By Tim Sanders

Ah, the yuletide season is here! How better to celebrate the holidays than to take your family to the nearest theater and watch a heartwarming Christmas movie? And what embodies the spirit of Christmas and the joy of the season more than a movie that tugs at the heartstrings, a movie that brings a tear to the eye, a movie ... a movie about gay cowboys?

You’ve probably heard about this flick on TV, or read about it in the tabloids. The movie is called "Brokeback Mountain." It is directed by Ang Lee, who proved long ago that he had his finger on the pulse of the average American moviegoer by directing the classic "Wo hu zang long," which is Chinese for "No more karaoke for Wo hu." Actually, it’s Chinese for "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon."

I’ll be honest, I did not see "Crouching Wo Hu, Hidden Zang Long," because I didn’t want to watch another kung-fu movie. Later, of course, I learned that the movie won a basketful of awards because it wasn’t just another kung-fu movie about crouching tigers and hidden dragons, but a powerful yet sensitively crafted kung-fu movie about crouching tigers and hidden dragons with profound depth and scintillating Mandarin dialogue. By which I mean the tigers and dragons didn’t necessarily have profound depth and scintillating dialogue, only the movie itself. My son saw the movie and said he didn’t see any tigers or dragons at all. This may mean that they were only metaphorical tigers and dragons, or it may mean that since they were crouching and hidden, he just didn’t notice them. Either way, the critics loved the movie, which made me especially glad I hadn’t wasted my time.

So, as you’ve already guessed, I am pretty unsophisticated when it comes to movies. I do like to be entertained, though, and the notion of gay cowboys sounded at first like the movie might be really hilarious:

CROUCHING COWBOY #1: Somethin’ ain’t right, Snuffy. Them heifers is restless!

HIDDEN COWBOY #2: Well, dang it all, I’m restless too, Buck! It’s my legs. How ‘bout if we was to dance?

But I learned that the movie is not a comedy, only a drama. I read an Internet review by a professional New York film critic named Gabe Leibowitz. He wrote:

"A rich love poem with boundless soul, Brokeback Mountain is another wonderful gem to be placed atop Ang Lee’s filmic mantle."

Being an uncomplicated kind of guy, I was not impressed by "a rich love poem with boundless soul." I’m not sure what that means, but it sounds suspiciously like movie critic talk for "sappy chick flick." I contemplated the phrase "filmic mantle" until I got a headache. Maybe that film critic was thinking about old No. 7, the great Yankee center fielder, when he made that "filmic mantle" remark. Or maybe he was just drunk, who knows?

I do know that most folks over 50 were raised on cowboy movies. When we were very young, we watched Hopalong, Gene, and Roy. When we got older, we graduated to Gary Cooper, Glenn Ford, John Wayne, and Steve McQueen.
[WARNING: I know that what follows may appear to be culturally insensitive and politically incorrect, but upon closer examination, I’m sure you’ll find that ... oh, okay, so it is culturally insensitive and politically incorrect. Guys my age are always politically incorrect. So sue us.]

My generation consists mainly of baby boomers with brain cells only slightly ravaged by the excesses of the ‘60s. But that generation, minimal brain damage notwithstanding, is not really ready for gay cowboy movies. We are comfortable with our cowboys riding, roping and wrangling, as long as they aren’t riding, roping, and wrangling each other. We don’t want to see them dancing the tango under the prairie stars, or comparing wardrobes out by the stock pen, or arranging doilies and making fondue back at the old ranch house. It just ain’t right. We didn’t want Frank Miller arriving on the noon train, all in a snit to scratch Gary Cooper’s eyes out over a former mutual boyfriend. We didn’t want John Wayne and Lee Marvin, the two toughest men south of the Picketwire, involved in a passionate discussion over what the steak Jimmy Stewart dropped on that café floor was marinated in, and whether it had enough paprika, and what happened to the three-bean salad, anyhow? It just wouldn’t have worked. We liked "High Noon" and "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance" just fine the way they were.

Nor would we have wanted a gay Shane in the 1953 Alan Ladd classic. Imagine the climactic confrontation in the saloon:

SHANE: So you’re Jack Wilson.

WILSON: What’s that mean to you, Shane?

SHANE: Well, I’ve heard that you’re a low-down Yankee liar ... but now that we’ve met I’ll have to admit that your outfit–that spectacular vest, those form-fitting trousers and the divine leather boots–is simply marvelous!

And I believe I can speak for old farts everywhere when I say that I wouldn’t have found much entertainment value in Brynner, McQueen, Bronson, Coburn and the rest all chasing each other around that little Mexican town like a bunch of hot-blooded love monkeys, in something called "The Absolutely Fabulous Seven."

I’ll admit that I haven’t seen "Brokeback Mountain," and further admit that I don’t plan on seeing it, even if Larry McMurtry did write the screenplay. I know, I know, this goofy gay cowboy movie will probably win several Academy Awards for being such a groundbreaking and poignant "filmic" tale. I just don’t want my cowboys plucking their eyebrows, waxing their legs, riding sidesaddle and wearing Versace boots. Leave me my illusions.

By the way, I hear that if "Brokeback Mountain" turns a profit at the box office, there are plans afoot for a remake of that 1954 Western classic, "Cattle Queen of Montana," with John Lithgow reprising the Barbara Stanwyck role. I think I’ll miss that one, too.