But while the book arguably reads today as blunt and gauche, Guadagnino’s take on the material is soul-swellingly lush and allusive. It’s made in an unapologetically romantic mode – by night, Craig is spotlit by street lamps like a noir private eye, while Mexico City itself looks dreamily unreal, like a sumptuous Vincente Minnelli set on the MGM backlot.
It’s also notably explicit, with three sexual encounters that are about as graphic as modern male movie stardom allows. Fans of Guadagnino’s 2017 breakthrough hit, Call Me By Your Name, might recall the grumbling over a love scene in which the camera chastely pans towards some rustling trees. During one of Queer’s, we’re also treated to a similar view – but like Lee, the film’s not shy, and soon cuts hungrily back.
Craig is sensational in a role swimming in psychological complexity, which he marshals with rare intuition and grace. Lee is a self-styled flâneur, sauntering between bars in a white linen suit while projecting an air of casual self-amusement – but as his own insecurities come into focus, this carefully cultivated persona is revealed as a heartbreaking nervous tic. He uses the term queer with superficial pride – but the word is also often freighted with sadness and self-loathing; in one scene, he likens his sexuality to a hereditary disease.