This is Bakersfield, not S.F. or San Jose. This is Republican country that Bush carried by a large margin.
Moved by 'Brokeback Mountain'
By DANIEL NAUMAN, Contributing writer
Posted: Monday January 23rd, 2006, 11:22 AM
Last Updated: Monday January 23rd, 2006, 11:30 AM
PHOTO COURTESY OF DANIEL NAUMAN
Daniel Nauman of Bakersfield went with his partner, Roland, to San Luis Obispo to see the movie "Brokeback Mountain" back in December and found it to be a deeply moving film. The movie just opened in Bakersfield recently. A few weekends ago, after our usual early Sunday breakfast at the 24th Street Cafe, my partner Roland didn’t quite know how he wanted to fill out the day.
He debated driving down to see his brother in Acton for the last time before he moved to South Carolina, but his wife was reportedly coming down with the flu, so that didn’t seem like a good idea. Besides, we still had the next weekend to do that.
So I suggested we drive to San Luis Obispo and see “Brokeback Mountain” — since, like most movies with a message, it probably would never make it to Bakersfield. He liked that idea very much.
I wondered if my Aunt Lala and Uncle Doug might like to join us. Roland was fine with that, too, but a call to Cambria revealed an answering machine that was hasty to answer, suggesting they were away for the weekend.
I was glad in a way. It might be a film better seen on our own.
We were on the road by 8:45 a.m. It was about 11 a.m. when we dropped into San Luis Obispo. When we got to the Palm Theater, we found a long line already formed in front. The faces were to be expected for a Sunday matinee: mostly folks over 50, with a spattering of gay couples and groups of men — including a young cowboy.
Once inside, we found even the largest of their three little theaters was already half full, and it sold out by 12:30. People were jockeying for seats, chatting loudly and talking on cell phones. The girl with the young cowboy reminded him to remove his hat.
A woman came up to the seat in front of us and asked if it was free. We said, “Yes.” She thought she had her hand on the back of it, but she was actually rubbing and patting my cowboy boot. It must have felt unlike a chair, because she slowly looked down and realized it wasn’t. We all laughed and she commented that she could get into a lot of trouble for doing that.
What struck me as “Brokeback Mountain” started was how quiet the audience was. Maybe it’s just because it’s a very quiet movie, too. The music is incidental, almost tuneless guitar plucking. One sits unencumbered, a witness to the characters made both large and small by the magnificent landscape.
There is no reason to go into the story here, but it’s very true to the thirty-odd pages Annie Proulx put down in the short story the movie is based on. At the same time the movie’s length is not drawn out, but drawn up staccato-like against the endless, timeless backdrop.
It is as if love is always there, and we just pick it up and drop and fumble through our open secrets.
As the movie ended, there was a lot of sniffling in the audience — I imagine a lot of the moviegoers would tell themselves and others it’s a very sad movie.
This is the strange state our society is in now, conditioned and sent aimlessly through life in search of happy endings.
I’m sure most of the audience could relate to the violent passion on the screen, but the whole other mental side of passion seems to elude most people now. I know passion is a passé term largely simplified and replaced by pornography, but this energy is unrelenting throughout the picture — even when the characters aren’t together.
Like I said, love is always there. It’s transcendent.
At this moment I’m reminded of the Buddy Holly song “True Love Ways.” That weight is what us modern people must confuse with sadness.
Not me. What a beautiful burden. And it remains when the physical reality is gone.
The whispering, sniffling audience started getting up to leave, and Roland caught my eye. “I want to hug and kiss you,” he said — and it even might have been publicly acceptable at that moment, but everyone was glassy-eyed and whispering of sadness and tragedy.
“I am very lucky,” he continued.
Indeed we are.
We stepped out of the theater, blinking back the afternoon glare and tears. The block was now as blustery as Wyoming, where the movie was set.
“I’d like to walk a little,” I said. “I don’t want to lose this feeling.”
My feet were light, as if I was dizzy — and the small town just seemed right for the moment. A few short blocks later Roland said, “I love you,” and I replied, “I love you, too.” We butted up against our shoulders. It might as well have been Wyoming.
We sat in a cafe and drank tea out of silly little cups with saucers. Roland brushed his leg against mine. We started dissecting the movie, the characters, the nuances. We hoped we’d never go back to the same ol’, same ol’ again.
The sun was now low, and there was 120 miles to travel to get home. We walked to the corner, and I heard a familiar voice, but it didn’t quite register.
“There’s Doug — and Lala,” Roland said. I could hear Doug say to Lala, “There’s Roland — and Daniel.”
She seemed quite sure her old man had really lost his marbles, but then she saw us across the street. We met up on the other side with hearty hugs.
We visited a few minutes more on the corner, until the cold wind got to my old aunt. So with hugs again to warm us, we parted ways. It was a very odd event —such a coincidence. I don’t know exactly what I should interpret from it, but it seemed to weigh nicely, too.
As we drove back to Bakersfield, Roland and I said very little, but his hand occasionally reached for mine — or the grab handle. Once we got home, we talked to the cats, embraced and kissed.
I don’t want this lose this feeling again.
Daniel Nauman and his partner, Roland, live in Bakersfield.
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