Quick, Somebody Find Me A Crack Pipe
Today I am sick of being responsible. I've had it with the getting up in the morning and getting things done and behaving appropriately. I'm tired of not hurting all the people I care about. I want to live selfishly and just forget about the feelings of others. Then the world will celebrate my passion and give me awards.
Brokeback Mountain. Sigh. I have a real problem with it, and it's not the Gay part. It's the "love story" part.
I've always hated Romeo & Juliet (and it's singin' 'n' dancin' cousin West Side Story) because of it's billing as a Love Story. One minute the dude is "In love" iwth Rosalind or Rosamund or Rosawhatever and then Juliet trips into his eyeline. From there on out it's two kids disregarding the pain they are causing everyone else to pursue their needs first. Call it lust, call it passion, call it what you will. But that ain't love.
Now we're back to Brokeback Mountain, another stirring passion story disguised as love. When I read the Annie Proulx short story many moons ago my first response was to consider this a tragedy. Quite frankly, I'm surprised at the marketing for the film, because the story is--at its root--tragic. These men allow their passion and desire for one another to wreak havoc and destruction on their own innocence (symbolized by the death of the sheep during their first encounter) and then on those around them. They cause their wives grief and pain with constant betrayal.
I know how I would feel if my husband had any lover of any gender on the side througout our marriage. I definitely wouldn't counsider him tragic and star-crossed. I would, perhaps, consider him dead. I darn sure wouldn't give him awards.