Daniel Craig doesn’t look anything like William S. Burroughs, the Beat Generation author whose autobiographical novel is the source for Luca Guadagnino’s sweaty drama, but he does attempt to mimic Burroughs’ laconic Midwestern drone, albeit with a slight lisp. The effect is both disconcerting and slightly titillating, since both actor and subject have such distinctive images in whatever public imaginations they reign over. Having never read the book, I don’t have any particular investment in the story as Guadagnino adapts it, but his casting, at least, feels inventive in a kind of make-or-break way. Jason Schwartzman is also on hand as someone I hear is supposed to be Allen Ginsberg, and neither Schwartzman nor Guadagnino tries to make the connection clear, so Schwartzman is free to do what he wants with the character, and he’s certainly the most entertaining thing about Queer, if entertainment is something Guadagnino is trying to achieve. The script’s main hurdle is convincing the viewer that these guys are expat writers; the expat part is easy, since they are so obviously ugly Americans taking advantage of Mexico City’s rough trade in the years after the war (Burroughs wrote the novel between 1951 and 1953, though it wasn’t published until 1985), and Guadagnino has to make a concerted effort to show us how dedicated a scribe Burroughs’ alter ego, William Lee, is with long, languorous shots of his messy apartment, filled with chaotic notebooks and two-count-em-two typewriters. There’s also the startlingly out-in-the-open drug paraphernalia, which plays more of a role in the story than pens and pencils do.

If the title is meant to sound transgressive, Guadagnino reinforces the intention by making the sexual politics coarse and exploitative. The homosexual Americans in town express their privilege in the grossest ways, thus contrasting Lee’s romantic longings with the object of his desire’s more passive defiance. Fellow American Eugene Allerton (Drew Starkey) arrives rippling with allure, a handsome young man who obviously has class and position—he was an intelligence officer during the war—and while Lee picks up on his homoerotic vibes early on, Allerton plays hard to get in an almost Hollywood way. Consequently, when sparks eventually fly and the pair hits the sheets, the sex runs hot, as if it were all being filtered through Lee’s literary sensibility, meaning the graphic grappling looks more like an aesthetic choice than a depiction of some kind of realism. What makes it all suspect is how easily Allerton gives in despite his acknowledgment of Lee’s addiction and tendency toward the fatalistic and fantastic. When Lee suggests a road trip to the jungle to find some kind of mind-altering plant, Allerton goes along as if it were a jaunt. Of course, it turns out to be anything but, and as the stakes get hairier at the lair of a Kurtz-like mountain botanist named Dr. Cotter (Lesley Manville, definitively unrecognizable), the movie takes on its most Burroughs-like attributes. But it’s become a different movie by that point, less a study in decadent lassitude than an exercise in psychedelic style. 

Guadagino keeps the atmosphere ripe with anachronistic music (Sinead O’Connor singing Nirvana, that sort of thing) and supporting characters that you love to deride—or feel sorry for. The Mexicans, in particular, are treated like victims of their northern neighbors’ withering whims. I’ll admit I was moved by the melodramatic ending, where Lee, having lost everything he believes he loved, including his penchant for prose, breaks down big time. If only it weren’t James Bond doing the wailing I might have given myself up to it completely, but some impressions just can’t be overcome.

The titular protagonist of Lee (no relation) is also based on a real life libertine, though the intentions here are strictly biographical, which means you’re encouraged to take the implied veracity with a handful of salt. American Lee Miller (Kate Winslet) was a fashion model in Europe before World War II who worked with surrealist photographer Man Ray and herself became a noted photographer. She managed to talk the editor of British Vogue, Audrey Withers (Andrea Riseborough), into sponsoring her as a battle photographer after the war started, an assignment that produced some of the most indelible images of that conflict, including coverage of the opening of the death camps and intimate views of Hitler’s bunker. 

The latter included a stunt, a famous photo of Miller herself taking a bath in Der Fuhrer’s tub, which did much to feed into her reputation as an iconoclast with questionable taste, and the movie takes its measure of her pursuit of sensual satisfaction in all things she put her mind to, including a number of high-profile but strictly casual affairs. Framed as an interview with Miller in 1977, the movie sets itself up as an autobiography, which makes the aforementioned veracity even more suspect, but there’s plenty of witty dialogue and risqué behavior to offset the brutal carnage that Miller witnessed. Winslet is convincing as always, but it’s the supporting players, including Andy Samberg as Miller’s closest reporter pal, Marion Cotillard as the editor of French Vogue, and Alexander Skarsgard as Miller’s often confused British husband, who bring the verisimilitude. It really looks like what you imagine mid-century Europe was. 

Queer now playing in Tokyo at Shinjuku Piccadilly (050-6861-30119, Human Trust Cinema Yurakucho (03-6259-8608), White Cine Quinto Shibuya (03-6712-7225), Shibuya Cine Quinto (03-3477-5905), Yebisu Garden Cinema (0570-783-715).

Lee now playing in Tokyo at Toho Cinemas Chanter Hibiya (050-6868-5001), Toho Cinemas Nihonbashi (050-6868-5060), Toho Cinemas Roppongi Hills (050-6868-5024).

Queer home page in Japanese

Lee home page in Japanese

Queer photo (c) 2024 The Apartment S.r.L., Fremantle Media North America, Inc., Frenesy Film Company S.r.L./Yannis Drakoulidis

Lee photo (c) Brouhaha Lee Limited 2023