Luca Guadagnino’s Queer is a daring, dreamlike exploration of unrequited desire, dislocation, and descent—part period drama, part psychedelic fever dream. Adapted from William S. Burroughs’ semi-autobiographical novella, the film is both an homage to its author’s troubled psyche and a contemporary reflection on queer longing, filtered through Guadagnino’s lush, maximalist style. It’s one of the strangest and most transfixing films of 2024—and perhaps the most vulnerable performance Daniel Craig has ever delivered.
Set in the smoky bars and humid streets of 1950s Mexico City, Queer centers on William Lee, an aging American expat living in exile and chasing the ghosts of intimacy through drugs and fleeting encounters. Craig plays Lee with a quiet desperation, a man whose intellectual bravado masks deep insecurity and emotional decay. When he meets Eugene Allerton (Drew Starkey), a younger and inscrutable fellow American, something inside Lee ignites—an obsession that spirals slowly into delusion.
Their relationship unfolds not through romantic convention, but in fragments: glances, hesitations, cryptic exchanges. Eugene is charismatic but aloof, curious but distant. Starkey’s performance is layered and enigmatic, portraying a man who is either unaware of Lee’s infatuation or choosing to ignore it. His body language and gaze speak volumes even when his words don’t. That ambiguity—about his feelings, about his own identity—keeps the film in a state of tension that never fully resolves.
What makes Queer so uniquely unsettling and beautiful is Guadagnino’s treatment of time, space, and texture. He blends period-authentic costumes and production design with intentionally artificial elements: rear projection, miniatures, and incongruous modern music. These choices break the spell of realism but deepen the emotional resonance, as if we’re watching a memory being reconstructed with unreliable tools. The result is a film that feels suspended between decades, like a celluloid artifact rediscovered rather than newly made.
Much of the story plays like a slow unraveling. Lee and Allerton’s journey from Mexico City to the Ecuadorian jungle is less about physical discovery than emotional deterioration. Lee, hoping a mythical hallucinogen called yagé will unlock telepathic communication—and perhaps love—descends further into fantasy and dependency. Their hallucinogenic trip, staged in theatrical lighting with deliberately fake jungle backdrops, becomes the film’s surreal centerpiece. In that moment, their bodies and minds fuse, but the connection is as fleeting as the drug’s effects.
Lesley Manville appears in a small but unforgettable role as the eccentric Dr. Cotter, a scientist of sorts who brews the psychedelic mixture. She brings a chaotic, almost mythic energy to the film’s final act, serving as a kind of gatekeeper to transformation—or destruction. Her scenes, both absurd and ominous, elevate Queer into something approaching mythological psychodrama.
The film resists traditional structure. There is no tidy narrative arc or clear moral resolution. It moves like a memory—fractured, nonlinear, and emotionally charged. Justin Kuritzkes’ screenplay embraces this looseness, preserving the novel’s interiority and sense of displacement. Rather than “tell” the story, the film lets it seep through visuals, silences, and surreal interludes.
Craig’s performance is revelatory. Known for his cool, action-oriented roles, here he is stripped bare—emotionally and, often, physically. Lee is full of contradictions: witty yet pitiful, seductive yet insecure, calculating but constantly unraveling. Craig doesn’t shy away from his character’s darker tendencies, but he finds humanity in his loneliness. His portrayal is haunted, often uncomfortably intimate, and completely devoid of vanity.
Equally compelling is Starkey, who manages to give shape to Eugene’s elusive persona. There’s something tragic in his passivity, as if he’s been swept into someone else’s narrative and can’t find the exit. The dynamic between the two men evolves into a slow collapse—of connection, of trust, of identity itself.
What Guadagnino captures so well is the emotional landscape of unreciprocated desire—the way it morphs into obsession, delusion, and sometimes cruelty. In this regard, Queer has thematic echoes of Death in Venice or even Call Me by Your Name, though its tone is more fractured and experimental. The film’s queerness is not simply about sexuality—it’s about being outside, disoriented, fundamentally out of step with the world.
Stylistically, Queer flirts with excess. There are moments of absurdity, visual flourishes that border on kitsch, and sequences that seem designed to challenge the audience. Yet nothing feels random. The film’s aesthetic boldness matches the emotional volatility at its core. Guadagnino’s refusal to sanitize or simplify Burroughs’ material is a kind of artistic defiance, especially at a time when queer narratives are often softened for broader appeal.
Some viewers may find the film too abstract, too indulgent, or too lacking in narrative clarity. That’s fair. Queer is not trying to please everyone—it’s not even trying to be liked. But for those willing to sit with its contradictions and discomforts, the film offers a rich, sometimes disorienting, always sincere meditation on longing, decay, and the impossibility of truly knowing another person.
In a cinema landscape increasingly defined by formula and caution, Queer stands out as a film that dares to feel messy, to look artificial, to be emotionally raw. It’s less a story than a state of mind, less a film than a hallucination with structure. Guadagnino has crafted something uniquely tactile and deeply personal—something that sticks to you, like a dream you can’t quite explain.
Bonus Features
The home release of Queer comes packed with a thoughtfully curated set of bonus features that deepen the experience and provide valuable insight into the film’s creation:
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Audio Commentary
Featuring director Luca Guadagnino alongside key creatives: costume designer Jonathan W. Anderson, writer Justin Kuritzkes, editor Maroo Costa, and production designer Stefano Baisi. Their conversation offers a layered look into the film’s aesthetic, emotional, and technical construction. -
Diverso: The Making of Queer
A behind-the-scenes documentary that traces the film’s journey from Burroughs’ novella to Guadagnino’s surreal vision. Includes cast and crew interviews, production footage, and reflections on the film’s themes of longing, identity, and artistic risk. -
Scene Breakdown
Guadagnino and Kuritzkes dissect several key scenes, revealing how scripting, performance, and design choices created the film’s emotional tension and visual rhythm. -
VFX Breakdown
A closer look at the subtle yet impactful visual effects work, including the hallucinogenic jungle sequence and stylized rear projections that enhance the film’s dreamlike tone. -
Miniatures: Behind the Scenes
A detailed featurette showcasing how handcrafted miniatures were used to create the film’s deliberately artificial landscapes, blending theatricality with psychological symbolism.
These extras offer a rich supplement to Queer, perfect for viewers interested in the intersection of craft, narrative, and avant-garde cinema.
Whether you love it or find it impenetrable, Queer demands a response. It is, in the truest sense, unforgettable.
Queer will be available to own on Blu-ray 5/27