Queer: A Dreamlike Exploration of Identity and Desire Under Luca Guadagnino’s Vision

There are few filmmakers who can capture yearning—the deep, often unspoken ache of desire—quite like Luca Guadagnino. From Call Me By Your Name to I Am Love, Guadagnino has mastered the language of longing, turning the emotional and physical connections between his characters into poetic visuals that linger in the subconscious. With Queer, his adaptation of William S. Burroughs’s seminal novella, he delves once more into the complexities of identity, alienation, and desire. Yet this time, he weaves a tapestry even more abstract, a narrative that feels both untethered and deeply human, pushing boundaries of cinematic beauty and intimacy. Guadagnino invites us into a world where desire and despair live side by side, where every image is imbued with the emotional weight of unspoken truths.

Set against a backdrop of humid, sweltering Mexico in the post-war 1950s, Queer immerses us in the fractured interior world of Lee, played with aching vulnerability by the lead actor. Lee is both an observer and an outsider, caught in his own compulsions and obsessions, most notably with Allerton, a figure of unattainable allure who seems to hover at the edge of Lee’s desires. Guadagnino leans into this dynamic with his trademark sensuality—textures, glances, and silences carry the weight of the unspoken. Every interaction feels electrified, a pull between desire and impossibility that leaves Lee (and the audience) caught in an unresolved fever dream. The sound of footsteps in the oppressive heat, the scratch of fabric on bare skin, even the pause between words feels deliberate, turning the mundane into something sensuous.

But it is one particular scene that transcends the boundaries of film and becomes a work of art itself—the yage sequence.

The Yage Scene: A Stunning Symbiosis of Form and Feeling

The yage scene, for me, is the heart of Queer. It is a scene that felt so visceral, so breathtaking, that I had to remind myself to exhale. Here, Guadagnino unleashes a new kind of visual language, abandoning linear constraints and inviting us to surrender to the abstract.

Lee and Allerton, in their search for something ineffable—a spiritual or emotional clarity, perhaps—embark on a journey that takes them deep into the jungles of South America. The jungle itself is almost mythological here, a place where the edges of reality seem to fray. Under the influence of yage, a hallucinogenic brew used in shamanic rituals, reality collapses into a dreamscape. Guadagnino’s vision in this scene is nothing short of sublime, transforming the screen into a canvas of surreal beauty and unfiltered emotion.

The two men are shown wrapped around each other, their bodies pressed together as though they are merging into a singular form. The lines of their limbs blur, flesh against flesh, sweat and shadows pooling into something otherworldly. It is intimacy beyond physicality—a symbolic representation of desire so overwhelming that it erases individual boundaries. Their embrace feels infinite, their connection transcendent. As the camera pans slowly, capturing the textures of their bodies and the way they seem to melt into one another, we lose track of where Lee ends and Allerton begins. The two no longer exist as separate beings but as an inseparable force—a hauntingly beautiful fusion of need, desire, and identity.

What struck me most was the visual genius of this moment. The camera lingers long enough for us to feel as if we are witnessing something sacred. The lush jungle seems to breathe with them, every leaf and vine pulsing with color and light. Guadagnino bathes the scene in an ethereal glow—greens and golds shimmering like liquid. It’s as if the earth itself is cradling them, enveloping them in this ephemeral union. The figures of Lee and Allerton seem to dissolve into their surroundings, their bodies no longer entirely human but transformed into pure energy, pure connection. It is a visual metaphor for love—the destruction of boundaries and the yearning to lose oneself completely in another.

This merging—this becoming one—is so visually stunning that it took my breath away. I found myself paralyzed by its beauty, torn between wanting to hold onto the image forever and knowing that like all moments of fleeting perfection, it had to end. In this scene, Guadagnino captures something we rarely see so fully rendered on screen: the impossibility of desire and its simultaneous ability to transcend us. It is as if Lee’s longing is finally met, not in the reality of Allerton’s affection, but in the liminal space created by the yage. In that moment, they are free. They exist beyond shame, beyond rejection—a perfect illusion of unity.

Cinematic Language as Poetry

What elevates Queer is Guadagnino’s ability to marry form and feeling. His use of cinematography transforms the film into a painting that breathes, a poem that whispers through every frame. In moments of intimacy, he abandons narrative rigidity entirely and lets the visuals tell the story. The camera floats as if intoxicated, the light dances in soft waves, and the soundscape—a blend of ambient jungle hum, faint, echoing breaths, and the sounds of distant animals—creates an immersive dream state. The scene becomes a meditation not just on the physical act of connection but on the spiritual act of surrender.

This artistic approach reminds us that cinema can be more than storytelling; it can be an experience, an invocation. The boundaries between viewer and subject dissolve in much the same way Lee and Allerton dissolve into one another. We are no longer watching; we are feeling. It’s rare to find a film that trusts its audience so completely, that invites us to lose ourselves in its beauty without needing to provide answers. Guadagnino offers no definitive conclusion because desire itself is not a problem to be solved—it is a state to be experienced.

A Meditation on Desire and Alienation

At its core, Queer is not just about Lee’s longing for Allerton, but about the way desire isolates us. Lee’s obsession is both his liberation and his torment. Another titillating view was the use of double exposure, where we are watching a scene play out yet also being shown Lee in his subconscious and what he wishes to do. It gives him—and us—a moment of transcendence, a fleeting vision of connection unmarred by rejection or reality. It’s a cruel irony, of course. The moment is born of delusion, yet it feels more real than anything Lee experiences outside of it.

For anyone who has ever longed for something they couldn’t have, this scene resonates on a primal level. It is desire distilled into its purest form—beautiful, overwhelming, and devastatingly impermanent. Lee’s alienation only deepens as the film progresses, the weight of his unreciprocated love hanging heavy over him. The epilogue is one that will stay with me emotionally, two years after their journey together Lee returns to Mexico City, he has not heard from Allerton, but gets lost again in his need for what they were. We have a parallel scene with Lee as an old man, laying down for the last time and behind him Allerton, who intertwines their legs as Lee takes his last breath. This becomes both a moment of catharsis and a reminder of his ultimate isolation.

Guadagnino’s Masterpiece

With Queer, Luca Guadagnino proves once again that he is a master of emotional and visual storytelling. He understands that love and longing are rarely straightforward; they are messy, transformative, and sometimes impossible. And yet, he shows us the beauty in that impossibility. Luca stands as a visionary to what can be done with the correct view of true cinema—a testament to what happens when art transcends its medium.

Days after watching, I find myself returning to that moment in my mind: the merging bodies, the golden light, the feeling of something infinite and fragile slipping through my fingers. It’s a reminder of how powerful film can be when it dares to go beyond words, when it allows us to touch something sublime—even if only for a moment. Guadagnino leaves us suspended between beauty and loss, between desire and its inevitable impermanence, and in doing so, he creates something truly unforgettable.