Yeah, well try this one. And I'll say it just once.The film's signature line, though cheapened by catchphrase ubiquity, is as close to perfect as a line of dialogue can be: a poignant capsule of shared self-negating tragedy. And it's not even uttered to the camera. Ennis' back has been turned toward Jack for most of his furious release of emotion. Now Jack himself finally turns away. It's quitting time.
We coulda had a good life together, fucking real good life. Had us a place of our own. But you didn't want it Ennis! So what we got now is Brokeback Mountain. Everything's built on that --that's all we got boy. Fuckin all. So I hope you know that if you don't never know the rest.
You count the damn few times that we have been together in nearly twenty years and you measure the short fucking leash you keep me on and then you ask me about Mexico and you tell me you'll kill me for needing somethin' that I don't hardly never get.
You have no idea how bad it gets. I'm not you -- I can't make it on a couple of high altitude fucks once or twice a year. You are too much for me Ennis. Son of a horsin' bitch.
I wish I knew how to quit you.
Monday, March 19, 2007
I'll soon go back to older films for the weekly monologue fixture but I've been feeling all nostalgic for recent cinema this past few weeks. So here's another one that's fresh in mind. Though much of Brokeback Mountain's emotional potency depends on Heath Ledger's genius and stagnant wounded boy routine as "Ennis Del Mar", it's Jake Gyllenhaal's long death as "Jack Twist", from open hearted careful optimism to frustrated 'it's all behind us' middle age rage, which delivers the film's puncture wound of honesty. The air hisses out of their already oxygen-deprived love.