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Forty years on, the film is often branded ‘the lesbian Brokeback Mountain’. Though it’s a rather lazy point of comparison (not least because it predates both Ang Lee’s film and Annie Proulx’s short story by some years) the film’s relationship to the Western is notable. Deitch based her film’s visual language on cowboy and horse photography, identifying the western framework as a perfect companion to Rule’s romance narrative. At a time when the genre was dominated by male filmmakers, in which the cowboy would get the girl and save the town, like in Clint Eastwood’s Pale Rider (1985) and Lawrence Kasdan’s Silverado (1985), Desert Hearts hijacked Western archetypes.
Wide open landscapes, where possibility stretches as far as the eye can see, serve as an escape for men. Cinematographer Robert Elswit repurposes this, placing cowgirls Vivian and Cay front and centre. The sun’s glow lands on their shoulders, offering a warm hopefulness missing from lesbian dramas at the time. Similarly, Deitch invokes classic American frontier mythology as the two lovers find respite and self-discovery in the restorative desert. Usually, the outback is a locale for indulging in fantasy, but for Vivian and Cay, it’s a place to uncover the truth. Like the cowboys that came before them, they ride out on a dusty track and when the heavens open, the storm doesn’t mark a condemnation but a utopia. The symbolism is clear: rain in the desert, a chance at something new, washing away all that came before. Amidst her reinvention of Western imagery, Deitch shoots for something more conventional for the pair’s first kiss. The rain-soaked locking of lips brings a Hollywood-esque familiarity, framing this queer moment as an oasis in the desert.
Likewise, cowboy iconography undergoes reframing in Deitch’s swooning WLW romance. Vivian transforms with the landscape in a natural shift; she swaps her straight skirts for dark denim jeans; pristine tops for flower-embroidered Western shirts, and her tight updos for ponytails. Both women straddle the domestic expectations of civilisation and the lure of the outback’s lawlessness, but when given free reign from the stifling constraints of heterosexuality, they blossom. Crucially, Deitch eschews pessimism; the two lesbians aren’t punished for breaking free.
Then comes Deitch’s entertaining cameo as a Hungarian gambler offering Vivian the wisdom that “If you don’t play, you can’t win.” It’s as if the director is speaking through her character, nudging Vivian towards her truth. The consummation of her queer desire arrives in a gentle, sensual and deeply intimate scene of lust. Charbonneau and Shaver wholeheartedly commit to what remains one of the most authentically real lesbian sex scenes in cinema.
The 5‑minute sequence plays out at 11 in the morning; it’s not bedsheets but daylight that blankets their bodies. Elswit’s languorous camera holds tight close-ups of gentle lips and fluttering eyes, leaving no room for shame to creep in. With no soundtrack or distracting camera movement, Deitch avoids sweeping sentimentality and grotesque fetishisation. Instead, desire is whole and fulfilled, not detached nor rushed. Simultaneously, you can’t help but sigh with relief that the scene plays out interrupted, no unrequited desire or person catching them in the act, just a slow fade to black as Deitch leaves them to their pleasure. It’s no small feat – tender and authentic lesbian sex scenes on the big screen remain incredibly rare. But four decades ago, Deitch laid the groundwork.
In just 96 minutes Deitch painted a future for queer cinema, specifically lesbian cinema, that would be treasured for generations. In the film’s final moments, Deitch offered something uniquely special: a dignified, unapologetically queer happy-ever-after ending. In the template of a Western conclusion, justice is served, and in the same vein, these two women get to ride off together into the sunset. Without heartbreak, male influence, disaster or death, Desert Hearts remains a sunny treat with timeless appeal that still shines today.
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