Added: Mindi Woodby - Date: 05.09.2021 11:08 - Views: 36308 - Clicks: 2417
People can be so crass. Imagine referring to the poignant, finely nuanced love story that is Brokeback Mountain as 'the gay cowboy movie'. What a misnomer. Anyone who has seen it can attest that really it should be called 'the porn-for-women movie'.
I like to think I'm not the shallow type. Long before Annie Proulx's haunting short story of two cowboys, one mountain and several hundred sheep was committed to celluloid, I was moved to tears by its message. Proulx's writing is extraordinary, her tale of true love lost so cautionary that only a moron would fail to ponder its implications.
Jack Twist and Ennis del Mar are characters in a love story: the fact that they are gay is wholly incidental. At least, that's what I thought before I went to see the film. But I didn't bank on them being so attractive. Reading the book, my mind had conjured two gnarled and raddled cowboys: the sort of men you see at closing time in any pub, only wearing spurs instead of trainers. The book has it that Jack 'carried some weight in the haunch and his smile disclosed buck teeth'; Ennis, meanwhile, was 'scruffy and a little cave-chested'.
On screen, I was expecting Cannon and Ball. Instead, here were Jake Gyllenhaal and Heath Ledger. In lumberjack shirts. With stubble. Girl-on-girl action is everywhere. We are inured to it.
If men want to see some hot lesbian action, they don't even need to type that harried phrase into their search engines. They need merely reach for the Sun, which last month ran a three headlined 'We Love Each Other', under which two blonde, tanned glammamodels stood tit-to-tit for the camera. Women seeking man-on-man action may as well forget it.
Outside of the porn shop, there isn't any. The last film I saw where man kisses man was My Beautiful Laundrette inand the outrage that greeted that was insanely disproportionate to the event. Men control the film industry, and men don't like seeing other men snog, shag or display any behaviour not strictly heterosexual.
Consequently, women don't really know what their response to a bit of man-on-man action will be. How can we, when we've barely seen any? While your boyfriend has probably told you which of your friends he fancies most, and which one he'd like to see you in bed with swapping panties, it's a fair bet that this fantasy isn't reciprocal.
I have no interest in seeing my boyfriend's mates in their underwear, while the thought of them humping could move me to boak. Watching the lovers' scenes in Brokeback Mountain, first of all I felt surprised at my response, then I felt embarrassed.
I will not leave the cinema, go for a latte and discuss which one I fancied most. I will not. I - well, OK then, but only for half an hour. Not because I felt Women want sex Cannon Ball was beneath me, but because I didn't fancy either of them. Floppy-haired, Women want sex Cannon Ball toffs aren't really my thing. Dirty-haired, trailer-trash cowboys clearly are.
Oh God. If every nice girl loves a sailor, then every undersexed, thirtysomething fashion bunny loves a cowboy. This film will do for Wranglers what Nick Kamen did for Levi's. Lumberjack shirts were not ly to my taste, but it's amazing what context can do for a garment. Or indeed the right models. True, Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal are obscenely gorgeous men, but they alone do not make this film the titillating tale that it is. We have the writer to thank for that, for conjuring rare characters from a world - the plains of Wyoming - that isn't often documented.
In a culture where David Beckham is held up as a stud muffin, the closest we come to 'manly' is Russell Crowe, and that's only because he likes punching photographers. How rubbish is that? Annie Proulx's is a story of that near-obsolete species, the Real Man: the strong and silent type who broods first and ask questions later, though they'd rather shag sheep than ask any at all.
Even without the love story, what a turn-on it is to lose yourself in a story about two men who aren't afraid of dirt, pain and silence. Obviously, Ang Lee didn't intend his film to be a slice of the finest soft porn for women ever committed to celluloid. But as a master of understatement, he is the perfect director of such a piece.
Had the love affair - and sex scenes - been rendered any less subtly than they are, the effect would be less loin-tingling. For if men want full-on visual stimulation, women's desire is fed by far subtler innuendo. Do not be deceived: this might be a gay love story, but nary a cock is shown on screen - not even the whisper of a cock, in fact.
There is a kiss, a flash of buttock, bare shoulders and sinuous backs glowing soft in the lamplight, but that's about all. The rest of the love affair is measured out in limpid looks of longing. Which of course makes it even hornier to watch. I don't know what straight men will make of Brokeback Mountain, but I suspect it won't be much. Now that it has been labelled 'the gay cowboy movie', they probably won't make it as far as the ticket booth.
Only the homosexuals, the henpecked, the meterosexuals and Chris Martin will go: Sun Man will give it a very wide berth. Which is fine, as it means all the more room for the rest of us. I'll definitely be going more than once. Brokeback Mountain is on general release. The original story by Annie Proulx is published by Scribner Classics. The Observer Life and style. Fancy a bit of bloke-on-bloke action? Line up, girls. For a soft-porn western, you can't beat a pair of chaps, says Laura Craik.
Laura Craik. Topics Life and style The Observer. Reuse this content.Women want sex Cannon Ball
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