Chick flick, without the chicks
‘Brokeback Mountain’ is supposed to be a great, stunning film. Real art. Lots of awards and Oscar nominations. So why aren’t the guys flocking to see it?
Women report, with laughter, how their men cling to them as they never have before when they enter and leave the theater. How even the most sensible and cool must conquer their homophobia to go. Or rather, to be seen going.
And straight men are ridiculously homophobic. So we’re told, anyway.
I don’t plan to go, either. Even knowing Annie Proulx is an awesome author, and loving “The Shipping News” a few years back.
Homophobic or not, I’m just not interested in this story. Two ranch hands hired to look after sheep in lonely Wyoming fall in love with each other. Cowboy meets cowboy. They each try to live straight lives outside their love story. Odd, one of their wives thinks, that her man always comes home from “fishing trips” without even trying to fish.
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I wouldn’t go ” unless cajoled or forced by the better half, of course ” to a boy-girl love story sparked in lonely, vast sheep pasture in Wyoming. Even if the boy or the girl really did fish. Not without some holy grail to discover, humankind to save at the last moment, some genuine adventure.
I’ll go see a cowboy movie where the cowboys are fighting each other; that’s what real cowboys do, right? The twist in the love interest adds weirdness, to be sure, but the essential problem doesn’t change at root for me.
You see, the real problem with “Bareback Mountain” is that it’s a chick flick. Minus the chicks.
I hope it wins bucketloads of awards. I hope gay Americans feel more validated, as they should. But I didn’t go see “Titanic,” either, and it wasn’t from some fear of the sea.