By Sam Tucker
Over the course of 20 years, many things can change for average filmgoers. They may discover that there was an era, genre or director that they missed and become focused on, and their choices of entertainment may shift based on other life circumstances. Personally, it was 20 years ago when I was asked if I wanted to see Brokeback Mountain, and close to 20 for me to actually view it.
As someone who didn’t rush to see it, I highly recommend that you catch a screening this week at IPH, which is celebrating the film’s 20th anniversary. It is moving, full of real emotions and beautifully shot and directed, but it also represents much more than that. It is a reflection on issues that were once derided and talked about in hushed rooms or broadly mocked on the Comedy Central channel.
When Brokeback first came out, I was a churchgoing Kansas City teen, and the film lived in a sort of infamy as “That Gay Movie.” Unlike earlier queer cinema that leaned camp or cult (think John Waters), Brokeback was a massive success across all measurements: It made a ton of money, was much talked about and won several Academy Awards. Yet it faced backlash, from late-night jokes to church bulletins. I don’t remember specifically being forbidden to watch it; it just wasn’t on my radar back then.
But time, experience and community shape you. Since moving to Charlotte and becoming involved in the LGBTQ+ community — especially through the Charlotte Royals Rugby Club — I have broadened my perspective. What was once taboo now feels mainstream. When I finally watched Brokeback Mountain on a crowded American Airlines flight, crying by the time the credits rolled, it hit me: This wasn’t just a “Gay Movie.” It was a universal story about love, longing and loss.
It’s also a perfect example of overblown controversy. The few “graphic” moments are tame compared with something like Femme from 2023 (which, incidentally, would make an incredible double feature with Brokeback). Rather than mocking it, the media should have embraced the depth of its characters — torn between their own truth and gendered/societal pressure. Even the much-parodied “I wish I knew how to quit you” scene still lands with brutal, timeless power.
Suffice to say, this is not one you’re gonna want to miss! As always, I urge you to head over to the IPH, turn off your phone and enjoy a nice beverage while experiencing a true love story and one of the foundations of queer cinema!