Pouring one out for all the new fans Luca picked up for the propulsive energetic melodramatics of Challengers who are in for a shock when they find out the movie he reunited almost the entire crew for is operating in a much more deliberately restrained and tender register. One that suits the sensibility of the man Burroughs apparently was when he eventually published Queer in the 1980s, rather the drunken, drug-addicted one who had promiscuous sex in Mexico and accidentally shot and killed his wife that he was in the early 50s. Though only briefly dreamily hinted at near the end of the movie and never mentioned at all in the book, Burroughs’ autobiographical attempt to work through his feelings surrounding that event are hard to miss. With his protagonist William Lee reliving many of the details of those years of his life but with the deep desperation for connection of a lost man who has an irreparable hole somewhere in his translucent body that he knows he created.

A state of mind achieved via very artfully artificial Latin American picaresque travelogue imagery (mix of what looks like real locations, stylized colorful lighting, painted backdrops, some miniatures even) that has a sense of heat and texture to it, as well as the deeply weary, lonely, horny, sweaty vulnerability of Daniel Craig. Whose drunken expat cruising antics in Mexico (rocking the Alfredo Garcia white suit on a diet of tequila, cigarettes and heroin) alternates between sexually confident talker and charmingly awkward middle-aged desperation. Our experience akin to watching his body and mind already in the process of deteriorating from the numbing drugs, and his passions and desires taking over in an almost lucid dreamlike fashion of intensely subjective framing/compositions; loved those astral projection dissolves. The way Craig manages to (dis)embody all of Burroughs painful shame, bitter self-loathing, and sensitive yearning as he pursues his lustful infatuation with newcomer Drew Starkey (who is very good at appearing like he’s just walked out of a photograph of a clean-cut 1950s American boy) is astonishing, and makes it all the more tragic as you realize this was never going to be anything but a horrifically sad unrequited love story. Blurring the distinction between genuine affection/intimacy and contractual obligation as Lee offers the much younger, mysterious "not queer" man financial incentive for his companionship in hopes that he can turn his moments of sexual curiosity it into a deeper connection, eventually going as far as jungle expeditions for MK Ultra telepathy drugs to get closer to him. (Oh yeah, in case it wasn't clear this movie is very funny too!)

The exact nature of where this goes from there is best left unspoiled for anyone not familiar with the material (the Lesley Manville performance is wild), but needless to say there's a moment of drug-fueled psychedelic, romantic fleshy body-melding followed by a surreal abstract memory descent that are among some of Luca's finest work. He makes some very bold, playful formal decisions throughout (including an insane anachronistic Nirvana-heavy soundtrack/Reznor score) that feel right for adapting the youthful rebellion of a Beat Generation author, but for those worried this just devolves into a bad existential trip movie, maybe the best scene is just a long lonely shot of Craig shooting heroin at a table and looking completely hollowed out while New Order blares. You could easily see another filmmaker lazily visually disappearing into his anxious drug-addled mind but the refusal to do that and instead hold on Craig's process and empty expression is the right one. This man has functionally already died alone in his bed shivering from withdrawals, he's just recalling old memories of a brief romantic moment where he didn't as of they were a manuscript from another life that never panned out. “Doors open now – would be a shame not to see where it goes.”