the destroyer > the vent > Bryan Hinojosa

WHY I SAY BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN  IS THE BEST MOVIE EVER

          In August of 2006, after living in suburban Texas for eighteen years, I moved into my older brother’s apartment in Brooklyn, NYC. With impeccable timing, he had moved there in August of 2001. I had visited twice, and after each visit I thought that, if given the option, I would like to live in NYC for a spell. And wouldn’t you know it, an opportunity presented itself.

          Shortly after I had moved in, my brother pointed out to me an odd aspect of New York City that existed in the area of Brooklyn in which we lived (specifically Boerum Hill). He pointed down the road and told me:

          “If you go that way, be careful. A couple blocks down is the Gowanus Housing Projects. If you don’t watch yourself, you’ll get robbed by crackheads.”

          Yet, he pointed down half a block in the other direction and indicated a lavish brownstone on the corner, which, at that time, was owned by two movie stars: Michelle Williams and her then- husband the late Heath Ledger. By that time, Mr. Ledger had received quite a bit of press for his acting in Brokeback Mountain, even receiving an Oscar nod for his performance.

          I hadn’t seen the movie at that point. Instead, I had run across the short story it was based on and found it lacking in several areas, so I didn’t really feel the need to watch a movie based on a story I felt was crappy. Many good movies have undoubtedly been inspired by crappy stories, but I didn’t really feel like taking a chance on this one. And, it’s about gay shepherds, which would not be my first choice for movie topics. Although, I did enjoy the fact that everyone was surprised that “cowboys” could be gay, but, like I said, they weren’t really gay cowboys, but gay shepherds, which should be a surprise to no one.

           After I had first moved in, I told people back home about our resident celebrities, but really, I wasn’t too impressed. Frankly, I hadn’t gotten out much, and that was one of the few things of note that I had encountered in the city at the time. Truthfully, I spoke with more excitement about this one Indian food place down the street than I did the celebrities’ house. But, of course, many people back home were impressed by Mr. Ledger’s presence, and many people in Brooklyn were impressed too—quite impressed—as it turned out.

          My brother, who was a waiter at the high-end restaurant Nobu, serves movie stars, sports stars, and rock stars all the time, and was quite unaffected. He pointed out Mr. Ledger’s house in the same tone he would a historical landmark: something to note, but definitely nothing to cause undue excitement. I think my brother, ever the pragmatist, was more concerned with what Mr. Ledger’s proximity would do to his rent as opposed to anything else.

           But he was the exception. His then-girlfriend became giddy when describing the big timey movie stars that lived so close. All of my friends back home swooned when I told them. Even my wonderful sister was taken in. While she was there visiting, she made it a point to take a photo of “Keith Ledger’s” house. So, not even knowing who he was, she still wanted to have proof of his residency, so that, when she returned home, she could say “There are movie stars on every corner in the Big City” or something similar.

           And, truthfully, it’s not that I am immune to celebrity fever, it’s just that I didn't give a crap about Heath Ledger as a celebrity (A Knight’s Tale?). If Robert DeNiro were living down the street, I am sure that I would have gotten all Dewey-eyed. Hell, even if Jake Gyllenhall were living a block over, I might have yelled at him “Donnie Darko rocks,” but, alas, it was not Jake, rather it was his co-star and on-screen love interest.

           One night, we all drank heavily at my brother’s apartment. At some point, I stepped outside to smoke a cigarette with my brother's then-girlfriend and a friend of hers. And, of course, the conversation soon turned to the big timey movie stars that lived oh so near us unworthy mortals (had their nipples become erect while speaking of Mr. Ledger? It was dark and I cannot be sure).

          I had heard enough celebrity worship in the past couple of weeks, and I was quite sick of it. And, I was drunk, drunker than I had been in a handful of years, at least. So yeah, I had heard enough, which prompted me to lean back and gave a nice drunken yell of “Brokeback Mountain sucks!” at which point, my brother’s then-girlfriend told me to stop. I think it’s funny to note that she told me to stop yelling, not because I would get in trouble, or because I was being a drunken jack-ass, but because I would “hurt his feelings,” and I am thinking that if some gorgeous, internationally renowned actor, who makes millions per film, and who is married to a gorgeous, internationally renowned actress, who makes millions per film, can really be shaken by the words of me, a broke, drunk, nobody, then, yeah, his faith in himself needs to be shaken, just a bit.

           And then I yell it again: “Brokeback Mountain sucks!” And, truthfully, unless one of them was near an open window with no television or radio going on in the house, they might have heard me, but I doubt it. Not to mention, someone told me they were off in Maui filming a movie or something, so I didn’t care too much.

           And we finished our cigarettes and went inside. And that was that. For a week or two.

          Now listen to a description of my wonderful timing: at the exact instant that night that I am yelling “Brokeback Mountain sucks!” a man, who just happened to be a business associate of Mr. Ledger, just happened to be walking by on the other side of the street. And, this man just happened to be an acquaintance of my brother’s landlord. And, Ledger’s and William’s house just happened to have been pelted with eggs like three days before. And, my brother’s landlord just happened to be a wannabe starfucker who probably wet his over-sized panties when he heard about the big timey Hollywood-type movie stars moving into the neighborhood. Apparently, my brother’s landlord is really into Heath Ledger (but, of course, not until after the star had moved into the neighborhood). So yeah, he’s a fan of Mr. Ledger. A big fan. I found this out the hard way. Needless to say, my brother’s landlord got a call from the aforementioned business acquaintance of Mr. Ledger, telling him of my rather rowdy movie review.

          And so, shortly after, my brother got a call from his landlord, and was told, in reference to me: “I want him out. I want him out now.”

          I was stunned. I never expected this type of fawning over celebrities in this city. I figured that this kind of kowtowing to movie stars was common in Hollywood, but not in this city that is known for its apathy and cynicism. The thing that keeps coming back to me is the fact that this happened in NY-motherfuckin-C. I figured these people would be way too jaded to really give a shit about anything that doesn’t pose a major threat. I mean, these people had to deal with 9/11, for shit’s sake. My brother’s landlord was able to look out of his window, and—for all intents and purposes—see his world ending. He was a first-hand witness to one of the greatest tragedies of all time, and certainly the worst thing to happen to America in decades, if not centuries. And yet, “Brokeback Mountain sucks,” was enough to cause an uproar. So I got the boot.

          Of course, that was nobody’s fault but mine, but still, I was quite taken aback by such a strong reaction. There was no warning, no “Hey, tell your brother to not to be a jackass,” or “that type of action is frowned upon in this neighborhood.” Nothing of the sort. Instead, it was “No one fucks with Ledger.”

          It was then that I learned that New York doesn’t care about you, doesn’t care about me, doesn’t care about anyone…unless they happen to be in the movies or on TV. So much for that hard-ass, devil-may-care demeanor that the majority of New Yorkers that I encountered worked so hard to portray. So much for that “If we dealt with 9/11, then we can deal with anything,” attitude. Don’t believe it. New Yorkers are surprisingly sensitive over some matters, apparently.

          So for the most part, you can be a rebel, you can tell life to fuck off, you can flip off anyone and everyone and that’s fine. Unless you happen to rile up the famous locals. The famous Australian locals.

          A couple of months later, Mr. Ledger moved out of his house, and it was implied by my brother’s landlord that I had something to do with it. Oh, if only I had such power.

          And that, of course, is why I have been saying and will continue to say that Heath Ledger was the preeminent actor of his time, and that Brokeback Mountain is the best movie ever made, ever...ever. I still haven't seen it.