I first experienced Queer at the Toronto International Film Festival, going in with no idea what to expect. The film turned out to be completely different from anything I had anticipated. Overwhelmed by a whirlwind of emotions, I felt it deserved a second viewing before I could craft a full review. Now, three months later, after revisiting it, I find myself still uncertain about how to feel. Queer is undeniably a peculiar and enigmatic exploration of sexuality, but at times, it seems to veer into strangeness to its own detriment.
We follow William “Bill” Lee (Daniel Craig), an American expat living in Mexico City, whose life is a haze of alcohol, opioids, and fleeting encounters. His days are consumed by his vices—until he crosses paths with Eugene Allerton (Drew Starkey), a recently discharged Navy serviceman. Bill quickly becomes infatuated with Eugene and becomes fixated on using telepathy to uncover whether Eugene is truly queer. On paper, this premise might seem like a straightforward queer romance—aside from the telepathy—but in execution, it’s anything but straightforward.
Overall, I was surprisingly indifferent to Queer’s stylized approach, which caught me off guard as this kind of artistic exploration is usually right up my alley. The film unfolds as a psychological fever dream, delving into themes of sexuality, loneliness, and addiction. Its narrative is fragmented, with small, isolated incidents propelling the story forward, punctuated by haunting, nightmarish dream sequences that perfectly reflect the chaotic mindset of an alcoholic and opioid addict.
For the first 30 minutes, Luca Guadagnino crafts an engaging and vibrant atmosphere, focusing on male loneliness and the therapeutic, albeit fleeting, pleasures of sex. During this portion, the story is at its most straightforward, with an almost hypnotic rhythm to its exploration of human connection. However, the film takes a dramatic turn with the introduction of Eugene Allerton, throwing William “Bill” Lee into a spiral of obsession. This marks the beginning of the film’s descent into a surreal fever dream, where reality and fantasy blur beyond recognition.
Eugene gives Bill mixed signals, which only fuels Bill’s fixation. Desperate to uncover the truth about Eugene’s sexuality, Bill’s obsession becomes all-consuming after their initial hookup. As Bill’s insecurities and fear of losing Eugene take hold, the relationship begins to unravel. Eugene gradually realizes that their fling is far from the carefree romance he might have envisioned. This is where the narrative becomes its most fragmented, taking the audience on a disjointed journey across multiple countries as the couple makes their way to Ecuador.
Once they arrive in Ecuador, the film reaches its most surreal and divisive point. Here, Guadagnino unleashes a series of dreamlike sequences that are as unforgettable as they are polarizing. This portion of the film leans heavily into the “queer” in its original sense—strange and uncanny, rather than explicitly gay. The emphasis on style over substance is particularly pronounced, with minimal dialogue, cryptic glances, and a heavy infusion of Latin American aesthetic influences. While the bold visual and atmospheric choices are admirable, they lack the narrative weight to ground the experience. In the end, while I respect the film’s daring artistic vision, its overwhelming reliance on style leaves it feeling hollow. For a film so intent on exploring deep emotional and psychological themes, Queer ultimately left me craving more substance to balance its striking imagery.
Regardless of how you feel about the story, one thing is undeniable: Daniel Craig delivers the performance of his career. He is utterly captivating as Bill, a deeply broken man desperate for connection—a longing that ultimately becomes his undoing. Craig’s portrayal is layered and raw, capturing both the vulnerability and self-destructive tendencies of his character with astonishing nuance. Jason Schwartzman, in contrast, lights up every scene he’s in. Though his role is limited, he leaves a lasting impression with his portrayal of an eccentric and flamboyant gay character, bringing much-needed bursts of energy and humor to the film.
Drew Starkey’s performance, however, is a different story. His portrayal of Eugene is perplexing. While it’s clear the character is meant to be enigmatic and hard to read, Starkey takes this to an extreme, rendering Eugene almost entirely inscrutable. Instead of mystery, his performance comes across as flat and lifeless, leaving him a blank slate—an emotional cipher that’s difficult to connect with. Whether this is a directorial choice or a limitation in Starkey’s acting is unclear, but one thing is certain: Eugene is pivotal to the story. With such a lackluster portrayal, the entire film struggles to hold together, as the emotional and narrative weight hinges on a character who feels more like a block of wood than a fully realized individual. This misstep undermines the film’s otherwise ambitious exploration of its themes.
Overall, Queer is a peculiar and deeply unconventional film that left me feeling mostly indifferent. It’s a work that straddles the line between brilliance and alienation, with certain elements I genuinely admire and others that failed to resonate. The film’s ambition is evident in its willingness to take risks and push boundaries, but its experimental and arthouse approach may alienate viewers who prefer more traditional storytelling.
While I could follow the narrative, its fragmented structure and surreal detours demand a lot from the audience. The dreamlike sequences and disjointed pacing create an atmosphere that feels intentional but not always effective. For fans of arthouse or experimental cinema, Queer might offer a rewarding, if challenging, experience. However, for those who prefer straightforward narratives or clear resolutions, this film is unlikely to satisfy. It’s a work that thrives on its oddities, but those same quirks can also make it feel inaccessible.
My Rating: B-
Leave a Reply