Brokeback Mountain

Focus Features presents an Ang Lee film, starring Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal. Written by Larry McMurtry and Diana Ossana, from a short story by Annie Proulx. 134m. R for sexuality, nudity, language and some violence.

4 stars

Folks I know sure like to pigeonhole things. I waited, with great anticipation, for that “gay cowboy movie” to come to my local multiplex. After I saw “Brokeback Mountain,” I felt certain I didn’t see the film everyone else was talking about.

My colleagues in the mainstream media have taken turns praising the film for its gay protagonists. They see the growing interest in the film as an integral facet in a value war against close-mindedness, repression and religion.

I’d humbly argue that some who weighed in missed the real resonance of “Brokeback Mountain.” To call it a gay love story is oversimplifying its intent, and limiting its potential appeal.

“Brokeback Mountain” could chronicle the rise and fall of any taboo coupling. And it is hardly a film that looks to convert its audience (their mindset or their orientation).

Instead, it uses a specific time and place to tell a heart-breaking love story, akin to classic mythology or Shakespearean tragedy. The protagonists’ sexual preference is a key element, certainly, but the film shouldn’t be defined by it.

It’s 1963. Ennis (Heath Ledger) and Jack (Jack Gyllenhaal) are teen-age ranch hands who find steady employment tending sheep on Brokeback Mountain. Their personalities are decidedly different, but uniquely compatible. Jack, a native son, is prone to trials of derring-do. Ennis, the outsider, is introspective and cautious to leave society as it is.

Initially, their pairing atop Wyoming’s plains is about a necessity absent of desire. Ennis will use his earnings to start a new life with bride-to-be, Alma (Michelle Williams). Jack looks to bolster his rodeo winnings and seeks financial independence from his parents. And the first night they spend together isn’t out of carnal desire; it’s to avoid frostbite after a night of sustained drinking.

Their first sexual dalliance is tumultuous, semi-violent, and obscured by the moonlight. The scene exposes a fallacy offered by the film’s detractors: that the film was made solely to further a “homosexual agenda.”

In fact, “Brokeback Mountain,” for all of its controversial aspects, is definitely a film produced within the Hollywood system. For example, it continues to promulgate a well recognized double-standard: the nudity in this film comes from its supporting actresses, not its male leads. Perhaps those opposed to the film could argue the titillation is to lure a heterosexual audience, but now I’ve already tried too hard to rationalize a viewpoint I don’t begin to fully understand.

After their sudden union, Jack and Ennis make affirmations that the sex was a one-time event. But judging by the tenor of their first encounter, we immediately suspect that is untrue. Jack is undoubtedly gay, but Ennis is torn between his desire and the mounting expectations he feels from both family and society.

A tug-of-war begins, with Ennis contemplating, but never accepting, Jack’s love. But why? In a chilling scene, Ennis tells of a childhood memory ingrained in his consciousness: his father dragging him to view a homosexual beaten, humiliated and left for dead.

Each time the men excuse themselves from their day jobs and quasi-suburbian lives to unite on Brokeback Mountain, it fills us with both hope and despair. The reprieves, from societal disdain, are undercut by Ennis’ ever-present shame.

Ledger understands his character, right down to the way his words choke out of his mouth. Because of his command performance, we come to understand the inherent tragedy of Ennis’s existence. Yet even more impressive is Gyllenhaal, whose transformative powers elicit a pain that can be seen in his eyes and felt in our hearts. After 20 years of “fishing trips” on Brokeback, he feels certain that Ennis will be forever paralyzed emotionally.

Jack is despondent, when these words tumble out of his mouth: “I wish I knew how to quit you.”

And we wish we knew how to quit caring so deeply about “Brokeback Mountain,” a film that radiates beauty at every pass. I was awestruck by the gorgeous and vast landscapes, which often intensified the loneliness that permeated the film’s mood. My mouth stood open wide as I saw a cinematographer that was thinking outside traditional conventions.

When the credits rolled, I was overwhelmed by seeing a familiar name. The work of Rodrigo Prieto will be celebrated someday alongside that of Conrad L. Hall and Gregg Toland. Prieto has aligned himself with exceptional films and brought vibrancy to films like “Amores Perros,” “Frida,” “25th Hour” and “21 Grams.”

The accolades will likely fall to director Ang Lee, who certainly deserves some. Lee understands his story, and doesn’t cheapen it by forcing our tears or demanding our sadness. The ending resonates perfectly. It doesn’t dip in wide pools of melodrama, instead offering more insight from things that aren’t said than in those that are.

Outstanding films are a remedy for our own maladies. There are few films annually that deserve not just one, but several, inspections. “Brokeback Mountain” is one of them.