Don't cry for me, Brandon/Teena—the truth is...

It seems nearly impossible to do justice to the tragic life and death of Teena Brandon. Yet writer/director Kimberly Peirce and her co-writer Andy Bienen have done just that, managing to produce a film that is intelligent, exciting, and funny enough for theatrical release, but still dignified enough to be considered a tribute.

COURTESY FOX SEARCHLIGHT PICTURES As in "The Next Karate Kid," Swank (right) defies the sexx laws.

Boys Don't Cry is the tragic, true story of gender-crossing Teena Brandon (Hilary Swank) and her masquerade as "Brandon" in the world of all things male. Complete with a butch haircut and a groin stuffed with gym socks, 21-year-old Brandon woos several young girls before meeting Lana (Chloë Sevigny). Brandon and Lana's romance is cut short by Lana's boyfriend John (Peter Sarsgaard), whose jealousy catalyzes the unraveling of Brandon's identity. When Brandon is revealed as a woman, John's insanity becomes contagious, causing everyone to perceive Brandon as a freak and a pervert, with ultimately disastrous consequences.

The film carefully avoids the pitfalls of the genre and is reluctant to label any character as either a "good guy" or a "bad guy." The kids are bored and slowly going insane in the rural Nebraska of 1993, a scene which Peirce paints as a wasteland of cheap acid, whippets, and bumper skiing (dangling off the tail of a moving, jolting pickup truck). In this context, even John seems not so much the villain of the film, but rather a product of his stifling environment.

However, Brandon and Lana are portrayed as slightly removed from this world. What separates them from the others is the dream they share of one day hitting the open road and leaving their dreary homes behind forever. In an attempt to woo Lana, Brandon lies about her family, spinning romantic stories of trips to visit a sister who's a model in Hollywood. This otherworldliness (by Nebraska standards) is what attracts Lana to Brandon, and joins the two in a dream of escape.

More than a symbol of this flight, the recurring motif of the highway frames the film in stylized first-person shots of night driving. In many ways, the film itself is a highway: a straight course toward what the viewer knows is ultimately a tragic end. No turns. No twists. From the opening to closing credits, Peirce and her cast build tensions that crescendo at the film's grim finale. Unease is everywhere. It's in the twan-gy guitar score reminiscent of the Twin Peaks theme. It's in the lighting, which is a strange blend of film noir and irritating fluorescence. Most of all, it's in the characters themselves. While Brandon is, at heart, a wo-man who feels out of place in her own identity, this sort of discomfort is common to all of the film's characters. One gets the sense that every character in Boys Don't Cry would rather be somewhere other than the backwoods of Nebraska.

It's difficult to say which is the stronger element in the film, Peirce's script or the cast's performance. The two fuse seamlessly to bring to life details of the story that could not be found in any police report of the incident. Swank portrays Brandon on her first outing as a man with such charisma and naïveté that the viewer can't help but share in her ex citement, all the while knowing that this is truly the beginning of the end.

Swank's performance might only be topped by that of Sevigny, who charts a smooth and natural course for Lana's relationship with Brandon, carrying her character through initial indifference toward the new boy to excitement at the prospect of newfound love. When Brandon's identity as Teena is revealed, Lana accepts him with tender affection and an underlying girlish glee at acting on the taboo. But as the prospect of danger builds, we see Lana slowly become wary of her lover, gradually distancing herself from what inevitably must become a sad ending. The uneasiness builds, making the film seem almost like a Nan Goldin photo come to life. It may be disturbing, but you can't turn away.

Back to A&E...