Crossing a Mountain

I’m not talking about the obvious girl-friendly accoutrements of the tough guy/tender heart dichotomy—the men’s skillful horsemanship, their penchant for carrying injured lambs on their laps, the way they look in jeans. I’m talking about something much more visceral. For all their monosyllabism, Jack (Jake Gyllenhaal) and Ennis (Heath Ledger) are fonts of emotion. Sure, they’re prone to the usual male-pattern of drinking, fighting and marrying women without knowing quite what they’re doing, but when it comes to their love for each other, their hearts aren’t just on their sleeves, they’re pinned to their foreheads.

It’s curious to see how the Jack/Ennis model of ideal manhood has come about just as metrosexuality—that marketing campaign for hair gel disguised as a social trend—is on the wane. Instead of merely acquiring the trappings of kinder, gentler manhood, Jack and Ennis actually walk the walk.

The sight of Jake Gyllenhaal crying in his truck as he drives away from Ennis (who retreats to an alley and vomits in tortured despair) is enough to make even the bitterest woman swoon. That moment, like so many in the film, feels like an epiphany not because of the gay context but because for once someone other than the woman is crying. Traditionally, women have done the heavy emotional lifting. We’re the ones who scream and probe and force conversations about the relationship while the man stews in confusion as to whether he’s feeling vulnerable or just hungry for a steak.

With Jack and Ennis, however, there’s no woman to pick up the emotional slack, and they’re forced to experience their feelings without the benefit of female translation or analysis.

LAT-WP