Warning: This story contains some spoilers.

Most queer stories often fall into two categories: those centered on the joyfulness of queer love, even in stolen moments, or those that chronicle the tragic fate that queer people face at key moments of their history.

Brokeback Mountain at Chicago Shakespeare Theater has both, taking the best elements of Annie Proulx’s 1997 novella and the Academy Award-winning film of the same name. The show’s immersive elements, the palpable dynamic between lead actors and the addition of a country western band make this production more emotionally resonant than its predecessors. 

The play follows the romantic entanglement between Ennis Del Mar (Harrison Ball) and Jack Twist (Jack Cameron Kay) across twenty years. After they meet in rural Wyoming in 1963, the pair navigate career woes, wives, children and parental trauma as two diametrically opposed forces who are unable to escape the love they have for each other. They continue their relationship across the years through clandestine meetings, until Jack’s tragic accidental death cuts their time together short. 

Demonstrating a strength of the format of a stage adaptation, this production is so immersive that you’d easily forget that 10 minutes before plopping down in your seat you were weaving through a barrage of slow-walking tourists to get to the Courtyard Theater. Before the show even begins, you can hear the whistling wind of Brokeback mountain, and see Ennis lying onstage atop a rustic flannel bedspread. Use of real fire as the men cook campfire meals in the desert, carefully rehearsed fight and intimacy choreography and era-accurate prop design help create an immersive experience that feels far more impactful than a movie ever could. 

Kay and Ball successfully serve as the emotional anchors of the show, as the characters’ camaraderie develops onstage like it were the first time they met. The play cuts much of the movie’s extra fat, distilling the plot to what is central to Jack and Ennis’s relationship, and most of these changes serve the story for the better.

We see Kay’s emotional portrayal of Jack’s progression from an overeager quick-talking rodeo clown to a resigned business-owner. He’s delightfully humorous in some moments, but leaves the audience with a collective lump in their throat at others, both perfectly appropriate. Ball’s stoicism serves as an alluring contrast, his sullen nature and familial trauma clearly weighing him down, even as a young man. In some scenes, his monosyllabic flirtations and chiseled facial features resemble Connor Storrie’s Ilya Rozanov (of Heated Rivalry fame) more than a young Heath Ledger. But this difference isn’t a detriment; Ball makes Ennis his own and breathes new life into the story, rather than being a carbon copy of the movie’s portrayal.

If the gasps from the audience at the reveal of Jack’s death were anything to go by, these two actors were key in keeping everyone on the edge of their seat, even in a story many knew by heart. 

But the production’s band is truly what makes it unique and unforgettable. Anchored by Kat Eggleston’s crisp and clear-toned voice, the music seems to convey the words that Jack and Ennis cannot. Communicating the meaning of the longing gazes between the couple, the harshness of the environment or just a shift in the time of day, the music adds a level of intimacy that mere words cannot.

The score’s use of instruments and vocals as a country western band pairs perfectly with the production. I noticed the piano as a prominent piece of the band for the first time as Jack and Ennis first became intimate, its haunting chords communicating an air of unease, then release. The pieces the band plays are clearly very well thought out and help construct a fuller picture of the world of rural Wyoming. Eggleston’s vocal tones are reminiscent of Americana icons like Brandi Carlile mixed with the sadness of folk singers like Joni Mitchell, a combination that tears at the heartstrings wonderfully. The band’s harmonica is basically its own character, whether played by Jack or a member of the band, but its prominence isn’t corny in the slightest, as it’s key to positioning the story as a Western.

Yet, because this show is a tight 90-minute affair without an intermission, the only downside of the music is that it can make some of the scenes feel rushed, as they go right into the songs without leaving room for the dialogue to breathe or resonate with the audience. 

Brokeback Mountain at Chicago Shakespeare Theater demonstrates the transcendent nature of a tragic queer love story, whether it’s in 1997, 2005 or 2026. Unlike most Pride events this month, watching this production doesn’t feel like a celebration, but a somber reflection on the histories of queer ancestors. But since queer people – especially transgender and gender non-conforming people in not only the South and Southwest but also the world – can still experience many of the barriers to self-acceptance that Jack and Ennis do, this sobering reflection is a necessary one, making the production a must-see.