It’s kind of impossible to get casting that’s better than this, especially for something as traditionally over-billed as a Christmas movie. On one side, Kristen Stewart, an actress with one of the most gratifying resurgences of the last decade, and a modern gay icon. And on the other, Mackenzie Davis, half of one of the greatest gay romances in all of fiction with Black Mirror's San Junipero. They've both been in some less-than-ideal features this year already (Underwater and Seberg for Stewart, The Turning and Irresistible for Davis), but all the same, a movie with them together as a couple has just got to be good. And thankfully, it very much is.
And the casting precision goes beyond the leads on this one, as pretty much all of the supporting cast are quite snug in their roles. Dan Levy as the gay best friend brings a lot of needed levity at points, and serves as the linchpin for the film’s defining moment regarding the larger exploration of what it means to come out.
Alison Brie as Davis’ ice queen of a sister works very well, Mary Holland as the other sister (and co-writer) must have carbonated blood to be this energetic in every single scene but she wears it well, and while Aubrey Plaza as the ex-girlfriend feels a little underutilised, she also makes a solid impression. And as for Mary Steenburgen and Victor Garber as the parents and symbol of the film’s view of heteronormalcy, they handle some tricky moments with welcoming grace.
Also, good to see Sarayu Blue appearing again, as well as Lauren Lapkus in a film deserving of her for a change.
The story itself is quite familiar, both as holiday film and as a romance, with Harper (Davis) bringing Abby (Stewart) to meet her parents and spend Christmas together. Except she hasn’t come out to her parents yet, so cue basically an entire film built around stone-cold cringe in seeing these two desperately trying to keep this lie intact, itself mingling with the pretence of normality to end all pretences of normality that is a ‘successful’ family Christmas.
Their chemistry together really helps sell that this is a couple that needs each other (Abby saying she wants to meet the people who made her favourite person might be one of the most endearing things I’ve heard on-film all year, possibly this blog’s entire lifespan), and for as dicey as some of the developments get, they keep this look at the straight orthodoxy on firmly solid ground. They bring out the right touches of comedy and even tragedy in the idea that them being perfectly happy together is the kind of thing that should be hidden, akin to a couple on the brink of separation and both for the same reason: Keeping up appearances.
Clea DuVall, herself part of a cornerstone of queer cinema as the romantic lead in But I’m A Cheerleader, treats the topic of coming out and essentially secrets of all stripes with a lot of care and what certainly feels like lived-in experience. It’s like a nightmare scenario multiplied by another, and while there’s a lot of palpable frustration to be had (primarily through Abby, who is the POV character for a lot of the story), there’s also an admission that these situations are far from easy to deal with, or to judge.
Maybe I should give my own example to help prove this point. I don’t know if I’ve gotten into this story in detail before (hard to keep track of everything I put into 1000+ reviews), but out of respect to just how much I can relate to what’s going on here, I figure it’d be worth explaining why that is.
So, I don’t actually remember coming out to my parents. It isn’t a particularly vital memory for me, as all I can really recall is them immediately being supportive of me. Coming out to my friends, on the other hand, I remember with crystal clarity.
It was at my high school prom, the last time I saw a great deal of any of my classmates, and someone at my table suggested that I throw my food at whoever was sitting behind me. I asked why, and they responded with “Because they’re gay.” I responded back with “I’m gay, what of it?” and they responded with dead silence. Same with everyone else there. Someone got up the courage to ask “Really?”, since I had made a name for myself as a desperate skirt-chaser in high school (one of the many things about that time that I regret to this day), and I added the qualifier “Well… bisexual, but still.” They had an odd laugh over it, we all went along with the festivities, and I rounded off the night by singing a medley of Big Boi’s Shutterbugg and Ben Folds’ From Above for everyone in attendance. I am nothing if not eclectic and theatrical.
I bring this up because this is my experience, and I freely admit that I’m one of the lucky ones. I have a family that didn’t care enough about such things to disown me over it. I had friends who were at least able to deal with the news in a way that didn’t make me feel completely at odds with them at the final bend. I felt comfortable enough in my own skin to go after what I wanted, and more recently, I met someone who I can share my love with freely and openly.
Not everyone is as fortunate, and to be brutally honest, even after coming out for the first time… part of me still feels apprehensive about saying as such to anyone else. Even when it feels like LGBT acceptance is in a better place than it’s ever been (which still isn’t ideal, but getting there), there’s still some part of my brain that is deathly afraid of being rejected by new friends, new families… new jobs, over what love means to me. Hell, to this day, whenever I walk past a church, I feel a shiver go down my spine, like I’m priming myself for someone to slam the doors open and douse me in holy water for the sin of my existence.
What I’m getting at with all this is that, while it’s quite easy to see Harper’s insistence on keeping her love a secret from her family and go “You are awful”, even under the most ideal circumstances, that fear of being Othered can stick around. So imagine how hard it must feel to have to make that decision, to wrestle with how much everyone seems to want a ‘normal’ life for themselves and everyone in their circle, and be terrified of taking that plunge. It’s quite heartbreaking to see both Abby and Harper going through all this, but that only makes the urge to see them pull through that much stronger. With how wishy-washy and safe a lot of modern holiday films can be, that level of investment really stands out.
Yeah, there’s quite a few piss-takes of what counts for heteronormativity, like Harper’s parents inviting her high school boyfriend to numerous family events in the hope that they’ll get back together (easily one of the weirdest romance tropes, both on-screen and in real life), but its deeply queer lens brings a lot of tension, and also a lot of warmth, out of the usual holiday shenanigans. It’s the kind of feel-good cinema that accomplishes such an emotion not out of hiding away all the depressing shit, but actively confronting and overcoming it while pointing out what the act of hiding things away can do to people. It’s heartwarming because it’s honest, and from the bottom of my bi heart, I love it for that.
No comments:
Post a Comment