I must admit to having significant expectations from Brokeback Mountain. Friends and colleagues relayed reports of sobbing acquaintances discreetly hiding their shiny faces as they departed the theatre at the end of the film. I had fortunately not been as distressed. Mind you, I have only cried in a theatre once and that was over 10 years ago when I saw Boys on the Side with a female friend who started weeping half an hour before the film ended. Nevertheless, Brokeback Mountain was a moving film and admittedly there were a few moments where the heart tried to twitch a tear from the eye. But I am, after ten years, a bit disappointed that I did not have a good cry. I should probably curse (or thank) the editing team for not allowing extensions of any of the final collection of scenes as this would have given me the opportunity to reflect on the solemnity of the situation.

A short story by Annie Proulx extrapolated into a two hour Ang Lee epic is an immense achievement. The film is absorbing from beginning to end and it is a credit to the screenplay writers for maintaining the audience for this length. The story is simple enough: a story of the forbidden love between two cowboys that begins oh so carnally, progresses into a lot of confused adoration and affection, and then of course it ends in tragedy – okay, maybe it really isn’t a simple story. But the mise-en-scene and cinematography kept me visually occupied: the spectacular mountain ranges of the Wyoming-esque Alberta, the herds of thousands of sheep on the mossy green mountainside pastures, the trickle of the streams beside a naked Gyllenhall, the physical insignificance of two men set against this amazing backdrop. I spent most of the film with my mouth open in awe (which probably explains my cold the next day, infected undeniably by the coughing leather queen seated next to me).

Controversial? About as challenging as Sleepless in Seattle. One gay sex scene without nudity; two straight sex scenes (I think) with female nudity. There were however extended kissing and caressing scenes between Ledger and Gyllenhall which is noticeably un-Hollywood but came so naturally and beautifully that it dispelled any discomfort one might expect from the usual perfunctory displays of gay affection. Conservatives and fixated church groups aside; far-left gay liberationists aside; Bob Katter vs Ian Roberts aside: Brokeback Mountain is essentially a film about love, a love that may not be familiar with its critics. Ang Lee’s sensitivity and delicacy with gay themes, masterfully demonstrated in The Wedding Banquet, comes through poignantly to appeal to the mainstream audience: a difficult task in an increasing conservative era.

As for the Oscars … Ledger’s nomination for Best Actor is a bit disappointing as anyone could mumble through a film and parade around like John Wayne. Gyllenhall should win Best Supporting Actor because – well, the drool on my chin at the end of the film might explain that. Ang Lee must win a bravery award as a largely mainstream and Asian director involving himself in gay-friendly films over the years. Brokeback Mountain is a definite for Best Adapted Screenplay. As for the rest, Good Luck.

I give the film four stars.