw nerve. I've never seen rooms that were supposed to have been lived in--that were still being lived in--that barren, that sterile, that void of life. It makes me marvel that Jack could walk and talk and function in life as well as he managed, and explained so much about him.

And when we see how withdrawn and tense Ennis always is, and reflect on the fact that his upbringing sounded fairly normal, at least until his parents died.

It's the landscape. The overwhelming open empty.