Brokeback, I wish I knew how to quit you.

Okay, it's true, I was predisposed to love this movie. I am all about repressed, unrequited, doomed love. I have seen Zefferelli's Romeo and Juliet countless times since I was eight years old. I am still haunted by the English Patient. Just about my favorite five seconds in all of cinema is the scene in the corridor in The Remains of the Day, when you can see Anthony Hopkins is in a life or death struggle to keep from reaching out and touching Emma Thompson on the cheek, but then he gets a hold of himself and doesn't, and never comes even close again for the rest of his miserable life. I played it for my husband the other night, but after rewinding it several times for him, it was still lost on him.

I have two favorite genres in film: the hero's journey, which could be summed up as "become what you are". Think Aragorn in Lord of the Rings. Or Joe vs. the Volcano. The other includes movies wound so tight with emotional tension they might crack. Where the dialogue is all subtle and terse, and preferably spoken in the Queen's english. Where for a minute something almost happens, but then it doesn't. (Patrick would add, "and then it rains frogs.")

Apart from lacking British accents, Brokeback Mountain is my perfect storm. I watched the trailer twenty times waiting for it to get here. I saw it the very first weekend when it finally did. I just downloaded the soundtrack from Itunes. I am seriously thinking about going to see it at a different theatre tomorrow afternoon. I am obsessed. That ole Brokeback got me good.

filed under: randomthoughts