Guadagnino Channels Burroughs’ Hazy Melancholy in Queer.

Queer, Luca Guadagnino’s adaptation of William S Burroughs’ semi-autobiographical novella, offers a haunting exploration of love, loneliness, and obsession, filtered through the hazy, sun-drenched lens of 1950s Mexico City. In his portrayal of William Lee, Daniel Craig steps into the shoes of a man adrift, exiled from his homeland and ensnared by unrequited affection for the aloof and magnetic Eugene Allerton (Drew Starkey). Guadagnino’s film is less about plot and more about mood, psychology, and the tension that simmers beneath the surface of seemingly banal conversations.

Craig delivers one of the most introspective performances of his career, stripping away his signature cool to reveal a raw, fragile underbelly. His Lee is a man haunted by his desires and paralysed by his inability to articulate them—a perfect counterpoint to Starkey’s enigmatic and elusive Allerton, who keeps the audience as off-balance as Lee himself. Their dynamic is the film’s heart: a jagged push-and-pull of need and detachment that is as mesmerising as it is painful.

Visually, Queer is a triumph. Guadagnino and cinematographer Sayombhu Mukdeeprom bathe the film in rich, golden hues that evoke the sensuality and disorientation of Lee’s internal world. Luca Guadagnino’s aesthetic draws on a fascinating mix of influences: Stanley Kubrick’s meticulous framing and visual precision, David Lynch’s ability to infuse the mundane with unsettling tension, and Wes Anderson’s penchant for conspicuous symmetry and hyper-stylised vistas. This synthesis results in a film that feels painterly yet slightly surreal, immersing the viewer in the sweaty allure of post-war Mexico City.

The film’s soundtrack, curated and crafted by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, is a moody, lingering presence, underscoring the emotional weight of the characters’ interactions without ever overwhelming them. Guadagnino and his team capture the disjointed, yearning spirit of William S Burroughs’ novella while ensuring the film stands on its own as a piece of art.

However, Queer is not an easy watch, nor does it aim to be. The narrative meanders, much like Lee’s own mental and physical wandering, and Guadagnino resists the temptation to impose a clean structure on Burroughs’ fragmented storytelling. For some viewers, this deliberate pacing and elliptical approach may feel alienating. Yet, for those willing to sit with its discomfort, Queer offers a deeply resonant meditation on the impossibility of connection and the wounds inflicted by unfulfilled longing.

Guadagnino’s Queer is more than an adaptation; it’s an atmospheric mood piece that captures the spirit of Burroughs’ work without being slavishly loyal to its specifics. It feels both timeless and uniquely situated in its era, a film that invites viewers to lose themselves in its languid rhythms and heartbreaking performances. While it may not win over everyone, those attuned to its melancholy melody will find it unforgettable.