Keith Garrett’s review published on Letterboxd:
Watching this on the big screen, I felt two things. Actually, I felt a lot of fucking things. But two of them were comfort and acceptance.
I saw myself in Elio. I saw myself in the way he wrapped his arms around Oliver's neck, burrowing his face in his chest. In the way he looked at him with a glaze in his eyes, in a trance of desire. In the way he innocently asks Oliver to leave his shirt behind when he goes. In the way he clung to him like a child, hanging on for dear life so as not to have to see his first love leave. And most significantly for me, I saw myself in Chalamet's own body.
It was thrilling for me to see an actor whose frame is startlingly similar to my own portrayed on screen as a thing of desire for someone like Oliver/Hammer. His breezy comfort with walking around shirtless is something I haven't experienced in I don't know how long. The fact that none of the characters make any sort of joke or comment about his body meant a lot to me, and seeing Chalamet's confidence gave me a little bit of my own.
And then there's the parents.
The father in particular.
That quiet, calm, and careful monologue from father to son about acceptance, about feeling, about love, about loss. Its message is one so important, so vital, and so fucking beautiful that I can't even think about it without tears in my eyes. You could argue that this monologue is almost single-handedly the reason this book/film means so much to my community. Hearing those loving words from a father to his son is something most of us aren't lucky enough to have experienced. And seeing that moment on screen was overwhelmingly emotional.
It's the morning after I saw this and my heart is still so full. This means so much to me. Thank you thank you thank you, Luca, Timothée, Armie, Michael, and of course André.
"Oliver... I remember everything"