Out and About ‖ Call Me By Your Name
An Introduction
Queerness and cinema have a tumultuous relationship, and oftentimes the discourse surrounding LGBTQ+ film and media exists in a purgatorial bubble located in between ideas interplaying and in odds with each other: Which groups get represented? How do we represent them? What narratives should we tell? When is the right time to do so? Questions like these and more ricochet within the inner walls of not only just gay films, but all media surrounding marginalized groups. Under the LGBTQ+ umbrella, there are a rolodex of contrasting responses, ideas, and arguments toward the whys, hows, whats, and whens of queer films. It’s these latitudes of thought and belief within queer spaces that make talking about gay film so… tricky. Just like the group which these films reflect, queer movies as a whole exist in compartmentalized unity. By no means is that a knock on the community or its films; in fact, it’s a refreshing lens to look through. This kind of non-rigid segmentation has allowed more and more films to be added to the gay film queue.
Of course, there are films like “Paris is Burning”, “Dog Day Afternoon”, or “Portrait of Jason”, universally accepted as “old school” queer classics, the Beethovens and Bachs. Contemporary gay narratives like “Love Simon”, “Moonlight”, and “The Favourite” could be seen as a reimagining of queer themes and characters; newer composers, Glass and Greenwood. However, the notion of “new and old school” is an arbitrary starting point at best. Queerness in film is a trait dependent on audiences and their specific experiences. There are gay-adjacent films like “Mean Girls”, “Midnight Cowboy”, and even “Mulan” that are intertwined with the more concretely defined LGBTQ+ themes. One step further are films like “Jojo Rabbit” or “Hereditary”, movies that become part of the queer conversation if watched through a particular lens. And further after that, are magnificent anomalies like Joel Schumacher’s Batman films and Jennifer Kent’s “The Babadook”, movies queered by special circumstance and accepted as part of the larger picture after the fact. All this is only to say that there is no one way to be queer; there is no one way to be a queer film.
For decades, queer film and art film were somewhat synonymous as if general audiences were not going to understand its deeper message, for these stories were “highbrow” or “intellectual”. Growing up as a gay Filipino in rural Pennsylvania, the idea that I had to actively seek out queer films was not only fascinating to be, but somewhat enthralling. These characters are for me. These stories are for us. But looking back, the lack of distinction between queer and art film could be seen as very limiting, and obviously, with gay stories popping up on television channels and streaming services everywhere, someone in charge made the distinct decision to spread the rainbow love. To think that we have “LGBTQ+” as an option the Netflix genre wheel shows how far the world has come in terms of marginalized storytelling.
And while we still have a long way to go in that department, there are ample signs of queerness spreading through various genres and mediums. It’s a beautiful thing, but to navigate the jungle of queer narratives and their contributions in today’s world can seem like an impossible task. In other words, when it comes to queer cinema, from “Brokeback” to “Babadook” and “Idaho” to “Philadelphia”, finding solid answers is impractical, but recontextualizing, examining, and questioning the questions is a much better use of one’s time. And quite frankly, it’s just more interesting. This column’s purpose is to not to act as a map, but rather a compass pointing to queer films and ideas that I would contemplate to friends and colleagues, younger versions of myself, and others so desperately longing to experience these stories. But just be warned, there are no escapes; only blissful never ending directions to move in.
Call Me By Your Name
Nothing is more difficult than beginning. In thinking about which film could kick this off, I was bombarded by ideas. I could go the route of a forgotten classic like 1989’s “Longtime Companion”, featuring a short-short wearing Dylan McDermott and a New York City plagued with AIDS (and one of the earliest depictions of the crisis.) Maybe that’s coming on too strong. I then thought it could be an interesting move to do an about face and pontificate on the openly gay Roland Emmerich and his “Independence Day” films, stories laced with themes of internalized homophobia and nuances of platonic male friendships (whether intentional or not.) I decided against it, wanting to build up some more trust. After a while, it clicked. Perhaps its best that the first film in a column about the big questions of queer cinema was something deeply personal, glaringly obvious, and polarizing within the queer community-- Luca Guadagnino’s beloved and bemoaned “Call Me By Your Name”.
Starting with the most obvious, the film, like the original André Aciman novel, unravels in prototypical boy-meets-boy form except this time one of the boys is… older. Scandalous. It goes without saying that the seven year age gap between Elio and Oliver (17 and 24, respectively) was a sharp point of controversy in various circles. And though its legality is sound (the age of consent in Italy is 14), its ethics has always been up for grabs, being reached at by detractors and those generally jealous of Timothée Chalamet’s jawline. For many queer people, seeing this kind of relationship is just another Tuesday, a tale as old as time. What stands out is Guadagnino’s film is the director’s ability to sensualize without being overly explicit. The way light sparkles through trees and onto bodies resting underneath, the act of riding bikes across the Italian countryside, the angle at which a hand proceeds to pluck a peach from its branch for, well, you know, peach things is all in service of a film that captures the wandering spirit of the 1980’s. Elements like performance, cinematography, and score aside, Guadagnino’s directorial decisions as a queer filmmaker elevate a rather formulaic story. It’s enough to make you believe that its lead actors are gay.
And there it is. It’s difficult if not futile to discuss the good, bad, and ugly of queer cinema without tackling representation politics in some form at some point. Though representation is a complex and often heated discussion, it is a conversation that cannot be ignored when delving into queer film. For these films, the question of who should play who has been at the forefront of discourse; it is both the elephant in the room and the monster under the bed. On one side, you have creatives who feel that gay stories matter more than queer representation. Says writer, Tarell Alvin McCraney, of Moonlight fame, “We don't have such a plethora of representation that we can afford to do that at this point. If you make a movie about Mars, and you know nothing about Mars, you do the research, or find someone who does.” And of course, the other side of the coin: “The entire counter-argument to the idea of letting straight people portray gay characters can be summed up in three words: queer actors exist”, writes Megan Lasher at Heart Digital Media. For many in the queer community, the push and pull between these viewpoints have turned “Call Me By Your Name” into an even more discussion-worthy film, regardless of the film’s quality (which is sublime, in my opinion.) This is not to say that other films have not caused similar uproar in the past, but because of social media, “stan culture” and today’s much more involved social awareness, Guadagnino’s Italian summer is the latest reincarnation of the debate.
For as fervent as both positions are, it feels as if most queer artists are somewhere in between, placing respect toward the subject matter at the forefront and open casting rather than throwing out straight candidates all together. Even this mindset has pitfalls in that it's almost impossible to police casting regulations, and, more interestingly, because of sexuality’s fluidity, no one can have any true idea of the orientation of someone who walks in the casting room. This is Guadagnino’s position, ever since the first time the casting ethics of “Call Me by Your Name” was called into question. In a 2017 Hollywood Reporter Q&A, the interviewer begins right out of the gate, asking the director about his decision to cast straight leads as gay characters. He responds:
“This film is about the blossoming of love and desire, no matter where it comes from and toward what. So I couldn’t have ever thought of casting with any sort of gender agenda. I think people are so beautiful and complex as creatures that as much as I am fascinated with gender theory — I’ve studied [American gender theorist] Judith Butler for so long — I prefer much more never to investigate or label my performers in any way. I only cast the actors and actresses I fall in love with — truly having an emotion for them, an anticipation and enthusiasm when seeing them — and I believe that my emotional confidence in them blends into chemistry. It’s always been like that, and I hope I won’t be wrong in the future.”
And upon the release of Guadagnino’s new television series, “We Are Who We Are” (still set in a coming-of-age Italy), he defends his position on casting Chalamet and Hammer in “Call Me By Your Name”:
“I honestly don’t believe I have the right to decide whether an actor is straight or not. Who am I to know what somebody is thinking of himself or herself within themselves. Yes, Armie is a straight man with a wife and children and the same can be said of Timothée. But do I ask them to swear on their sexuality, on their identities, on their desires, before I cast them? I don’t.”
And though it may feel like a wishy washy cop out answer, I am reminded of Sundance winner, “The Miseducation of Cameron Post”. Chloe Grace Moretz’ casting as a lesbian teen under conversion therapy was scrutinized by many, and when she was confronted about it she chuckled, “Well I think what’s important is don’t assume anyone’s sexuality. I mean, across the board don’t assume.” A couple months later, she began dating model Kate Harrison. It’s these real life moments that remind me of the complexity of sexuality, and why any stance on the issue can be just as complicated. “Call Me By Your Name” never mentions the word “gay” once, so to assume that these characters are totally comfortable with their sexualities so as for audiences to place labels on them has always been a strange response in my eyes. Both Elio and Oliver also have other relationships with women in the film aside from their own. So with all the talk about casting gay actors in these roles, why have these heterosexual relationships been thrown out the window? After all, Elio’s first two sexual experiences in the film are with his summer fling, Mariza. To me, this signals that the film is not about “coming out” so much as it is about discovery.
Building on that further, Oliver’s phone call at the end of the film reveals that he is married to a woman. Are we to believe that he is not somewhat attracted to his wife? Naturally, gay relationships were not taken too lightly in the era of the film, let alone gay relationships between a 17 and 24 year old, so it would be safe to assume that their partnership could not last for very long (at least in the prying eyes of a 1980s society.) To assume that these particular characters are of any sexual label feels like a surface reading of the film. It goes without saying that in some queer media, representation is more of a defined issue. For example, Sean Penn playing the openly gay titular politician in “Milk” or Darren Criss’ portrayal of Andrew Cunanan and Blaine Anderson, openly gay characters in Ryan Murphy’s treasure trove, are more intertwined with the notion of representation politics than the fluid sexualities of Oliver and Elio. When Elio utters, “call me by your name, and I’ll call you by mine”, it is the closest thing these characters come to labelling themselves, the closest thing to a coming out scene. However, I don’t blame the audience for the queering of these characters, nor do I think it is incorrect to do so. For when a man kisses another man on screen, it’s automatically gay. Rules are rules. Perception is reality, and Timothée’s jawline is just too sharp.
Sometimes, when I watch the film (and I watch it a lot), I wonder if the filmmakers knew that this would hit queer audiences in such a ferociously polarizing way. After all, Sufjan Stevens’ did do the music. With the frilly way that Guadagnino, the team surrounding the film, and movie’s ride-or-die fans describe “Call Me By Your Name”, it’s almost as if they are misdirecting suspicious audiences from a hidden nature. The defensive and shocked expressions and reactions toward the film being “gay” or “queer” are almost comical at times. Of course the film is queer; it’s themes of unrequited love, acceptance, and too-little-too-late romance fall right in line with many gay movies, and are recognizable to queer viewers. Though its characters may be figuring out their queerness, the film’s queerness cannot be denied. So while Guadagnino’s claim that the film is about “blossoming of love and desire” rings true with all signs in the film pointing toward that vision, for him to dismiss the film’s impact on the LGBTQ+ community as if the casting concerns are out of the blue leaves a weird taste in my mouth. It’s not a bad taste. Just a weird one.
While I wouldn’t go so far as to call the film“queer-baiting”, “Call Me By Your Name” might be “queer-beckoning”--- a light suggestiveness that entices gays to cozy into theaters with iced coffees in hand. For some, Guadagnino’s filmmaking is not enough to cover the film’s blemishes, and his “how do I know” rationale behind casting Chalamet and Hammer has quicksand footing. Other strikes often made against the film are its lack of attention toward the decade in which it is set (a dark time for the LGBTQ+ community) and its lack of explicit gay sex (something ceremonial on other queer films.) And while I personally believe that Guadagnino’s cinematic elements outline and achieve his goals for the film, I can still understand those who feel an aversion to the movie; I can sympathize with fans, but empathize with critics. But the funny thing is, both camps watched the film. In terms of queer art house indies, “Call Me By Your Name” was a perfect storm, powerful enough to pick up $41.9 million dollars in the global box office with only a production budget of $3.4 million. Word of mouth spread about the film spread like an infestation though queer communities.
After the film’s release, the floodgates for rumors opened. A series akin to Linklater’s Before Trilogy. An actual relationship between Timmy and Armie. An amusement park ride where you could ride a hollow out peach (just kidding, but could you imagine!) The film spun in directions uncontainable within the boundaries of the LGBTQ+ community. Its discourse on representation continued and still does to this day. A few months ago, I opened an article about the release of Aciman’s sequel book, entitled “Find Me”. This basically confirmed my fears for the legacy of the film; they were going to milk it. The obsession that sprung within meme, stan, and ship accounts across social media platforms, the polarized reaction too strong to keep people from not talking about it, the millions of peach themed t-shirts and iPhone phone cases, it was reason enough to build what worked as a standalone film into an empire. And as the old saying goes, all good things must come to a franchise.
If and when a sequel eventually releases, the same articles calling out the queer representation will appear once more. Luca Guadagnino will give the same answers he’s been giving for years. The movie will come out. Everyone will watch it. Wash, rinse, repeat. In a way, the cyclical nature of the fight for queer representation is reassuring. With every iteration, it seems like the LGBTQ+ community is slowly being included into the fold. Maybe after the 10th sequel to “Call Me By Your Name”, queer representation problems will be a thing of the past, but for this moment, I can take comfort in the fact that queer stories will always be sought after, having a place in someone’s conversation and someone’s wallet. Did I mention the jawline?