The film is adapted from Benjamin Alire Sáenz’s popular and groundbreaking 2012 young adult novel of the same title, which I read several years ago at the online suggestion of the gay novelist Garth Greenwell, who really championed its importance. The movie’s screenwriter and director Aitch Alberto, a Latina transwoman, has perfectly distilled what’s necessary to retain from the novel on every single level and translated it to film exactly in all of the right ways, stylistically and otherwise, and I honestly don’t think that the book could have been adapted any better than it is in this film. Apparently, there’s a much longer director’s cut, and although I could feel a few of the missing parts that trimmed the movie down from nearly three hours to about 90 minutes, I still felt that it all fit together admirably despite the standard commercial compromises that producers and studios often force upon directors. Aitch Alberto’s director’s cut will make its way to us someday, I’m fairly certain of that. What’s clear is that this director poured her entire heart and soul into making this movie, and into walking the slim tightrope to craft it in ways that will not only move a wide array of audiences internationally for decades to come, but will also actually help to save and reconfigure the lives of young LGBTQ+ viewers. Yes, this movie is that important.
There’s also a short but pivotal scene in which Ari, who’s sixteen, finds a way to get himself a six-pack of beer by having an older guy buy it for him at a local convenience store. The older guy (precisely portrayed by Marcelo Olivas), who’s clearly gay and playfully says that he’s 45 when Ari asks, has a few moments of interaction with the teenager that reveal more about the deep complexities of intergenerational issues in the gay male community than just about any other scene that I’ve ever seen on screen. The important aspect is that this is accomplished in part through great acting and minimal dialogue, but it’s conveyed even more through mood, as well as through some small yet knowing glances and tiny gestures, something that felt vividly real to me (while bordering on a kind of magical realism) each time I watched that scene again. The subtle intensity of that brief exchange between the two characters captures something that many, many other films have tried to achieve before and never quite accomplished. This scene, in its backlit sense of mystery, as seen from Ari’s younger point-of-view, totally does.
Of course, since Ari and Dante are high schoolers, we get a good serving of nostalgic details that align with mid-’80s John Hughes classics: upturned shirt collars, constant teasing about who fits in and who doesn’t, neon-toned clothing and bangles, plus a beautiful Latina leather-clad goth girl temptress (Luna Blaise’s sweetly realized Elena Tellez) to lure Ari just a bit while Dante is away with his family in Chicago. I will mention only vaguely two more abrupt and violent scenes later in the film, on which the entire narrative depends, and on which its grounding in harsher realities and truths about our world firmly rests. We would not be able to arrive at the film’s cathartic conclusion in a desert landscape outside of Ari’s old 1957 pick-up truck without those more difficult scenes, so it’s important that audiences of all ages endure those two scenes, in order to understand their key purpose in the film.
Masculinity and its inherent social expectations entrap both Ari and Dante, along with entrapping the other young men in the film. The movie’s open-hearted, climactic finale (as well as its cosmically beautiful denouement) gives a solid and loving push towards toppling those unfair, damaging, and compulsory gendered expectations. While I have no doubt that there are young gay male romantic couples out there like Ari and Dante, some of whom actually do commit to one another and make it happen together, I’m not convinced that it’s at all widespread amongst the gay male population, though I’d also like to believe that it’s more than just a mere fantasy. Those young men out there who do find any kind of love like Ari and Dante should count themselves very lucky.
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I am so glad that I was able to see this movie and that you loved it just as much as me. Brokeback was a very important movie for me as a young lesbian (something I’ve explored in my own writing/film crit) so to see a movie with young gay boys who look like me and come from families who are just like mine was incredibly validating. I can’t wait to watch this over and over again when it’s streaming. Thank you, as always, for such an amazing review!
ReplyDeleteAwww...thank you so much, Rebecca! You're the best. I know how much this movie and what it represents mean to you, and I totally concur. This movie is a total dream. I'll miss it until it's streaming.
DeleteI found your post on the movie from the Director's Instagram account and wanted to comment on a thought about the movie's current audience. I agree and hope it reaches the people you mentioned eventually, though it may not reach them at the time when it may have the most positive impact (more on that below). I don't think it is necessarily a failure of marketing- an indie film always faces an upheld battle against movies from bigger studios. But I do suspect the movie is primarily reaching people who are already fans of the book.
ReplyDeleteTwo trends against this reaching the current Aris of the world- the largest group of consumers of literary fiction are women. They are also driving the sales of books by racial minority and LGBTQ+ authors. The second is that--at least in America--most people are not "readers." I think the typical person only reads about four books in a year these days.
I myself had not read "Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe" up until now. The only reason I was even aware of the movie was because the book has been on my radar for years and I just never got around it- and even then, I recall that whatever marketing brought it to my attention was basically a "blink-and-you'll-miss-it" moment. In LGBTQ+ media coverage now, I even unfavorably compare it to all the visibility that TV shows and movies like "Bros," "Love, Victor," "Heartstoppers," and "Red, White & Royal Blue" received. The disparity, especially for a movie based on a book that is acclaimed--as well as constantly challenged with book bans--is enormous.
That is a shame because the first thing I did after watching the movie was run out to buy the book. Like so many others, I found it transformative, and I'm actually a bit sad that I didn't read it 11 years ago when the headspace I was in was very much like Ari's. I am grateful that Benjamin Alire Sáenz showed me that internal conflict was not as singular as I felt it was at the time. But it wouldn't have reached me back then. I wasn't a "reader"...
Thank you, Kevin, for such a thoughtful (and thorough) comment on my post! I think you're right that the marketing is tricky for this kind of film. Hopefully, word of mouth will do most of the rest of the job by the time that the movie gets to the streaming stage. I sense that this film will eventually find the kind of longtime audience that "Beautiful Thing" from the UK still has today, nearly three decades after its release.
DeleteI also appreciate that you admitted how you were once in Ari's shoes yourself, and it's very moving to me that you (and anybody else) can push themselves beyond that. It takes a lot of bravery to get there. I really do think this film, so carefully made, has the power to change things for people in that regard. There's so much empathy and compassion in how the very sensitive subject matter is handled, by the writer/director, the amazing and courageous actors, and everybody else involved in making the film.
The movie is clearly aimed at a certain audience or set of audiences, and I especially hope that young Latino guys like Ari will catch notice of the movie via social media or otherwise, and that they'll be curious enough to watch it and see themselves reflected in the film. I would imagine that watching the film for them might feel like a long-desired and familiar embrace, one that makes them understand that it's finally fine to be who they are.