call me by your name

I had watched Tilda Swinton in I am Love, all those years ago, and it had left me with a lasting impression. There was the protagonist, secure and secured, in her mansion, with her perfect family and manicured gardens. There was the lover, a chef charming, her son’s best friend, waking the protagonist with shrimp. There was the beautiful Italian countryside, and all their ancient ruins, and slow, sweeping music to herald it all. I remember it being a vivid movie, full of color and music and feeling.

Call me by your name is the last of the Desire trilogy that started with I am Love. I hadn’t realized this before watching the movie this week. The photography, the music, the languor of the plot all pointed to something familiar. I made the connection much later. I was informed by untrustworthy sources that this was a soft gay porn film, and had gone in to the theater in high spirits. Please don’t make my mistake; there is no soft gay porn. At the same time, it was refreshing to see a homosexual relationship without homosexuality being the main theme of the story. It is a theme, celebrated softly and without ado, and the archeologists work hard in the background on a Venus that was once Hadrian’s lover.

I have long wanted to see one of these films without the angst. LGBT films tend to be about the stigma, about the highs of passion, about gritty sex, about tragedy. Call Me By Your Name is softer, sweeter, and looks more at the unexpected bloom of our first love than at the gender of our first love. It spoke to me because of that, perhaps.

(In several parts, I was reminded very pleasantly of my family in my early teenage. I was especially reminded of my grandmother. The religion-mixing in their family reminded me of my childhood too.)

The young actor who plays the protagonist is talented. He blends the raw boldness of adolescence with the fear of those who think too much. He is both Michelangelo’s David and Tennyson’s Arthur. He strives to impress his amore, through music and wit, through sensuality and charm. For all his sophistication, he is still a teenager though, and he isn’t below stooping to the oldest trick of the book: making his lover jealous by getting it on with someone else. He screws up and learns not to do that. He is clumsy at times, and his introversion doesn’t exactly make him comfortable with the good-humored, American ideal, extroverted, even-tempered, cheerful man he has fallen for. The love, the learning, the loss, and the lull in between – all of it echoed on his expressive features throughout the film. There were so many little moments throughout where flickers of emotion on his face reminded me of the girl I used to be, when I loved all those years ago.

Then he fucked a peach. I hadn’t realized until he did it that this might be the Ancient Greek inspiration behind those male masturbation pockets. Somehow I had always pinned that on the poor Japanese.

It is a beautiful movie. I am glad that I watched it, even if I had the wrong expectations going in.

“Do you know everything?”

“I know nothing about the things that matter.”