William S. Burroughs is a writer whose work has divided the reading audience for decades – some view his style as being experimental, daring and unconventional to the point of being borderline revolutionary, while others perceive his novels and short stories as bloated, self-indulgent works designed to confuse and frustrate with their impenetrable style and tendency towards being far too esoteric for the casual reader. Yet, his legacy persists decades later, and many still look towards his work for deeply complex depictions of the human condition, particularly as a specific period in the past. One of his most intriguing works is Queer, which is a spiritual successor to Junkie, with both novels centring around the character of William Lee, the author’s alter ego and temporary pen name during this period, and how he navigates life as someone who perpetually exists on the margins of society. In this instance, we follow his adventures in Mexico, which becomes his home after he is forced to flee the United States after a bout of criminal activity almost forced him to pay lengthy consequences, and where he spends his days engaged in heavy drinking and reckless drug use, as well as the frequent anonymous sexual encounter with any of the strangers passing through these dive bars. It is in a squalid Mexico City bar that he encounters Eugene, a sexually ambiguous but deeply alluring former Marine, with whom Lee begins a torrid love affair, filled with lust and fury, which forces both men to undergo a journey (both physically and psychologically) as they deal with these new challenges and the underlying existential crises that come about as a result. The novella has now been translated into a film by Luca Guadagnino, who has expressed his love for the material on a few occasions, and has now been allowed to leap into Burroughs’ world in the form of this daring, enthralling adaptation that represents the very best to the director has to offer, both narratively and in terms of his unique artistic flourishes. Provocative and engaging in how it presents these themes, Queer is a thoroughly captivating voyage into the past, both in terms of historical context and literary innovation, and proves to be one of the director’s most unique offerings, particularly in how it traverses time and space in increasingly daring ways.

One quality of Burroughs’ work that has been the point of contention for many is that they are dense, impenetrable and difficult to understand for casual readers, which is certainly not an opinion without merit – his work was notoriously challenging, particularly since he not only wrote in quite an unorthodox manner, but his experimentation with style and structure (such as rearranging entire sentences and passages seemingly arbitrarily to create a different meaning, a process known as the “cut-up” technique)  made his work quite difficult at the best of times. As a result, his novels tend to be labelled as “unfilmable” based on how they go against the grain in every way. David Cronenberg’s adaptation of Naked Lunch remains one of the only notable examples of adapting his work successfully before this film, which essentially allowed Guadagnino the opportunity to redefine the author’s writing as being more than just a bundle of untraversable, vaguely absurdist ramblings and instead as the poetic musings of a truly original mind. This certainly required the director to step far out of his usual comfort zone, taking on ideas that had perhaps lingered beneath the surface of some of his other films, but never in such a way that our attention is consistently drawn towards them as the focal point of these conversations, of which there are several. Queer is primarily a cultural document, which is the entry-point to the novel that Guadagnino and writer Justin Kuritzkes take when choosing the right approach – an American wandering through the dusty streets of a small Mexican neighbourhood at some point in the 1950s, the hours melting into days and weeks in a continuous string of anonymous connections and substance abuse, all of which lead to the protagonist undergoing a metaphysical voyage into his mind, which is where the truths gradually begin to reveal themselves, despite his efforts to suppress them. This is the fundamental essence of the novel, and choosing to use this as the impetus for this challenging adaptation only allows the director and his cohorts to have a stronger hold on the material and what it represents, leading to quite an engrossing but not any less perplexing experience.

Thematically, Queer is a film that makes its intentions very clear from the beginning. Burroughs was not a particularly subtle artist, and his work reflected a blatant, simmering sexuality that was the source of quite a bit of controversy at the time, but which has proven to be the source of a considerable amount of celebration within contemporary literary communities. The author’s frank but enigmatic explorations of his identity form the foundation for many of his works, and while it isn’t as explicit as Junkie, this particular novel still finds him navigating complex ideas relating to sexuality, which he used as a way to explore his own shifting identity. Sexual identity is not static, and can often change and take many different forms, and Queer is one of the most fascinating investigations into this concept. Guadagnino has long indicated his affection for this novel, so it stands to reason that his work would reflect the same sensibility, albeit from his own unique angle. Unlike the novella, which was essentially Burroughs’ own free-form, stream-of-consciousness discussions with himself, the film adaptation was written and directed by those who may find a lot of value in the story but can’t capture the same intimacy as the text, meaning that it was inherently at a disadvantage to essentially be nothing more than a second-hand reworking of these themes. Nonetheless, Guadagnino finds his way around this obstacle by making the film less about Burroughs’ alter ego, and more about capturing a specific place and time, and looking at the feeling of isolation and confusion that would ensconce someone adrift in a world they don’t understand, trying to come to terms with their own identity, which is a daunting process. Rarely have we seen queer cinema be presented in such a fluid, unconventional manner – several ideas flow liberally throughout this film, which is less of a coherent narrative and more a series of discussions and images orbiting around a particular socio-cultural milieux. The result is a film that is both genuinely original in its vision, and oddly quite authentic in how it examines identity as something that is far from fixed, and can instead be entirely inexplicable and deeply philosophical.

I tend to be very apprehensive of calling any performance brave, especially when it comes to cisgender or heterosexual actors playing queer characters. It is not reason for immediate praise for someone to play against type, and mercifully that narrative is starting to wear thin and instead being gradually replaced by more nuanced discussions of the craft of acting and the extent to which performers go to play certain roles. However, what Daniel Craig achieves in Queer is beyond astonishing, especially since this is a performance that proves to be so much more complex than initially anticipated. Playing the part of Burroughs’ literary alter ego, Craig has to run the gamut of emotions and existential quandaries – this is a man seemingly on the other side of middle age, forced into exile from his home country solely for the reason that he was seen as a drug fiend and someone who the United States would have very little hesitation in putting in prison, both for his actions and his tendency to go against the status quo in deeply provocative ways, and now drifting aimlessly through a country he admires but quite simply does not understand. It would be a challenge for any actor, but Craig rises to the occasion and delivers perhaps the best performance of his career. He’s genuinely gifted, and there are strong performances scattered throughout the years, but this is the first time since stepping down from the role of James Bond (which made him a household name) that it feels like he is genuinely giving a performance that isn’t just following on from his most famous role – as fantastic as his interpretation of Benoit Blanc may be, it has been difficult to see examples of him extending beyond playing these kinds of suave roles, and all it took for him to reinvent himself was a collaboration with Guadagnino, who has a tendency to reinvigorate the careers of many actors, giving them the chance to do something extraordinarily different. Queer is wholeheartedly Craig’s film, and while we are drawn to the performances of Drew Starkey (who proves to be a worthwhile companion to the protagonist, and who the director views as the absolute epitome of masculine beauty), as well as reliable supporting players like Jason Schwartzman and Lesley Manville, both of whom are absolutely hilarious and infuse the film with a sense of darkly comedic absurdity at different points, we cannot get past the astonishing work by Craig, who delivers a performance very few of us could imagine was possible, which has nothing to do with talent (of which he has an abundance) but rather the perfect marriage of technical skill and a strong, well-crafted character into which he places his entire commitment.

Queer is a film that is not designed to be comprehensible from the start – if the viewer is not bewildered at certain points, then they have not been paying close enough attention, which is less a way to excuse deliberately confusing filmmaking and more a way of evoking the sense of unease and disorientation in the audience, which is exactly what Burroughs intended to do with his original writings, and which Guadagnino makes sure to infuse into every frame of this film. Rather than attempting to make sense of the somewhat unconventional structure of the novel and filtering it into something much simpler and more coherent, the director chooses to do the opposite in the form of embracing the structure and leaning into its more peculiar elements. As one of the rare directors that has mastered both the narrative process and visual composition, its not surprising that Queer is driven by both style and substance, proving to be as visually lush and intriguing as it is conceptually very strong, and Guadagnino does take some enormous risks throughout, although he’s at the point in his career where even the wildest of swings will yield interesting results and veer as far from failure as possible. Collaborating once again with Sayombhu Mukdeeprom (who has steadily amassed one of the most impressive résumés of any contemporary cinematographers) and a dedicated team of production designers, costumers and other artists integral to the production, Guadagnino successfully leaps back to Mexico City in the 1950s, creating an image of the city that is unlike anything we have encountered in the past. The colours are rich and striking, the compositions awe-inspiring and every detail, whether vital to the plot or merely an inconsequential addition designed to create a vibrant tableau of the protagonist’s surroundings, are exceptionally well-placed. There are even aural elements that feel extremely inspired – not only is the score by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross astonishing in its scope and grandeur, but the use of certain songs, such as Nirvana’s “Come As You Are” and New Order’s “Leave Me Alone” only make the film richer. The anachronistic use of songs can be difficult to get right, but when chosen correctly and implemented in the right manner, it can elevate a film to considerable heights, especially one that is this wholeheartedly dedicated to its unconventional origins.

While he has made several astonishing films over the course of his career, it seems like there is an argument to be made that Queer could potentially come to be seen as Guadagnino’s greatest film, or at least the one that perfectly encapsulates his skill as a director. He’s a prolific filmmaker who takes on more projects than he could feasibly make in a single lifetime, and while having someone so active in pursuing his craft and making genuinely bespoke films frequently is wonderful, it’s thrilling to see one of his passion projects come to fruition. The dedication he had to this material is clear from the start – this is not just a mere diversion or flight of fancy for the director, but rather something that he was wholeheartedly committed to doing properly, right down to the smallest and most inconsequential details, everything being perfectly pieced together from conceptual and philosophical fragments that work together to create this vibrant socio-cultural tapestry that is filled to the absolute brim with unforgettable images and haunting themes that make it much more than just a by-the-numbers romantic drama. Anchored by the best performance of Craig’s career, and driven by a filmmaker whose vision has never been more profound and encapsulating as it is here, Queer is an absolute masterpiece, a delicate and deeply compelling journey into the past, handcrafted by a director whose thorough, interminable commitment to the material is truly awe-inspiring and indicative of his creativity and outright ingenuity. It is highly unlikely that this film will open the floodgates for more adaptations of Burroughs’ works, but it is hopefully going to inspire a revived interest in his work as more than just impenetrable works of literature, and instead be viewed as experimental, provocative rebellions against the status quo that challenge conventions and look at common themes in a manner truly unconventional and daring. Rediscovery is one of the great rewards an artist can hope to achieve through their legacy, and by making such a compelling, intricately-woven film that simultaneously explores Burroughs’ writings and the socio-cultural milieux at the time, Guadagnino has done more for his legacy than many other directors who adapt these intimidating works but could rarely dream of making something as profoundly brilliant and enthralling as this postmodern masterpiece.