Call Me by Your Name (2017)
"What is Desire?"
Call Me by Your Name (2017) is one of my favorite films—not just because of its aesthetic but because of how intimately it explores the theme of desire. From André Aciman's original novel to Luca Guadagnino's dreamy film adaptation, this story captures something rare: a world where desire is not rushed, hidden, or moralized—it's felt.
Desire is a complicated topic—especially in faith circles. Conversations around it often get reduced to "what God wants" or what a community has decided God's will must look like. But desire is personal. It asks for honesty. And that's terrifying in spaces that aren't built for vulnerability. Unfortunately, many faith communities haven't cultivated tools to move beyond ego and performance. So, instead of exploring desire, we avoid it. Or worse—we shame it. That's why this film means so much to me.
A Movie Meant to Be Felt
Set in the calm countryside of Northern Italy, Call Me by Your Name follows Elio Perlman (Timothée Chalamet), a 17-year-old spending the summer at his family's villa in 1983. When Oliver (Armie Hammer), a graduate student, arrives to intern with Elio's father, a subtle and passionate connection forms between the two. Their desire is undeniable—and it changes them.
Queer stories often carry this particular ache: what do you do when your desires surprise you? When the thing that awakens you is something you didn't plan for or even fully understand? Because these stories have so often lived underground, they usually poetically describe the feeling of longing perfectly.
Guadagnino's direction leans fully into this. The movie is sensual —it envelops you. The hush of a summer breeze, the murmurs of village life, Elio's fingers through his hair. The setting doesn't just support the story—it invites you to be a part of it, into a space where you can maybe trust your senses again. The nostalgia of 1980s summer days adds to the film's magic. It creates a sacred space for self-discovery and exploration.
Am I Broken?
The relationship at the heart of the film reinforces this message. Initially, Elio pursues Marzia, a local girl, and appears to enjoy their secret moments together. But the difference between that and his connection with Oliver is striking. When he and Oliver finally name their feelings, they confess they've known all along—playing games, waiting for the other to go first. The chemistry between them isn't forced. It's natural, real, and scary.
Here's the thing: Call Me by Your Name teaches that awakening to your desires can be beautiful, awkward, and disorienting. It teaches that you're allowed not to have all the answers right away. And for people of faith, that can be uncomfortable.
There's an infamous scene in the film, lifted straight from the book, where Elio pleasures himself with a peach. It's strange, tender, and sad all at once. When Oliver finds him, Elio is deeply ashamed. "Am I broken?" he asks. That moment acts as a mirror. Because when we finally connect with our desires, it can be jarring. We don't always recognize ourselves outside of the roles we've been taught to play. In an age of algorithms and AI, it's hard to know what parts of you are real—and what parts are just reactions.
That's why contemplation and prayer matter. It provides you with silence and space to sit with yourself and reflect on your motives. You can notice what you long for without immediately judging it.
Ok, Seriously, Dude?
Many Christians might find this article uncomfortable. Maybe your first reaction is: "Desires must be aligned with God's will!" Or, "Are you saying personal gratification is a spiritual compass?" I'm not saying that desire should go unchecked. But it shouldn't be ignored.
Humans are complex. Before you correct yourself, you have to meet yourself. We think of personal problems as moral failures. What if it's actually emotional repression? Too many people skip the hard work of honesty. They never ask, 'What am I feeling?' What do I want? Who am I beneath the roles and expectations that I hold?
That's why we see scandals and secrets. Not because desire is evil—but because it was never acknowledged or understood. The soul—your most authentic self, where God's spark lives—isn't found in denying what you feel. It's found in letting those desires surface so they can be held with grace, not shame.
So I invite you to sit with yourself. Find a quiet space. It doesn't have to be somewhere in Northern Italy. Just somewhere you can ask:
What do I desire out of life?
Out of love?
Out of God?
Who am I when I'm not performing?
When you give yourself the grace to answer honestly—without editing, without trying to be holy—you start to recognize the raw material God is already working with. You realize you're not broken. You're becoming.
