Tuesday, December 13, 2005

yee haw...

Obviously, nothing could keep me from gay, gay cowboy lovin’. Thus, Zoe and I went to see Brokeback Mountain last night. Richard and Liam were invited to join us, but decided Brokeback was a chick’s movie and wanted to have a boys night out. Fair enough. They went and saw the testosterone packed, shoot ‘em up, action flick Memoirs of a Geisha. Nice choice, queens.
Anyway, my brilliant living companion got tickets online early, thinking rightly so that the movie would sell out. We arrived at Embarcadero by 7:15, thinking we had plenty of time to get snacks and seats. Turns out, every single showing last night was sold out, and we arrived to find the entire complex overflowing with gays. Shimmying into the middle two seats of the second row, we looked around.
“What percentage of the people in here are incredibly gay, do you think?”
“Oh, that’s easy.” Zoe replied. “75%”
“That’s exactly what I was going to say!”
As if the squeals of friend recognition and scent of designer men’s fragrance didn’t give it away, to glace behind us you’d think you were at a Cher concert or Liza Minelli book signing. It was the gayest crowd of leather motorcycle jacket wearers I’ve ever seen. Someone actually brought a puppy, it was that gay.
The lights dimmed and we scooched back in our seats, craning our necks to see the entire screen looming overhead. I’ve got to say, the movie isn’t at all what I expected. Brokeback Mountain is this epic love story with sweeping views and impassioned man love. Conveniently, Zoe’s a big Heath Ledger fan and I’m developing an obsession with Jake Gyllenhaal, so we were both delighted to see them bathing in streams and wrestling in fields.
Clearly, forbidden love makes for terrific tearjerking, but it’s rather disconcerting to hear 200 grown men sobbing like 12 year old girls. I’ll admit, however, there’s a shirt smelling scene that had Zoe and me crying like a bunch of drag queens, and we were by far the butchest bitches in there. The credits rolled, we wiped our eyes and shuffled out amidst the Prada trainers and man pashminas, heading home to Safeway salad and Chardonnay.
I enjoyed my time on Brokeback Mountain, although unlike Michelle Williams, if I walked outside my dilapidated trailer to find my husband making out with Jake Gyllenhaal, I’d be pissed not because he and his “fishing buddy” were obviously gay. I’d be pissed because he wasn’t sharing. Hello? Community property…

8 comments:

Tempe said...

im so pissed this flick isnt out in phoenix yet. fucking limited release!!! im totally gonna be one of those 200 bawling queers. anyway good post and i think all spots fans should write to vanity fair and demand a spots column. viva la spots!!

Anonymous said...

I just checked out your Amazon.com wishlist. I think the addition of $65,000 diamond earrings and a Baby Grand piano is class. I'll be getting you a $15 CD. It's not the cello (?), but it's close...

Spots said...

Rock on, Tempe! You and my other fan, Uncle Ted, can start a writing campaign. I'll await VF's call.
And as for you, anonymous Amazon shopper, I think the entire Wishlist concept is both genius and appalling. I'm on a mission to have the most ridiculous wishlist ever.
Yay! I hope it's the Mohicans CD. I love that shit...

sfmike said...

I saw the link on SFist and must say that your review of "Brokeback Mountain" is easily the funniest/greatest I've read anywhere. And yes, ever since "Donnie Darko," Jake Gyllenhaal has been making this middle-aged homo feel a 12-year-old girl.

Spots said...

sfmike, I love you...

dani said...

You famous bitch. I love you.

Bacon Press said...

Aaiii!

That describes my experience precisely!

My crowd was way too gay. Who would've thunk, in SF of all places? However, we needed some straight and feminine energy in that theater.

But that shirt sniffin' scene got me too, as well as the other gay boys in the audience. Something about sniffing unwashed manly articles of clothing drives straight to some weird, stem-brain, instinctual thing in gay men that triggers all sorts of emotions. I'll say no more.

Other...than. When I went to buy tickets last Friday for the next day, I about lost all respect for the Queer Nation, of which I'm a citizen, when some queen walks out of the movie wearing one of those "L.A. Cowboy" hats with the sides rolled up, a denim jacket, and a Burberry scarf *flowing* around his neck.

Jesus.

Can't we keep our camp at home or in the theatre where it belongs?

k.

PS Here's my foodie take on the movie:

http://baconpress.blogspot.com/2005/12/brokeback-sandwich.html

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