This past weekend, I watched the movie "Brokeback Mountain" on one of those movie channels the cable company gave me for free without my even asking for it. Trust me, it was not an occasion of sin in the least, let alone a NEAR occasion. In fact, it was one of the dumbest movies I have ever seen. It would have earned this distinction even without stuff like that first scene where... well, I got up and left the room for a few minutes.
The point is, you take away any hint of unnatural acts, and what was left was one emotionally unavailable guy who mumbled all the time, who married a woman who mumbled most of the time (and I'm guessing they had little worth saying anyway), another guy with puppy dog eyes and little else going for him, and a host of other small town types with lowered expectations. The only sympathetic character in the movie was the daughter of the brown-haired guy, who at least aspired to a normal life, if one with the requisite lowered expectations. And the smartest character in the movie was a jerk of a ranch boss suitably played by Randy Quaid.
Other than that, the scenery was absolutely breathtaking, and brought back some great memories my last visit to the great Northwest. Yes, I enjoyed that part of it, and could imagine myself seeing it again in person, and wondering how anyone could live in the midst of it and not be amazed every day. (Photo: The author and son at the foot of Burroughs Mountain, nowhere near Brokeback Mountain, but quite near Mount Rainier, August 2003. Used with full and unqualified permission.) Why did I watch it, then? Just to see what the fuss was all about. Now I can finally tell you: absolutely nothing. So a bunch of gay guys feel better about themselves, and a stupid excuse for a movie was all it took.
I need a latte.