Channel Four screened Brokeback Mountain last night, and despite promises to myself that I wouldn’t watch it, I sat through pretty much the whole bloomin’ thing.
My failure annoyed me because Brokeback Mountain is a film that falls into a select category in my mind, one that has been named Films That Make Me Weep For Seven Years Every Time I Watch Them. Even though I’m one of those pansies who’ll cry at adverts when no-one is looking, this remains a very exclusive club. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind goes in without question – If I’m not bawling my eyes out when Clementine murmurs, “Come back and make up a goodbye this time… let’s at least pretend we had one”, there’s something not right in the world. Likewise, if I’m not fighting back the tears when the Hungry March Band storm the titular club in Shortbus and Severin starts screaming the place down, the world is all askew.
(note: this video probably isn’t work safe, unless your work don’t mind you watching the beginnings of an orgy).With Brokeback Mountain, the opportunities for a little sob are numerous. What about when Alma catches Jack and Ennis kissing? Wah! What about when Ennis finds the bloodied shirts hidden away? Mew! What about that very last scene where Ennis mutters, “Jack, I swear…” For Christ’s sake, there’s snot everywhere.
Nothing quite compares to the last trip to Brokeback, however. The squabble that ends in bitter recrimination and weeping always leaves me a wreck on the sofa. Whose heart isn’t stamped into itty-bitty pieces when Heath Ledger’s face squinches up and he spits out a defeated, “It’s your fault I’m like this… I’m nothing, I’m nowhere…”? Bloody brilliant stuff.(As an aside, I tried to find a clip of this scene on YouTube, but I couldn’t see for the lake of fanvids. I’m too trepidatious to open them, but from the stills and the titles I’m going to guess they’re montages of Jack and Ennis having a little cuddle to Ronan Keating songs and that one by Aerosmith. Soz. )
So I started off this post insisting I didn’t want to watch one of my all-time favourite films, and the reason is simple: advertising. The last thing you need during a film like Brokeback Mountain is a noisy ad break every twenty minutes, the emotional rollercoaster pulled to a grinding halt so you can be bombarded with jaunty images of delighted pensioners licking the lid of life, or puppies letting you know how best to wipe your arse. No, no and thrice no. I want my misery UNINTERRUPTED, okay?
I’m going to start a campaign to have all films of an emotional manner screened solely on the Beeb. Channel 4 and ITV can have what’s left: teen comedies, films about fast cars and any that feature unrelenting and depressingly vivid violence.
There was a point to all this, actually. Are you ready for it?
Excellent.
The reason I’m wanking on about the wonderful Brokeback Mountain is because watching it in the wake of Ledger’s untimely death left me thinking about his acting legacy.
When he and Jake Gyllenhaal signed up for the film there was a lot of discussion about whether the decision would ruin their careers, and the ‘bravery’ they were showing by taking on such roles, like they were planning on doing a non-stop sponsored wank until all world debt had been eradicated or something. Bravery? No-one would call it bravery if two female actors had signed up for the lesbian version. Then it would have just been front page news on the cover of The Sun with the headline ‘PHWOAR! HOLLYWOOD STARS KNOCK KNOCKERS’ attached. But that’s beside the point.
Regardless, I’m sure it would have taken a lot of thought on their parts. But say Heath Ledger hadn’t signed on and made this film? I think it’s fair to say that it’s the performance of his life, that he was robbed of that Oscar… but what else would he have been remembered for? A Knight’s Tale? Ten Things I Hate About You? Unlikely.
You see, the discussion that went on around their employment focussed on whether the pair would be cast in anything ever again after playing gay in one film. Would their careers suffer? Would it be worth it? No-one knew that Ledger would be dead three or four years down the line, that this fine performance would be the shining moment of his professional legacy.
So all I really wanted to say was this: it’s a bloody good example of carpe diem if ever I saw one.
