Gay Cowboys
Remember this name: Mary-Lou Green-Benvenuti. Ms. Green-Benvenuti puts Brokeback Mountain’s Anne Hathaway in a series of exquisitely over-the-top wigs. Hathaway’s character, Lureen Newsome, starts out in what’s probably Hathaway’s own hair; as the movie progresses, however (at a snail’s pace, I might add: the movie is 12 years long), she shows up with blonder and blonder hair that is feathered and sprayed and feathered again until her head resembles nothing if not a gigantic swan in mid-flight – majestic, awesome, and free.
The movie itself? Meh. Mostly what I came away with was that it sucks to be a gay cowboy in Wyoming – but that seems a foregone conclusion, and I don’t know that I needed 14 straight hours in a movie theater to reach that conclusion on my own. And for a movie about gay cowboys in love having gay cowboy sex – well, there’s very little sex. Actually, there’s some at the beginning, but it’s both preposterous and dark so I couldn’t tell if it actually was gay cowboy sex or if Jake Gyllenhaal was merely having a tough time with his blankets.
Hi, Ang Lee: they’re called halogens. You should use them.
Brokeback Mountain shares a lot in common with Walk the Line: they’re both “moments” films. In Walk the Line, I spent the moments of the film where Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon weren’t singing hoping they’d start singing. Same goes for Brokeback Mountain, only replace singing with gay cowboy sex and replace Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon with Jake Gyllenhaal and Heath Ledger. I mean, yeah, it’s sad in places and the ending is a little heartbreaking – but I guess mostly I’m tired of gay guys having to die in movies and I’m tired of gay love stories always having to be morbidly tragic.
Also, Heath Ledger sounds like he’s channeling Karl Childers from Sling Blade.
In other news, Zach and I are doing Chanukah for Christmas this year. Or what amounts to Chanukah for a half-Jew and a lapsed Assemblies-of-God-cum-Southern-Baptist. We’re lighting a menorah Zach brought home from work, I get to read the blessing (emphasizing the “ch” sounds because dude, why not?), and we’re opening a gift a night. Or, in the case of today, two gifts. Today’s gifts:
Manon Lescaut -- it’s a little French ditty about “three infidelities, three escapes, three abductions and two murders.” I don’t read much from the French. I’ve got some Hugo under my belt; The Count of Monte Cristo is one of my favorites books; and I’ve got plans to finish Stendhal’s The Red and the Black. Anyway, Amazon.com took some time out of recommending the films of Harmony Korine (and Mr. Korine? Two words: sham. poo.) to suggest I might try reading Manon Lescaut and Zach pulled it off my wish list (yay!).
Christopher Marlowe: The Complete Plays. It’s easy to forget that Shakespeare had box office competition. The Jew of Malta is my favorite, mostly because of my high school sweetheart, Mr. Kielsmeier. The only Marlowe play I’ve ever seen performed is Derek Jarman’s Edward II.
The movie itself? Meh. Mostly what I came away with was that it sucks to be a gay cowboy in Wyoming – but that seems a foregone conclusion, and I don’t know that I needed 14 straight hours in a movie theater to reach that conclusion on my own. And for a movie about gay cowboys in love having gay cowboy sex – well, there’s very little sex. Actually, there’s some at the beginning, but it’s both preposterous and dark so I couldn’t tell if it actually was gay cowboy sex or if Jake Gyllenhaal was merely having a tough time with his blankets.
Hi, Ang Lee: they’re called halogens. You should use them.
Brokeback Mountain shares a lot in common with Walk the Line: they’re both “moments” films. In Walk the Line, I spent the moments of the film where Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon weren’t singing hoping they’d start singing. Same goes for Brokeback Mountain, only replace singing with gay cowboy sex and replace Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon with Jake Gyllenhaal and Heath Ledger. I mean, yeah, it’s sad in places and the ending is a little heartbreaking – but I guess mostly I’m tired of gay guys having to die in movies and I’m tired of gay love stories always having to be morbidly tragic.
Also, Heath Ledger sounds like he’s channeling Karl Childers from Sling Blade.
In other news, Zach and I are doing Chanukah for Christmas this year. Or what amounts to Chanukah for a half-Jew and a lapsed Assemblies-of-God-cum-Southern-Baptist. We’re lighting a menorah Zach brought home from work, I get to read the blessing (emphasizing the “ch” sounds because dude, why not?), and we’re opening a gift a night. Or, in the case of today, two gifts. Today’s gifts:
Manon Lescaut -- it’s a little French ditty about “three infidelities, three escapes, three abductions and two murders.” I don’t read much from the French. I’ve got some Hugo under my belt; The Count of Monte Cristo is one of my favorites books; and I’ve got plans to finish Stendhal’s The Red and the Black. Anyway, Amazon.com took some time out of recommending the films of Harmony Korine (and Mr. Korine? Two words: sham. poo.) to suggest I might try reading Manon Lescaut and Zach pulled it off my wish list (yay!).
Christopher Marlowe: The Complete Plays. It’s easy to forget that Shakespeare had box office competition. The Jew of Malta is my favorite, mostly because of my high school sweetheart, Mr. Kielsmeier. The only Marlowe play I’ve ever seen performed is Derek Jarman’s Edward II.
posted by Mike at 11:08 PM
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