Gus Van Sant’s filmography is storied and illusive. His early films have a romantic dreaminess about them, following the travails of various hustlers and addicts (Drugstore Cowboy, My Own Private Idaho). From there, he developed two distinct filmmaking modes — his more commercial efforts (Good Will Hunting, Finding Forrester, Milk) and the decidedly non-commercial films (Gerry, Elephant, Last Days, Paranoid Park).

Then there are the films that prove nearly impossible to categorize: the muddled, disastrous (and now, largely unwatched) Even Cowgirls Get the Blues and, most baffling of all, his (mostly) shot-for-shot remake of Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho. One of his most underrated films, To Die For, is also well worth checking out — a bitter skewering of celebrity, with a great performance by Nicole Kidman and a creepy cameo by David Cronenberg.

Mala Noche (which is screening as part of the Calgary Cinematheque series) was Van Sant’s first directorial venture, and in some ways shows a bridge between his great early works, like Idaho, and the later non-narrative films. The film follows Walt Curtis (Tim Streeter), a convenience store worker and a romantic living in Portland, Oregon, as he lusts after Johnny (Doug Cooeyate), a young Mexican drifter. Though there is a narrative of sorts, with Walt’s poetic musings (the character was modelled on the real-life poet Walt Curtis) framing a story of tragic romance, the film serves mainly as a guide to Van Sant’s vision of mid-’80s Portland. To be sure, it’s a first film — in many of the scenes, you can see Van Sant trying out various shooting tricks and styles, some of which (his amazing ability to capture vast landscapes) would appear in his later films. The black-and-white look is well-suited to the film’s gritty feel, and some scenes (the night rain glittering through streetlights) are gorgeous.

Though the film was seen as part of an emerging queer cinema, it’s interesting to note how Van Sant has largely escaped the identity ghetto — though many of his films feature gay characters (the male body as muse is one of his favourite tropes), he is seen (and prefers to be seen) as a filmmaker who just happens to be gay. This has arguably allowed him greater freedom in his more idiosyncratic efforts, although it has often led to a shying away from sex. It works for some films, like Idaho, and against him in others, like the astringent Milk, but Mala Noche’s portrayal of gay sex is refreshingly honest. As an early effort, Mala Noche might appear now as more of a curiosity, but it’s wonderful to see the first stirrings of an amazing talent at work.