I first read Annie Proulx’s short story, “Brokeback Mountain,” more than a year ago. Her prose was stark, simple and raw like its two protagonists, and infused with a loneliness and tragedy so profound, that it haunted me for days afterwards. I was left like an open wound; seeping with not only sadness, but anger against a world that would deny two souls the right to love each other. The constraints of an ignorant and unforgiving society worked as both an external and internal force upon the two lovers. Ennis and Jack’s own ingrained beliefs and expectations about the lives they think they’re supposed to lead play a major hand in the choices that they make.

Jack Twist is a man who looks to the horizon, and hopes for something better than what he was dealt. His father raised him with near-ambivalent neglect, yet resented him for his wanderlust. In contrast, the influence of Ennis Del Mar’s tough, homophobic father is what forged him as a human being. Killed in an accident when Ennis was a child, the ghost of the father clings to the son throughout an adulthood that was brought on far too early.

Ang Lee’s film not only managed to capture these crucial character attributes, but also explored them with a depth that I wasn’t anticipating. Built on the solid foundation of an efficient and potent screenplay by Larry McMurtry and Diana Ossana, both Jack (Jake Gyllenhaal) and Ennis (Heath Ledger) evolve as 20 years of their lives pass before us. The first half hour of the film is devoted to the quiet reverence of Brokeback Mountain, a place that represents the natural beauty of the Old West and the private Eden that the two young boys share together, sheltered from the rest of the world. It is here where they form a bond of friendship based on mutual trust and respect, which on a cold night explodes into a lust that neither of them can fully comprehend. The next day, they swear to each other that they’re “not queer,” almost in an unspoken pact of fidelity, a promise that the connection they share will never be duplicated with another man. When they next retreat into the tent, it is with such bare need and tenderness, that only the most cynical of viewers will be left unaffected. Inevitably, their time in this wild paradise must end, and both soon feel the crushing weight of their looming separation. While Jack remains hopeful that they will meet again on the mountain the next summer, Ennis is consumed by such confusion and anger at his feelings for Jack, that he lashes out at him for being the cause of his internal agony.

After parting, their lives take the road of convention. Ennis marries his sweetheart, Alma Beers (Michelle Williams), and begins an existence composed of thankless jobs and screaming babies. Jack moves to Texas and enters the arena of rodeo competition, but finds a way out of the low-paying and injury-laden profession by marrying the brassy daughter (Anne Hathaway) of a local farm-equipment mogul. It isn’t until four years after their departure from Brokeback that the two men finally reunite, after Jack takes the initiative of contact via postcard.

Alma’s shock is devastating when she accidentally sees her husband kiss Jack with a hunger to fill the years of their separation. She has no frame of reference with which to process what she has witnessed, and chooses to shut down rather than deal with its implications. Jack is brave enough to realize how deeply he loves Ennis, and implores his lover to leave his family so that they can start “a little cow and calf operation” together. Ennis flatly refuses. Perhaps from a stoic sense of obligation to his wife and daughters, or more likely, a deep fear of admitting his homosexuality, he only agrees to meet Jack sporadically, and in the isolation of the wilderness. A brutal memory of a hate-crime witnessed during his youth gives him rationalization enough to resist Jack’s hopes of a life together.

From this point, the film moves us through the subsequent years of their relationship, giving us glimpses into the routine and unsatisfying lives they have settled for. Jack competes with business paperwork for his hardening wife’s attention. Alma and Ennis’ marriage slowly and irrevocably deteriorates under the unspoken knowledge of his betrayal. The only comfort the two men can find is in each other’s company, their bond having grown so close despite their distance from each other, that when together, even silences carry a gentle and familiar ease. Their deep, unspoken love is evident, and we hope, despite all the forces at work against them, that they will ultimately find happiness with each other.

If there is a single, binding motif of “Brokeback Mountain,” it is restraint. Ang Lee’s direction embodies this with masterful subtlety, allowing the contrast of immaculate vistas and intimate loneliness to merge into a vision that provokes in unexpected ways. A moment in the film — which perfectly represents this careful balance — is when Ennis crumples to his knees in a wave of tears and nausea upon leaving the mountain. He can’t comprehend why he feels such crippling emotion, and responds in the only way a man of his upbringing can – with fear and anger. He is framed tightly between two walls, yet the expanse of sky behind him seems vast. Freedom is within Ennis’ grasp, but he can’t escape his self-imposed constraints.

It is in moments like this that Heath Ledger illuminates the screen with a performance that could justifiably be ranked among the best of the decade. The most gifted actors can emote without the aid of dialogue, instead inhabiting a character in both mind and body. Ledger has the ability to convey Ennis Del Mar’s self-loathing with a subtle squint of the eyes, or a posture that goes from ramrod-straight to hunched and cowed as the years begin to weigh upon him. Even the words that fight their way out of his mouth seem as weary as he is.

In turn, the character of Jack Twist is perhaps harder to imbue with this level of complexity, but Jake Gyllenhaal does a brilliant job with the role. He is carefree and warm with his affections, giving Ennis tenderness that he needs, but feels guilty about receiving from any other source. We love Jack for his guilelessness, and can forgive him his trespasses as we see him transition from youthful naivety to bitter resentment at Ennis’ stubborn refusal of happiness.

The women of this film play smaller, but still significant, parts. It is through them that the tragedy of Ennis and Jack’s romance is put into sharp focus. They are collateral damage, and would have been spared their suffering if circumstances had permitted the men to ignore societal expectations of marriage and offspring. Michelle Williams’ is excellent in the scenes she’s in, particularly when expressing both sorrow and resignation. Anne Hathaway’s Lureen doesn’t have to struggle to keep her family afloat financially, but instead tries to hide a deep bitterness at her loveless marriage under a layer of thick makeup, bleach-tortured hair, and gaudy jewelry. In one of the film’s most quietly powerful scenes, Lureen emits two choked and barely audible screams when she finally realizes who the love of her husband’s life really was. The revelation that Jack’s heart was never hers is almost enough to crack the façade that she has methodically taken refuge behind.

Ang Lee utilizes powerful symbolism, but never enters territory where it would be considered heavy-handed or overwrought. Like the rest of the film, this aspect is governed by subtlety and control. Whether it be the splayed corpse of a “sacrificial” lamb discovered by a guilty Ennis the morning after his first sexual encounter with Jack, the simple reversal of two shirts on a wire hanger, or the lonely expanse of a wheat field visible next to Brokeback Mountain’s representation of pure natural beauty and idealism, the viewer is never left wanting for images rich with emotional resonance.

The cinematic experience we are given is one of rare gravitas. Unlike the regular Hollywood “tear-jerker” fare that gives us an easy cry that will be forgotten in an hour’s time, the characters, events and implications of “Brokeback Mountain” haunt us for days after exiting the theater. It is a film about fear paralyzes us into an inevitable and devastating regret. But unlike the film’s two heroes, who never return to the sacred ground of their beloved mountain after that first summer of youthful exuberance, viewers who have seen and fallen in love with Ang Lee’s film have been returning for repeat viewings, and recommending the unique experience to others. “Brokeback Mountain” has earned eight Academy Award nominations, and is considered a heavy favorite for the triumvirate of Picture/Director/Screenplay. It is not an undeserved honor: this is a film that will be remembered by future generations as both a watershed and a classic.

Meghan White is a contributing editor to Cinemalogue.com. Read her interview with the writers/producers of “Brokeback Mountain” at Cinemalogue.