The scene is a familiar one: A long line of moviegoers waits to see a "gay western." Many are drawn by the promise of seeing two beautiful leading men kiss. The promotional material for the film hints at "nude scenes and masculine kissing," affection made all the more remarkable because both leads are straight. In truth the sex, of which there is little, is rather tame. The film is more a love story than a blue movie. "A romantic all-male saga of the Old West," reads the movie poster, "that intertwines a beautiful love story between two men against the sweeping rugged grandeur of the American Wilderness." A reviewer for the New York Times agrees, describing the film as "unabashedly romantic," a story about love "set in a North Woods" that provides an Eden-like backdrop for innocence lost.
This isn't another article about Brokeback Mountain . The movie praised by the New York Times reviewer was Song of the Loon , a forgotten milestone in queer cinema released in 1970, long before Heath and Jake were born. Set in the 1870s, Song of the Loon tells the story of young man named Ephram MacIver whose search for love and happiness leads him into the arms of Cyrus Wheelwright, a mountain man who lives among Native Americans. Cyrus and his Indian companions are depicted as totally comfortable with gay relationships. Living in wild innocence, they reject the white city dwellers' stifling morals, including homophobia, monogamy, and materialism.
Despite its depiction of gay male sexuality, and though it opened to sold-out crowds, Song of the Loon goes unmentioned in books such as The Ultimate Guide to Lesbian and Gay Film and Video and The Celluloid Closet. The omission of Song of the Loon from the story of queer cinema is all the more remarkable because it is an adaptation of one of the most popular gay novels of all time, Richard Amory's book of the same title. According to critic Michael Bronski, Amory's Song of the Loon , published in 1966 "was perhaps the preeminent [gay] cultural literary icon" of the 1960s.
Song of the Loon is not Golden Globes material. Although most of the acting is decent, some scenes with Native Americans come dangerously close to seeming like a Saturday Night Live parody. Amory, who reviewed the film following its 1970 San Francisco premiere, lamented the liberties that the screenwriters had taken with his book. Though he found the actors "quite beautiful" and he was willing to give the producers "a medal for bravery," the screen version left him "discouraged."
Despite these shortcomings, the film deserves better than the obscurity into which it has fallen. Song of the Loon is a great example of Gay Liberation thought, capturing the spirit of a critical moment in GLBT history. It was one of the first independent gay movies, and was bankrolled by Shan Sayles, the owner of several gay male theaters including San Francisco's Nob Hill Cinema on Bush Street. In addition to working with a tight budget, Scott Hanson, the film's first director, had to struggle with some unique problems. The nature of the film was kept a secret from the rural Northern Californians of Trinity County where they shot. The need to keep on the down low was made more compelling because the crew hired local high school students as extras. Hanson believed that if the fathers of the youth were to realize that their sons were in a gay movie they "would have hung us."
Song of the Loon is not simply a dusty period piece; the issues raised are still relevant. The movie has a critique of internalized homophobia and addresses the perennial issue of whether gay men are better suited to monogamy or polyamory. Even setting aside the historical and cultural value, the camp value of Song of the Loon is huge. At the very least the film deserves a cult following.
Luckily for gay film buffs, however, this underground classic is not lost. The original film, promotional materials, movie scripts, and photos, including pictures of the cast goofing around on the set, are housed in the archives of the Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, Transgender Historical Society. We've made sure the Loon has been saved from extinction, but it's still on the endangered species list. The film's format and condition makes screening impossible. The original film needs preservation work and the movie needs to be transferred to an accessible medium. That takes money, time, and talent.
So much of our celluloid past has just disappeared, swallowed up by indifference, lack of funds, and the ravages of time. Though it may not be on par with Brokeback Mountain, Song of the Loon's historical and cultural importance is at least equal to its more splashy descendant. Jack and Ennis need not worry that Ephram and Cyrus will displace them in our hearts, but we should all be able to hear – and see – Song of the Loon before it rides off, forever, into the sunset.
Terence Kissack is the executive director of GLBT Historical Society.