Thursday, January 05, 2006
the deed is done
I saw Brokeback Mountain tonight, finally. With Jason. Bit the bullet, if you'll pardon the western pun. I am alive, although currently intoxicated... we went for a few "decompression" drinks afterward, including "Horny Cowboy" shots and--after three or four pints each of Stella--a couple of long-necked Buds in honour of Jack and Ennis.
It's a stunningly beautiful movie. Yes, Heath Ledger will receive a best actor nomination for his performance. Yes, Jake Gyllenhaal's eyes are an impossible shade of blue against the backdrop of his denim shirt. Michelle Williams, Ang Lee's genius, yadda yadda yadda...
I knew this film was coming, and I tried to prepare: I read the short story by Annie Proulx; I watched the trailer online in September and cried (and vowed to be either 30 pounds lighter or one boyfriend heavier by the release date); I resigned myself to seeing it single and with a belly. It still managed to surprise me, though. Not just the cinematography (my God, Canada is beautiful) or the music (Jason and I wanted to buy Willie Nelson and Emmylou Harris drinks tonight), but in particular the performance of a stalwart mainstay of Canadian theatre and film: Roberta Maxwell. Her nuanced, spare portrayal of Jack Twist's mother--and the screenplay's ever-so-slight elaboration from her scenes in the short story--made me realize that, in the end, everyone knows. Parents, children, friends... you can't hide who you are from the people in your life. My parents know, on some level, that I'm a poof. I'm going to have to talk to them about it.