Ang Lee is something of an anomaly among directors working in mainstream American cinema. Whereas Martin Scorsese and Steven Spielberg are flamboyant virtuosos, stirring audiences with sometimes hyperbolic displays of their signature styles, Lee is a model of thoughtful restraint. His films unfold quietly, at a measured pace—devoid of obvious contrivance or manipulative plot twists—as his protagonists grapple their way towards hard-won epiphanies. The subtlety of his approach, which is reminiscent of indie stalwart Victor Nunez (Ulee's Gold), can yield rewards for audiences seeking emotionally sophisticated, character-driven fare like The Ice Storm (1997) and Sense and Sensibility (1995).

Yet there's a downside, albeit slight, to Lee's understated sensibility: His films often lack an acute sense of dramatic urgency. There's a contained, overly reticent tone that prevents you from fully engaging with his protagonists. Such is the case with Lee's Brokeback Mountain, his otherwise impeccably crafted and sensitively rendered adaptation of Annie Proulx's masterful short story. Although this story of yearning and furtive love between two young men in the harsh, unforgiving landscape of the American West has a rueful poignancy, the film nonetheless holds you at arm's length.

Faithfully adapted for the screen by Pulitzer-Prize winning novelist Larry McMurtry (Lonesome Dove) and Diana Ossana, Brokeback Mountain spans some 20 years in the lives of Ennis Del Mar (Heath Ledger) and Jack Twist (Jake Gyllenhaal), who first meet while tending sheep on Wyoming's Brokeback Mountain in the summer of 1963. Here, to their own surprise and confusion, the extroverted Jack and the emotionally bottled-up Ennis gradually fall in love, despite vehement avowals that they're not "queer." Although they part at the end of the summer—Ennis will marry longtime girlfriend, Alma (Michelle Williams), and Jack will pursue a rodeo career in Texas, where he marries Lureen (Anne Hathaway)—both men remain intimately connected to each other. It's a bond that Jack wants to develop into a lifelong relationship, but his entreaties fail to persuade Ennis, who's too steeped in the homophobic culture of the American West to take such a risk and follow his heart, even if Jack represents his one chance for happiness.

Astutely observed and superbly acted by the entire cast, especially Ledger, who suggests a whole range of emotions roiling beneath his character's taciturn surface, Brokeback Mountain has moments of aching loneliness that evoke one of Hank Williams' sorrowful, honky-tonk laments. And it's hard to think of any writer better qualified to adapt Proulx's short story to the screen than McMurtry, whose novels of the contemporary American West have been transformed into the classic films The Last Picture Show (1971) and Hud (1963). Yet for all the many, justifiably lauded virtues of Brokeback Mountain, there's often a curiously muted quality to what's happening onscreen, as if Lee's so concerned about the material descending into bathos that he holds too much in emotional reserve. In contrast, the spare yet cauterizing prose of Proulx's short story cuts to the heart with an emotional power that Lee's film simply cannot match. While he and everyone involved in the making of Brokeback Mountain deserve praise for taking on such a risky project, it ultimately remains a film you admire, rather than embrace completely.

DVD DETAILS

The four special features on the Brokeback Mountain DVD are solid if unremarkable. For starters, there's no director's commentary—just the segment "Directing from the Heart: Ang Lee," which features glowing tributes from the film's cast and crew. Of the remaining features, "On Being a Cowboy" is an amusing overview of the actors' stint in "Cowboy Camp." And the inevitable making-of documentary is fairly negligible. Best of all is "From Script to Screen," in which McMurtry and Ossana discuss of the challenges they faced as the cinematic "stewards" of Proulx's short story.

— TIM KNIGHT