A Single Man

Until it was confronted by the cruel realities of its time and place, the
relationship between Jack and Ennis in "Brokeback Mountain" existed in a kind of
utopian innocence, isolated and undefined. And being isolated, both
topographically and culturally, from the contamination of bigotry and gay culture
(which has oppressive features of its own) alike, their love was unnamed and
therefore free, not only to speak, but to say nothing.

Tom Ford’s striking screen rendition of Christopher Isherwood’s “A Single Man”
has the same air of reticence, suspension, of a world apart. But although both
stories take place in roughly the same time frame, they’re vastly different in
context, culture, and mood. Insulated from the crudities of overt bigotry by the
diffidence of an upscale milieu instead of by the natural fortress of a mountain
range, and from the pressures of an as yet marginal gay culture, George
Falconer’s grief is as free to play out on terms common to the human condition
as was Jack and Ennis’ atavistic homosexuality. And therein lies its accessibility
and appeal.

The story opens with the blow that eight months later unfurls George Falconer’s
last day on earth, a phone call informing him of the death of his lover Jim
(Matthew Goode) of sixteen years in a car accident. As tears begin to push
through George’s decorum, his face tells us all we need to know. The phone call
ends with a searing footnote: George is informed that the memorial service is
“just for family”. The most important relationship in both men’s lives is thus
reduced, in the eyes of the world around them, to a footnote as well. George
receives this humiliation with a restraint that pierces our hearts and helped
propel Colin Firth toward his Oscar nomination.

Ford’s designer’s sensibility is present in every frame of the bourbon-hued,
lustrously polished movie, as is his appreciation for the sex appeal of the era’s
style. In his black-frame glasses, and elegant clothing, George Falconer is
redolent of a trim, good-looking Nelson Rockefeller. The hustler George
encounters is dressed in a white T and cuff-rolled skinny jeans like an impeccable
fantasy right out of Last Exit To Brooklyn. Charlotte, the friend to whom George
runs for solace upon hearing of Jim’s death, played by Julianne Moore, hair piled
chaotically high, is a masterpiece of Mod in her geometrically black and white
floor-length gown in which she entertains at home. The film moves at a serene
pace that I’m tempted to call tasteful. The movie’s carefully framed and lighted
shots, George’s sumptuous modern house, the kabuki-like interactions of the
characters in emotionally charged moments, all radiate a melancholy shibui of
restrained beauty.

After eight months of growingly oppressive grief, George awakes to a day that
he has decided “will be different.” After carefully putting himself together, shirt,
fragrance, a light buff of his shoes, he opens the drawer of an immaculately
appointed dresser and transfers a revolver to his briefcase.

He drifts attentively through the day making subtle amends, a compliment, an
absolution, where opportunities to do so present themselves. He’s on fire in his
English class, while the Cuban missile crisis looms in the background, lecturing
his university students on the danger of irrational fear - of minorities, of
communists, of growing old, irrelevant, alone. George graciously tells the
hustler, a James Dean wannabe whom George pays but does not hire, that
“You’re better than James Dean.” He has a soul-baring confrontation, over
dinner and drinks, with Charlotte. We get to know Jim through flashbacks; the
night they first meet at a waterfront bar, the cozily petulant domestic life they
share. George looks at a black and white photo of Jim which takes him back to a
scene on the rocky California coast where the two lie in windswept isolation
exchanging intimacies about their sexual orientations. The flashback is shot in
black and white, a nice touch. Curled up together, feet to feet, on the couch,
reading their respective novels, Jim tells George "If I died right now, it'd be OK."

George’s resignation is heightened by the absurdity of business-as-usual around
him. But he makes his way wryly through the day taking in stride, but never
surrendering to, a counterpoint of invalidations, subtle and not so subtle, about
his life and love. The day is laced with moments of witty pathos. In one of
several scenes in which George attempts, but ultimately balks, at killing himself
with the revolver, he meticulously lays out a sleeping bag on his bed, zips
himself in, and we watch his limbs comically poking about through the sleeping
bag as he tries unsuccessfully to find a comfortable position in which to shoot
himself.

Other attempts at suicide are interrupted more graciously, by the unwitting
intervention of his neighbor’s child, or one of his university students (Nicholas Hoult),
who has a nebulous crush on George, senses his crisis, and to whom George finally
opens his heart on the last night of his life. But these agents of grace forestall his
demise only long enough to bring George to a revelation of acceptance and
hope, before nature intervenes to poignantly enshrine the moment in a wistful
and eternal smile.

Ravel said of his most famous composition, Bolero, that “there is no music in it.”
Tom Ford has brought to the screen a gay love story that has little or no Gay in
it. An acquaintance of mine once wrote of the gay scene:

“I think there are 3 different possible "relationships" to the gay scene, and
people tend to grow through them all as they develop:

1/ "not into the gay scene" due to internalized homophobia, person still working
through issues regarding his sexuality

2/ "into the gay scene" - issues worked through, person differentiates himself
from mainstream straight society and immerses himself into the gay subculture

3/ "not into the gay scene" - after a period of immersion, the person starts to
feel ghettoized and claustrophobic with a scene-oriented life and steps back from
the gay scene.

“...even though they might look very similar on the surface, 1 and 3 are very
different. 1 is about internalized homophobia, whereas I would say that 3 is
about finally fully finding a sense of confidence in one's own unique identity, e.g.
it's actually about true self acceptance. I think there are more people moving
into 3 than ever before - to some extent, the gay community is re-integrating
with larger society. I think it's a sign of progress.”

Does Christopher Isherwood’s 1965 novel (from which Ford wrote the
screenplay), written from the heart of phase 1 anticipate, with Ford's help, phase 3?
George and Jim’s self-acceptance in the face of their times, and the functional absence
of any significant gay culture, suggests as much. What remained was only for the
rest of the world to catch up. The contemporary vibe with which Ford imbues the
movie, despite its retro setting and style, has a post-Gay feeling as well.

It comes as no surprise that a career intimately involved in photography, style,
and image makes itself handsomely felt in Tom Ford’s directorial debut. He
obviously can wield the machinery of feature film production and work effectively
with actors. The perspicacity in his choice of Isherwood’s novel, and its
contemporary relevance, is impressive. He strikes me a someone who may
choose future projects, should there be any, infrequently, but thoughtfully.