Hollywood seems to believe that nothing sells like period pieces romanticising nineteen-fifties suburban America. “On Swift Horses” (Sony), showing now at the Montrose Playhouse, is the second this year—after “Here,” which I reviewed in January. Both are fascinated with whiteness, patriarchy and, more especially in this week’s offering, lack of choice.
The idea behind “On Swift Horses” is promising enough. Two brothers, Lee and Julius, return from fighting in the Korean War to their home in Kansas. Lee marries and moves to California with his new bride. “I can make you happy, Muriel,” he says. But he can’t. She, like Julius, is gay—in a time of persecution of gay people, when the only safe place to meet is in boarded-up barrooms in dingy hotels, and the most sheltered place of all to hide is within a heterosexual marriage. Julius is more of a drifter, a small-time gambler who gets a job in Las Vegas in casino security—poacher turned gamekeeper, if you will—and falls in love with one of his colleagues. Meanwhile, Muriel works in a diner and overhears well to-do customers exchanging insider tips on horses; she writes them down, goes to the races and wins big.
The 2005 masterpiece “Brokeback Mountain” induces eroticism by the manner in which the two men look at each other. The single, short scene in which one of their wives sees the men kissing from her kitchen window is exceptional. “On Swift Horses” cannot compete with this level of sophistication in storytelling and cinematography. Nor with the on-set chemistry between Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal back in 2005. At one point in “On Swift Horses,” Muriel says, “Maybe there’s such a thing as knowing too much,” which is certainly true of the sex scenes, comprising quite a few bottoms and precisely positioned bed sheets. The filmmakers have to work too hard to compensate for the actors’ lack of chemistry and so it becomes uncomfortable for the audience rather than exciting.
The unspoken knowing between Julius and his sister-in-law—a kind of nineteen-fifties gaydar—provides the most compelling dialog and some of the most honest moments in the film. Husband and wife talk in deep code: “My brother’s not what you think,” he says. “He has passions of his own. You know what I mean. He’s just not like us.” (Again the filmmakers are presumably touching on his inaccurate assumptions about her.) But when Muriel and Julius talk directly the intensity increases, “Hey Kansas. You got your secrets and I got mine,” Julius says. “I think you probably do. Probably.” She writes postcards and wires money via Western Union to Julius—knowing it will likely be spent on gambling—without her husband knowing. And she kind of gets him; “Come see us when your luck runs out,” she says at one point. And, describing their suburban life, she tells him, “You wouldn’t be able to breathe [here].”
The Chester Hotel (“the queer bar down by the dock”) is the clandestine same-sex meeting place and it is when we arrive here that the film ploughs fertile soil. I’m not entirely sure (given that the real function of the premises is supposed to be a secret) why there are sailors leaning provocatively against the outside walls. But the real fear of those meeting each other—that the venue will be raided and they will be exposed and jailed—is captured quite well. Muriel has been courageous and plans to meet another woman from the racecourse. She sits uncomfortably on a bar stool furtively watching the (mostly male) couples wordlessly. But the scene stops before it really gets going. Maybe the filmmakers were nervous about where the story might lead; that’s a great shame because I anticipated a more daring second act opening up at the Chester. I felt that a different plot which led to Muriel’s arrest and humiliation would have been a better way to expose the tragic, hounded lives of gay people in that awful decade.
The film’s soundtrack throughout is good, especially the song “Mr Blue” during the opening credits. And the beautiful California light, captured in the outdoor scenes, floods the screen effortlessly. Many of the outside shots have been very precisely crafted. Take one intriguing scene where the U.S. government is testing atomic bombs in Nevada at night. The filmmakers have the original idea of the event becoming a spectacle, like a firework display. When the mushroom cloud has gone up, the couples who have come for an evening out start dancing—as if at high-school prom night. It’s an excellent scene.
Unfortunately the three actors in the lead roles do little more than make a two-hour advertisement for tobacco companies. Daisy Edgar-Jones, as Muriel, is at her best during her subversive attendance at the racetrack camouflaged in blue sunglasses. Will Poulter, as Lee, switches confusingly from the traditional working-class man of the house and the plain naive, but feels uncommitted to the project. His part would have been more convincing if portrayed with more resentment. Jacob Elordi, as Julius, plays his character far too close to Austin Butler’s (outstanding) “Elvis” (2022).
As for the nineteen-fifties, Julius arrives at that suburban house, surely Hollywood’s prize possession, takes one look, and asks, “So this is paradise, huh?” Muriel knows that the whole decade is far from it, especially for gay people and women. “Something like that,” she says.
Adam Poole
8th September 2025
If you are interested in viewing this screening, please book your tickets here
