​​Queer
Directed by Luca Guadagnino
Written by Justin Kuritzkes
Starring Daniel Craig, Drew Starkey, Lesley Manville, and Jason Schwartzman
Runtime: 2 hours and 18 minutes
Rated R
Played at TIFF 2024
In theaters November 27, 2024

by Billie Anderson, Staff Writer

“Door’s already opened can’t close it now, all you can do is look away. But why would you?”

Within the first few minutes of Queer, it became abundantly clear to me that Luca Guadagnino truly understands William S. Burroughs’ work. Much like Mike Flanagan with Stephen King, or Greta Gerwig with Louisa May Alcott, Guadagnino has an uncanny ability to capture the spirit of his source material while making it distinctly his own. It’s been a few years since I read any of Burroughs’ work, so the specifics are hazy, but the production design, performances, and trippy visuals in this adaptation felt eerily close to what I’d envisioned while reading his novels. Whether this is a testament to the hallucinatory quality of the film or simply my festival-brain during the last screening of movie-filled-day, I couldn’t help but feel as though Guadagnino nailed the second part of the movie–leaning into the hallucinatory quality and enveloping his audience in the process. 

Certainly, some viewers might walk away disappointed—whether because they were expecting something more accessible like Challengers or because of the age gap at the heart of the story. But for me, Queer is a triumph, a film that perfectly embodies the novel’s tone and spirit. I think Burroughs would be proud.

Daniel Craig stars as William Lee–a stand-in for Burroughs–whose obsessive search for connection mirrors his struggles with addiction. Set in 1950s Mexico City, Lee moves between aimless pursuits of young men, his desperation as palpable as the opiates he can’t live without. Craig’s performance is one of the best of his career, rendering Lee’s self-destructive spiral with raw physicality. Whether he’s drowning in rejection or offering his body in transactional encounters, Craig channels a man whose lust and longing have become addictions in their own right.

When Lee meets Allerton (Drew Starkey), the narrative pivots toward an intimate yet excruciating exploration of unrequited love. Allerton is young, enigmatic, and just interested enough to keep Lee hooked, though his feelings remain ambiguous. We learn so little about him–we see him with friends, we see him with Lee–but we know nothing of him. His reluctance to define their connection—or to embrace Lee publicly—forces Lee into a spiral of obsession and paranoia, his insecurities feeding his worsening addiction. I felt this obsession in my own viewing: who is Allerton? Why won’t he be direct? What’s his problem? Starkey plays the role of Allerton as a beguiling cipher, withholding just enough to drive Lee’s mania while maintaining an air of quiet detachment, asking Lee, and the audience, the beg for more. 

Guadagnino uses this relationship to explore the unique challenges of queer relationships, particularly in an era where such connections were taboo. The absence of societal milestones like marriage or children lends a fluidity and uncertainty to their bond, reflecting the broader queer experience of love without a roadmap. The film captures the power imbalances and the fraught negotiations of desire and identity. For Lee, love becomes an all-consuming need, driven by his inability to reconcile his own desires with a world that refuses to validate them.

Visually, Queer is nothing short of stunning. Sayombhu Mukdeeprom’s cinematography places the viewer in the warmth of 1950s Mexico City, juxtaposed with the surreal chaos of Lee and Allerton’s later journey to South America. The visuals in the film are so warm, I felt myself begging for scenes to be a little longer so I could enjoy the view. The hallucinatory sequences, drenched in Guadagnino’s signature grotesquery, serve as a potent metaphor for Lee’s crumbling psyche. The film’s climax—a nightmarish vision quest—is a masterclass in tension, mirroring Challengers in intensity while taking its characters in an entirely different emotional direction. The repeated lines “I’m just disembodied” seep through the visuals in the later half of the movie echo Lee trying to grasp who he is, what his relationship to Allerton can offer his identity. This disembodiment is not only a physical detachment but also a psychological and existential one, illustrating how deeply Lee’s sense of self is tied to his interactions with others and the rejection of societal norms. 

While the chemistry between Craig and Starkey is electric, the film occasionally struggles with pacing. Much has been made of the decision to cut an hour from the runtime, and it shows. Some of the characters’ more dramatic emotional shifts feel rushed, particularly as Lee’s obsession with Allerton reaches its breaking point. However, the film compensates by leaning into its themes of ineffable love and unresolved longing, trusting the audience to sit with its ambiguities rather than offering easy answers.

Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross’s haunting score amplifies the film’s aching tone, blending seamlessly with Mukdeeprom’s visuals to create an experience that is as tactile as it is emotional. A standout moment comes with the use of Nirvana’s “Come as You Are”—a raw, anachronistic cry that perfectly encapsulates the film’s tension between desire and identity.

Queer is Guadagnino’s most subdued and human film to date. It’s an unflinching examination of unbalanced love, identity, and addiction, made all the more remarkable by Daniel Craig’s fearless performance and Drew Starkey’s nuanced portrayal of a man caught between curiosity and detachment. It won’t appeal to everyone; its meandering, often opaque narrative asks more of its audience than Guadagnino’s previous works. But for those willing to embrace its complexities, Queer offers a devastating and unforgettable portrait of longing, insecurity, and the relentless search for connection.

This is not Call Me By Your Name or Challengers. It’s something stranger, messier, and ultimately, ironically, more Queer (™), and more Challenging (™). But, as a testament to Burroughs’ spirit, it feels just right.