Brokeback Mountain

In Ang Lee's revelatory film adaptation of Annie Proulx's heartbreaking short story Brokeback Mountain, the Oscar-nominated director of Sense and Sensibility and Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon deftly mines similar territory in his exploration of loneliness, alienation, and the repression of love. Hired to watch over a herd of sheep during the summer of 1963, Ennis Del Mar (Heath Ledger) and Jack Twist (Jake Gyllenhaal) are two loners who keep their distance from each other at first, but gradually form a tentative friendship that unexpectedly blossoms into something much deeper and meaningful. The film follows the respective lives of the two men after their initial summer together, tracking them as they steal romantic "fishing trips" with one another over the years while still attempting to live "normal lives," yet secretly yearning for the comfort of each other's arms all the while. Simply put, the film is marvelous. Long in the making (the script languished in Hollywood for more than 10 years because of its "controversial" subject matter), Brokeback Mountain is more than worth the wait. Lee has done something quite unexpected and brilliant: He's crafted the first truly great "all-American gay love story," a movie that is as much an examination of the societal pressure forced upon gays and lesbians as it is a study in the universality of love. The film's strength is also that of the book's: simple, uncluttered storytelling and its emphasis on character and dialogue over sensationalism and titillation. The script (adapted by Lonesome Dove scribe Larry McMurty and longtime writing partner Danna Ossana) is rich and unaffected, the direction confident and lyrical, and the performances uniformly daring and realistic. Ledger and Gyllenhaal, especially, dig deep to tap in to what it means to yearn for love, and there's not a false moment to be found in their unaffected portrayals of loneliness and despair. Perhaps most interesting about the film is that it avoids the usual cliché and pitfalls of "gay cinema." The irony that it took a group of straight people to make what is quite possibly the best "gay movie" ever should not be lost on gay filmmakers. While it remains to be seen whether Brokeback Mountain will usher in a new era of gay-themed mainstream movies, with this heartbreakingly bittersweet love story, the bar for us has most definitely been raised. -- Ken Knox

The Family Stone

Openly gay writer/director Thomas Bezucha made a quirky, gentle romantic comedy splash in 2000 with his feature debut, Big Eden. This star-studded follow-up is also quite gentle -- but too much, for its own good. In her first big post-Sex and the City role, Sarah Jessica Parker plays Meredith Morton, a Type-A NYC career gal in love with nice guy Everett Stone (Dermot Mulroney). When the pair head off to visit Everett's family in New England, Meredith is subjected to a trial by fire.

Stone family matriarch Sybil (Diane Keaton) and patriarch Kelly (Craig T. Nelson) are both open-minded liberals who tried to pass their values on to five children. Gathered for the holidays, the clan cringes when seemingly uptight, conservative Meredith enters the fray. Not that Meredith doesn't exacerbate the situation, frequently sticking her foot in her mouth. During one such opportunity during a dinner, she causes an uproar involving Everett's gay, deaf brother Thad (Ty Giordano) and his boyfriend Patrick (Brian White). Almost amused, Stone sibling Ben (Luke Wilson) reaches out to the frazzled Meredith in friendship. But perhaps there's something more going on? Meanwhile, Meredith's less uptight sister, Julie (Claire Danes), arrives to help mellow things outÉ and finds a little romance of her own.

The previews may lead one to believe The Family Stone is a raucous, belly laugh-inducing guess-who's-coming-to-dinner seasonal comedy. If only that was the case. Instead, Bezucha dishes up a gentle and extremely predictable romantic dramedy with a dash of Terms of Endearment poignant tragedy. Yes, there's a few big (and attempted big) laughs interspersed, but the mix of tones never quite meshes.

The actors seem to have trouble with the too-soft-for-its-own-good mix as well, especially Parker. Is her Meredith a bitch? Is she merely misunderstood? Bezucha may have been aiming for complexity and nuance, but Parker is at her best when immersed in strong, stylized characters and material, so she flounders as a result. Pity, because a little more slapstick and edge could have made this a memorable turn. Wilson fares little better, charming his way through his chores, while Keaton and Nelson are reasonably likeable. Giordano, deaf in real life as well, is a pleasant presence, and it's great to see a happy gay character -- and his partner -- as an accepted part of an onscreen American family. But good politics don't make this stone shine anywhere near bright enough to impress. -- Lawrence Ferber

Transamerica

Felicity Huffman has been memorable on television in Sports Night and the zeitgeist-busting Desperate Housewives (she's the comic drudge Lynette). Her film work, though, has been spotty. Small roles in good movies like Magnolia and The Spanish Prisoner and larger ones in forgettable fare like Christmas with the Kranks won't prepare you for her performance in Transamerica as Bree, the pre-operative, male-to-female transsexual.

On the eve of gender reassignment, Bree gets called from a New York prison by Toby (Kevin Zegers) who claims to be the son of Stanley (Bree's male name) from a college encounter. Posing as a Christian missionary, Bree bails Toby out of jail. Together they embark on a cross-country odyssey of discovery.

But Transamerica is no after-school special. Duncan Tucker's sharp script and direction don't plead on behalf of the transgender population. His characters are flawed, alive, and too damn funny to be held down by polemics. Toby favors drugs and gay hustling. Bree acts like a Teutonic librarian -- persnickety about language and how she feels a woman should behave. (She travels with a bright pink cosmetic case from the early-Õ60s that's like an emblem of arrested femininity.)

Huffman moves with the subtly exaggerated gestures of a man trying to pass; attempts at gentility are trumped by equilibrium-thwarting hormones. She swoons when she walks. She's a mess, yet Huffman controls her comic creation with delicate poignancy. She's both mannered and unfussy; a gargantuan caricature and a beautifully modulated human being. When we see her fully naked, it's no surprise that she has a fully-operational penis. Huffman's triumph is that the offending organ doesn't look like a special effect, but the real thing. -- Dan Loughry