“I’m not queer, I’m disembodied”: Luca Guadagnino’s Adaptation of “Queer”
Daniel Craig as William Lee and Drew Starkey as Eugene Allerton in Queer (2024) dir. Luca Guadagnino. Photo courtesy of A24.
In attempts to be more palatable when accommodating a traditional, heteronormative society, queer representation sometimes ignores the quotidian and flawed experiences that we all live. Luca Guadagnino’s 2024 film adaptation of William S. Burroughs’ 1985 novella, Queer, seeks to challenge safe queer representation by embodying the imperfect human experience in all of its raw beauty and mess.
Honoring its roots, Queer is structured as a literary experience through chapters. Chapter one is set in 1950s Mexico, introducing William Lee (Daniel Craig), a gay expat from the states who left for Mexico to support his heroin addiction. There, he meets the younger Eugene Allerton (Drew Starkey), a former navyman, and they soon become lovers despite Lee’s instability. In the second chapter, they travel across South America, and end up in the Ecuadorian jungle for a stash of ayahuasca in the third chapter. Lee returns to Mexico after a two-year gap in the epilogue.
While this sounds like a plot-heavy adventure (and events do occur), the film doesn’t prioritize excitement. Rather, it takes its time, lingering to capture the depth of the filmography. The first scene itself is a series of shots of Lee’s belongings, artfully organized on his linens, to a cover of Nirvana’s “All Apologies” by Sinead O’Connor. With most of the film shot on a soundstage, it captures an old-school, painting-like quality that’s nearly nonexistent in the current film landscape. However, what makes the beauty of Queer truly unique is its juxtaposition with grime.
Craig and Starkey in Queer (2024). Photo courtesy of A24.
Queer toes the line between grit and beauty, exemplified by an early scene: the thrumming bass and raspy vocals of Nirvana’s “Come as You Are” plays as Lee walks through the streets of Mexico City at night, coming upon a screaming cockfighting crowd. Despite the setting’s apparent vulgarity, this is where Lee sees Allerton for the first time. The classic romanticized scene where the love interest is introduced, where the world stops and his face is centered, is counterbalanced by the ugly circumstances and grunge music. It’s a visualization of the queer experience: the beauty in the universal experience of falling in love, and the ugliness of doing so in a world that criminalizes that kind of love. “The Lees have always been perverts,” Lee tells Allerton over dinner, theorizing this “proclivity” to have stemmed from a curse.
These visuals are enhanced by the surrealism incorporated throughout the film, reminiscent of Burrough’s frenetic writing style. An early hint of this comes in a shot of Lee’s body overlaid with television static during a moment in the cafe, and ramps up in layer sequences. Other notable shots include Lee’s vision of a woman’s disembodied torso with heroin needle in her arm, to Lee and Allerton’s skin melting and reconstructing when they take ayahuasca in the Ecuadorian jungle. Such shots enhance Guadagnino’s cinematography, treading beyond realism and implementing an abstract interpretation of the characters’ mindsets.
Starkey and Craig in Queer (2024). Courtesy of A24.
What stands out aside from the visuals are the performances from the actors, notably Daniel Craig’s performance as Burroughs’ surrogate, Lee, who now resides in Mexico to support his heroin habit. Coinciding with the film’s visuals, he balances beauty and grit in his portrayal of Lee. He’s charismatic and edgy but awkward and vulnerable all at once, and the humanity of his role shines through. Most of all, his yearning is palpable throughout his performance. His desire for Allerton is always at the forefront: he’s always looking or reaching out for Starkey’s character, who remains ambivalent but friendly at best and cold at worst towards Lee. The cinematography and editing reinforce this, at one point allowing for an opalescent rendering of Lee’s hand to reach out for Allerton while an opaque hand stays by his side.
Visuals and performance aside, what stuck after the screening was the sheer melancholy throughout the film. From the sensitivity in Lee’s character to the shots of Mexico’s empty streets at night, there is a separation between Lee and the rest of the world that gives insight into a profoundly lonely, complex character. This is especially apparent in the epilogue, as Lee falls from the black sky onto the beaches of Mexico two years after his journey to Ecuador for the ayahuasca trip. Memories of a long-gone Allerton haunt Lee, well into his old age, and he echoes a phrase said by both characters throughout the film, again saying: “I’m not queer, I’m disembodied.” Lee ends the film alone with nothing but the phantom touch of a long-lost lover, and it’s this emptiness that follows the viewer once they leave the theater—hollow, but grateful for the experience to see Burroughs’ adaptation come together as a beautiful, balanced portrayal of a complicated man.
Craig and Starkey in Queer (2024). Photo courtesy of A24.
