Queer

Forget the tuxedo, the Aston Martin, and the suave invincibility. In Queer, Daniel Craig arrives on screen looking like he’s been marinated in mezcal and cheap tobacco for a decade. He plays William Lee, an American expat in 1950s Mexico City who stalks the local bars with the desperate energy of a man trying to outrun his own shadow. If you’ve only ever seen Craig as 007 or the eccentric Benoit Blanc in Glass Onion, his work here is going to feel like a deliberate, sweaty shock to the system.

I watched this on my laptop while eating a bowl of cereal that had gone slightly soggy, and honestly, the mushy texture of the Corn Flakes felt weirdly appropriate for the film’s humid, hazy atmosphere. It’s a movie that feels damp—from the perspiration on the characters' brows to the neon-soaked streets of a reconstructed Mexico City (filmed, interestingly enough, on soundstages in Italy).

The King of Longing Strikes Again

Director Luca Guadagnino has carved out a niche as cinema’s premier architect of "the ache." Whether it’s the sun-drenched romance of Call Me by Your Name or the high-stakes horniness of Challengers, he knows how to film people wanting things they probably shouldn't have. In Queer, he takes that longing and turns it into something darker and more hallucinogenic.

The story, adapted from William S. Burroughs’ early novel, follows Lee as he becomes obsessed with Eugene Allerton, played by Drew Starkey (the breakout star from Netflix's Outer Banks). Lee is a mess of insecurities and bad jokes, while Eugene is an enigma—cool, detached, and potentially just hanging around for the free drinks. Their chemistry is fascinating because it’s so lopsided; Lee is a clattering engine of need, and Eugene is a blank wall. Watching Daniel Craig try to flirt is like watching a car crash in slow motion—you want to look away, but the wreckage is too interesting.

The contemporary film landscape is currently obsessed with "safe" representation, but Guadagnino and screenwriter Justin Kuritzkes aren't interested in making these characters role models. They are prickly, selfish, and deeply human. In an era where many dramas feel like they were written by a committee to avoid offending anyone on social media, Queer feels refreshingly, stubbornly abrasive.

A $50 Million Fever Dream

One of the most fascinating things about Queer isn’t just what’s on screen, but how it exists at all. In today’s industry, mid-budget original dramas are a dying breed. Somehow, the production team secured a $53 million budget for a film about an aging heroin addict chasing a younger man into the South American jungle to find a telepathic vine. Spending that much money on a movie this weird is a level of financial recklessness I can’t help but respect.

It’s no wonder the box office was a fraction of the budget. This isn't a "crowd-pleaser" in the traditional sense. It’s a film that leans heavily into the "Contemporary Cinema" trend of director-as-superstar. We’re in an age where the name Luca Guadagnino on a poster carries more weight than the IP it's based on. The craft is top-tier: the cinematography by Sayombhu Mukdeeprom (who also shot Suspiria) makes the 1950s look like a feverish dream world, and the score by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross provides a pulsing, modern heartbeat that keeps the period setting from feeling like a museum piece.

Beyond the Bars of Mexico City

The film takes a sharp, divisive turn in its final act. Without spoiling the specifics, let’s just say that Lee and Allerton eventually leave the bar scene behind for an expedition that involves "Yage" (Ayahuasca). This is where the movie sheds its skin as a traditional period drama and becomes something much more experimental.

Jason Schwartzman pops up here as Joe Guidry, adding a bit of his signature dry humor to the increasingly surreal proceedings. Even Lesley Manville (so good in Phantom Thread) shows up as a bizarre botanist. These supporting turns are vital because the movie is so focused on Lee’s internal collapse that it occasionally threatens to become suffocating.

The film's tagline, "I'm not Queer, I'm disembodied," really captures the central struggle. Lee isn't just looking for a boyfriend; he’s looking for a way to feel like he actually exists. Daniel Craig captures that "disembodiment" with every twitch of his lip. It’s a performance that should have been at the center of the awards conversation, but because the film is so uncompromisingly strange, it seems destined to become a cult artifact rather than an Oscar darling.

Queer is a beautifully made, deeply uncomfortable look at the lengths we go to avoid being alone. It’s the kind of film that reminds me why I love the current "prestige indie" era, even when the movies themselves are hard to watch. It might not have conquered the box office, but it’s a bold swing from a director and an actor who clearly have nothing left to prove to anyone but themselves. If you’re tired of the assembly-line polish of modern blockbusters, this sweaty, hallucinatory trip is exactly the antidote you need.