Shattering and Unforgettable

Rating: 10/10 (16 February 2006)

As I've never written a movie review, I wasn't sure where to begin. There are already so many wonderful, moving reviews of this movie that I was wondering what I could say that hasn't already been beautifully, eloquently said. The IMDb guidelines say "The best reviews include not only whether you liked or disliked a movie, but also why." So when all was said and done, I kept coming back not to my judgments of the acting, directing, etc., but to *why* I responded to this film so strongly. So this review is a personal one, and, as such, I was hesitant to post it, but ultimately thought there might be similar souls out there who would like to know they aren't alone in their reaction to this film. So with that in mind . . .
Dammit, dammit, dammit! It's been four days, seems like 24. And nothing is the same. And I mean nothing. Why does this film continue to haunt deep in my bones? I haven't slept through a night, been able to focus on anything else, eat only to quell the hunger pangs, and why oh why can't I stop crying? I start to wonder if it's because my experiences are so similar to Ennis and Jack's. Is that why I keep weeping?

Is it because I, too, grew up in a very small, desolate area and discovered feelings I could barely identify -- not to mention acknowledge or deal with having had no frame of reference for them?

Is it because I moved in with the "love of my life" when I was 19, and at the first opportunity pushed the two single beds together (as I like to think Jack would have) in our one-bedroom apartment, and came home the next day to find them restored to their former positions?

Is it because I so much connect with the reasons for Ennis' paralyzing fear instilled by a narrow-minded society? Like when I was shunned by schoolmates, left as the outsider, friendless, mercilessly terrorized until I attempted to end the pain? Or when I was kicked out of my apartment because they thought I was gay? Or when I was let go by a firm's new boss because he thought I was gay, even though I was the department's top producer and had been there over two years, effectively ending that career? Or when a friend moved from another city into my L.A. apartment's extra bedroom to purse a career in "the industry," only to be shot in the head the next day by a drive-by full of cowards shouting anti-gay slurs? Or was it when my parents said I would go to hell?

Is it because the nay-sayers had me just about convinced that love was simply some chemical reaction, subject to the whims of the universe, only to be reminded by this film that true, eternal, passionate, life-altering love is there for the taking, if we are but given the opportunity and have the courage?

Is it because when my lover quickly sickened and died and I was unable to be there to hold him, comfort him, tell him things I should have long ago?

Or now, at 51, is it because -- as Annie says in Brokeback Mountain after the passage of 20 years, -- "They were no longer young men with all of it before them" and I find myself at the mercy of my choices? Prospects far gone away.

Yes, this movie has affected me -- No. It has *changed* me. Though don't ask me quite how. I just know that things are not the same. Before seeing this movie I was paying bills, cleaning, cooking, deciding what color to repaint the cabinets. Now none of that has any real meaning for me. I meander around, lost in the scraps of life, unable to find solace or meaning, clinging to far-too-few long-ago, fleeting moments of true-love's passionate expression. . . . perhaps like Ennis and Jack.
In my opinion, for a movie to actually change someone is about the highest review one can give. It's a tribute really. So to Ang and all the rest involved in making this remarkable movie, I owe you my complete gratitude. You owe me four boxes of tissues. . . .and therapy.