By Peg Aloi

Queer breaks new artistic ground for an artist whose visionary talent is already well established.

Queer, directed by Luca Guadagnino. Screening at Kendall Square Cinema, Alamo Drafthouse Cinema, Coolidge Corner Theatre, Somerville Theatre, and AMC Boston Common.

Daniel Craig and Drew Starkey in a scene from Queer. Photo: A24

After an opening credit sequence of still photographs accompanied by Sinead O’Connor’s “All Apologies” (the first of many striking soundtrack moments), director Luca Guadagnino’s Queer begins with William Lee (Daniel Craig) sitting across from a new young acquaintance in a bar and saying matter-of-factly, “You’re not queer.” A middle-aged expat living in Mexico in 1950, Lee (as everyone calls him) complains about how difficult it is to chat up young American men. He notes his companion’s gold Star of David necklace and relates an anecdote about “a homma-sexual Jewish friend,” which falls flat. The young man stares politely but silently at Lee, who shrugs in frustration as his eccentric charms go unappreciated. It is the memorable opening scene in Guadagnino’s brilliant new film, adapted from William S. Burroughs’s semiautobiographical novel.

When the two men part ways after a handshake, beneath trees covered in pale purple blossoms (a brilliant bit of color symbolism right out of the gate, to be expected from this artful filmmaker), Lee sinks onto a bench. It may be heat exhaustion, or perhaps mild existential despair. He goes to another bar, where his friend Joe (an almost unrecognizably chubby Jason Schwartzman) announces that his typewriter’s been stolen. Perhaps a stand-in for Beat poet Allen Ginsberg, as Lee is for Burroughs, Joe serves as a somewhat messy, impulsive foil to Lee’s stylish persona, his creamy linen suits a Cosmopolitan attempt to beat the heat while still looking dapper. The two men commiserate over their run-ins with shady locals. Lee tells Joe not to invite unfamiliar men to his apartment. Joe bemoans being unable to afford a hotel room. Lee, despite being somewhat reckless when he’s drunk, makes use of hotel rooms for casual assignations. There’s a sense that Lee has been burned before and wants to protect his comfortable existence even as he seeks out casual trysts. His penchant for visiting multiple bars and cafés in a single night suggests a person who is desperate for companionship yet determined to avoid scrutiny.

Much is revealed about Lee in these early scenes: he’s charming, intellectual, arrogant, lonely, embittered, and just socially awkward enough to be sympathetic. He’s also independently (albeit mysteriously) wealthy, and prone to dreamy moments of mental disconnection. His only real friend seems to be Joe. The sense of queer community feels well-worn but strangely unfriendly in this unnamed town. Wordless glances in bars are the means to pass judgment on the conquests and failures of peers. But Lee’s carefully curated days are upended when a handsome young stranger crosses his path.

The two men’s eyes meet as they stand on opposite sides of a cockfight in the street (a cheeky bit of choreography). Eugene (Drew Starkey) has a gentle, almost shy manner; he holds Lee’s gaze with a subtle smile and the older man is immediately smitten. But Eugene then becomes aloof, embarrassed by Lee’s flirtation; when Lee sees him sit with an attractive young woman in the bar he leaves, embarrassed and angry. But Lee and Eugene continue to circle one another. They soon share an evening of pleasant conversation, ending in a friendly handshake. The two men eventually find themselves in bed, and their entanglement is tender and erotic. But while Lee wants an immersive, romantic affair, Eugene remains emotionally distant, continuing to see his female friend in public and keeping Lee at arm’s length. The frustration and sexual ambiguity is reminiscent of the relationship at the center of Call Me By Your Name, though those two men were closer in age, and the sex scenes far less explicit.With Queer, Guadagnino delves into a more intense portrayal of sexuality than he has previously, and it is frank and beguiling.

Lee eventually invites Eugene to travel with him to South America, in search of an encounter with ayahuasca, a potent hallucinogenic plant that Lee is convinced will enhance his nascent powers of telepathy. Eugene agrees, but only after Lee taunts Eugene about the debts he has run up in local cafés. En route, Lee experiences heroin withdrawal and, unexpectedly, Eugene proves to be a compassionate caretaker. After several failed attempts to find someone who will assist their endeavor, Lee and Eugene are led to a famed but reclusive botanist in the jungle (the incomparable Lesley Manville in a witchy, wild performance). At this point, Queer takes a bizarre but fascinating turn as Lee undergoes a profound experience of consciousness expansion that, perhaps, supplies the healing he’s been seeking. But that inner journey is not without perils.

Lee’s complex humanity, as expressed by Daniel Craig’s white-hot performance, is palpable, almost visceral. Every character, from leads to extras, seems perfectly cast to inhabit this exquisite time capsule. And yet, cleverly, unexpectedly, the score occasionally takes the viewer out of 1950 and tosses them into the ’80s, the ’90s, and elsewhere. It’s a brilliantly calibrated feat of anachronism: the needle drops of Nirvana, Prince, and New Order (okay I’ll stop there) made me practically yelp aloud with delight. The alluringly original music composed by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, full of warm melancholy strings, tensive and subtle and soulful, makes this one of the best cinematic scores this year.

Guadagnino’s other 2024 feature, Challengers (the erotically charged love triangle between professional tennis players that is way more suspenseful to watch than I could have possibly imagined), was also adapted for the screen by Queer’s writer, Justin Kuritzkes. The two films are very different in tone and style but they are quintessentially Guadagnino, graced by stunning, evocative visuals created in collaboration with cinematographer Sayombhu Mukdeeprom (who also photographed Call Me By Your Name and Suspiria). I enjoyed Challengers, but Queer breaks new artistic ground for an artist whose visionary talent is already well established. I have no doubt it will one day be considered one of Guadagnino’s finest and most personal works. Brimming with sumptuous sensuality and emotional intelligence, Queer is both a cinematic feast and an alluring aperitif that leaves one feeling richly sated yet somehow also wanting more, more.

Peg Aloi is a former film critic for the Boston Phoenix and member of the Boston Society of Film Critics, the Critics Choice Awards, and the Alliance for Women Film Journalists. She taught film studies in Boston for over a decade. She has written on film, TV, and culture for web publications like Time, Vice, Polygon, Bustle, Dread Central, Mic, Orlando Weekly, Refinery29, and Bloody Disgusting. Her blog “The Witching Hour” can be found on substack.