Forty years ago, the film is often noted .‘homosexuals Brokeback Mountain‘. While it’s a lazy point of comparison (not least because it predates Ang Lee’s film and Annie Proulx’s short story by some years) the film’s relationship to the West is notable. Deitch based his film’s visual language on cowboy and horse imagery, identifying the western frame as the perfect companion to Rule’s romantic narrative. At a time when the genre was dominated by male filmmakers, where the cowboy would get the girl and save the town, like in Clint Eastwood’s. Pale Rider (1985) and Lawrence Kasdan The Silverado (1985), Hearts of the Desert they have been hijacked by Western archetypes.
A wide open space, where possible as far as you can see, serves as a refuge for the men. Cinematographer Robert Elswit also aims for this, putting cowgirls Vivian and Cay front and center. The sunlight falls on their shoulders, giving a warm hope that is absent in gay dramas at the time. Similarly, Deitch invokes the classic tale of the American frontier as two lovers find respite and self-discovery in the restorative wilderness. Usually, the countryside is a place to indulge in fiction, but for Vivian and Cay, it’s a place to uncover the truth. Like the cowboys who came before them, they ride the dirt road and when the sky opens, the storm doesn’t mean doom but utopia. The sign is clear: rain in the desert, the opportunity for something new, washing away all that came before. In the midst of his reinvention of Western imagery, Deitch captures something familiar about a couple’s first kiss. Locking rain-soaked lips brings a Hollywood-esque familiarity, making this serious moment like a desert retreat.
Likewise, the icon of the cowboy is recreated in Deitch’s composition WLW romance. Vivian changes along with the world through environmental changes; she swaps her straight skirts for black denim jeans; the clean tops of the Western shirts decorated with flowers, and his strong harmony of ponytails. Both women succumb to the expectations of domestic civilization and the allure of rural lawlessness, but when given free reign in the stumbling blocks of heterosexuality, they blossom. Sadly, Deitch avoids pessimism; two homosexuals who are punished for breaking up.
Then comes Deitch’s entertaining cameo as a Hungarian gambler who imparts that wisdom to Vivian .“If you don’t play, you won’t succeed.” It’s as if the director is talking about his character, beckoning Vivian into her reality. The consummation of her wild desire comes to a tender, sensual and deeply intimate place of lust. Charbonneau and Shaver commit wholeheartedly to what remains one of cinema’s most authentic female sex scenes.
I 5A sequence of minutes ‑plays on 11 in the morning; it is not sheets but daylight that covers their bodies. Elswit’s aggressive camera holds close to soft lips and twinkling eyes, leaving no room for shame to penetrate. Without a soundtrack or distracting camera movements, Deitch avoids over-the-top sentimentality and creepy sprinkles. Rather, desire is complete and fulfilled, not withheld and not pursued. At the same time, you can’t help but sigh with relief that the scene is playing out interrupted, there is no unwanted desire or someone catching them playing, slowly fading into darkness as Deitch leaves them to their pleasure. It’s no small thing – popular and authentic sex scenes on the big screen remain incredibly rare. But forty years ago, Deitch laid the groundwork.
It’s just 96 minutes Deitch painted the future of queer cinema, especially lesbian cinema, that will be cherished for generations. In the final moments of the film, Deitch provided something special: a dignified, dignified ending that is endlessly enjoyable. In the West’s allegory of fate, justice is served, and just like that, the two women ride off together into the sunset. Without heartache, male influence, tragedy or death, Hearts of the Desert it remains a sunny dish with timeless appeal that still shines today.
