Cuori nel deserto

"Desert Hearts" makes me feel all warm and romantic whenever I think about it, and this I attribute mostly to director Deitch. Credit is also due to screenwriter Natalie Cooper for making sense of Jane Rule's molasses-thick quagmire of a novel, and to a super cast of supporting players. Alex McArthur is James-Dean-cute in his fresh and much welcome film debut as Cay's charmingly sensitive brother Walter. Audra Lindley is great as Cay's dear gruff mom Frances, and Andra Akers, new to me, purrs and scintillates as Silver. The soundtrack is one-of-a-kind wonderful with Patsy Cline, Ella Fitzgerald and on and on. I can't tell you how many times I saw "Desert Hearts" in a theater but for months after, a certain song (or a lone train whistle) would evoke sweet haunting memories...

As for Cay and Vivian, Patricia Charbonneau and Helen Shaver portray two sympathetic and instantly familiar female characters, but I've gotta give this to Donna, too. Why? Because this is the only production in which Shaver and Charbonneau (sounds good when you say 'em together!) rise above their usual below-average efforts. (I've seen enough of their film and TV work to make an admittedly personal judgment.) My gut feeling is that Deitch created a safe environment of honesty and acceptance, and encouraged and nurtured the heck out of her allegedly straight stars. In return they offered her an intimate duet of performances that, like the sleek sexy tailfins on Cay's Buick convertible, gave us a classic.

"Desert Hearts" has quite a bit going for it. It captures 1950s Reno and environs, the biggest little city in the world, pretty well: great old cars, red earth, dried twisted windspent driftwood, fragrant summer sagebrush, the noisy 7/24 casinos with 99 cent meals, suntanned faces, rickety ranch motels on the outskirts of town, snow-veined Sierras, and the pop music that is no worse than what we listen to. The story pulls one in.

Aura Lindley is the matriarch of the ranch and has bonded with one of her tenants. A new one arrives, an Eastern sophisticate, who refers to herself as a "distinguished author," and has a lot of books schlepped into her room. Discord! Helen Shaver, the professor, is rather neat and in addition to her books carries around a lot of savoir-faire. She doesn't look bad either. The movie also has going for it the presence of Patricia Charbonneau, who must have one of the most interesting crania on the planet, and the soft parts to match. She is possessed of a sinewy yet feminine figure and carries herself with presence. Her hair and her irises are the color of glowing anthracite. ("Charbonneau", indeed.) And those dazzling big choppers, appalling and appealing. She outs herself on a walk with Shaver who responds momentarily, impulsively. Jealous, Lindley throws Shaver out, suspecting something more intimate has happened than actually has.

The intimacy follows in a later scene when Charbonneau tracks Shaver to her downtown hotel room and initiates a long, erotic love scene which isn't at all pornographic or exploitative. The two women love one another, but one is after all an uptight distinguished author and the other, though equally intelligent, goes with the flow, as they say, and has been "kicked out of college for unnatural acts."

The film ends ambiguously. Can they get together? Can they compromise their life styles? Can a distinguished author carry on an affair with another woman in the 1950s? Not including Gertrude Stein? Can our desert wildflower find a home as a potted plant surrounded by geraniums on a windowsill on MacDougall Street in the Village? Will an author find happiness with a woman after her marriage to a man has ended in boredom and disaster? Will -- I forgot what the original rhetorical question was.

This is an easy movie to get through. Nothing in it leaps out at you. It doesn't pound you over the head with its modern sensibilities. We're not invited to condemn those morons back in the 50s for their attitudes towards gays, nor are we urged to feel guilty because we are accused of some lingering distaste ourselves. The movie sort of shrugs at these issues and says, well, that's the way it was. Not exactly a time that embraced gays but, at least on the outskirts of Reno, not exactly a time of torture either. One wishes Shaver and Charbonneau well as they ride off on the train into the sunset.

Reading some of the other comments, and the reviews at the time it came out, I suppose my feeling about this movie must be extremely idiosyncratic. Yet, all the people I rope in to watching this film seem to agree with me - so this is to give a counterpoint to the tepid (at best) comments I've read so far.

This is a beautifully photographed film, from beginning to end. It perfectly captures the ambiance and look of the Reno area in 1959 (I know because I was there); not just in appearance, but in the characters as well. Period music is expertly used throughout the film, with the final choice of Ella Fitzgerald's "I Wished on the Moon" a haunting and perfect end. I can't help but think that because this film was one of the first to spend several uncompromising minutes devoted to lesbian lovemaking that people tended to focus almost exclusively on that scene - and make pronouncements based on their own comfort levels with how it was filmed. This scene is really quite beautiful, but it could be left out and the sex only hinted at without harming the flow of the film. The two main characters are well-thought-out and fully realized; both fine performances (Helen Shaver is near perfect). All of the supporting characters are interesting and perfectly believable. The intelligent, witty script gives deep insight into the characters with minimal time spent. The humor is subtle but satisfying. Two examples: 1) when "the professor" comes out of her room after brooding for several days she is asked by another guest what she has been doing in there - the eccentric, grizzled ranch manager (Audra Lindley - who looks like she has been burned into the Nevada landscape)answers like a schoolmarm, "whatever it is, it's too deep for us to understand" 2) while horseback riding in the desert a Marilyn wannabe in blue jeans gets off her horse and says "my girdle is killing me!" For me this is a near perfect film. The only thing close to a criticism I can muster is the Kay character seems a bit too contemporary (but his is a very minor point and the role is well played). Unlike the other commentors, I think the characters are fascinating, each scene stands on its own as a perfect little vignette, and not only did I find the film enjoyable when it first came out, I have watched it at least 18 times since and it always holds up beautifully. Watch this movie with an open mind, void of preconceptions and value judgements, and see if you aren't enchanted (or at least entertained).

I've seen this movie at least a dozen times and it never fails to make me cry. It's a simple love story, but the fact that it's two women in love in Nevada in the 1950's gives it special significance. Unlike a lot of lesbian movies that were made in the 1980's, this one isn't all doom and gloom. It's actually a movie that will make you remember being young, impulsive and in love. It leaves the

viewer feeling hopeful about the future. Vivian Bell is a professor who comes to Nevada in the 1950's for a quickie divorce from her husband. While there she

meets Cay Rivers and Cay opens up a whole new world to her and makes

Vivian realize there's more to life than her stuffy, professional existence in New York. In addition, this movie has the most touching, intimate, erotic, and soulful love scene that I have EVER seen between 2 women in a movie.

A stuffy professor heads to Reno for a quickie divorce and becomes infatuated with a young woman who lives at the ranch where she's staying. Helen Shaver and Patricia Charbonneau have sizzling chemistry as the romantic leads and this film has a nice distinction of being one of the few lesbian themed films that doesn't end in appalling tragedy or sugary sweetness. It's down to earth, smart, sexy, and incredibly entertaining.