There is nothing more essential to living a happy and healthful life than being true to one’s self. Our identity is what makes us unique, capable of being recognized in a sea of faces. For most people, it’s a matter of basic interests, like enjoying comedies or action movies. However, there’s one form of acceptance that has been less represented in media but is just as crucial: one’s sexuality. As the years have carried on, the conversation around gender fluidity has changed immensely. Even then, there’s one story universal enough that serves as everyone’s starting point. No matter your queer story, it all begins with coming out.
It’s the most difficult part of the transition, and one that is found at the center of Happiest Season (2020): one of the first LGBT-based Christmas movies to be released by a major studio. Featuring delightful performances by Kristen Stewart and Mackenzie Davis, the story finds the couple attending a family get-together and discovering some unfortunate truths. Harper (Davis) hasn’t come out to her parents and wishes to keep Abby’s (Stewart) identity out of the mix as well. After all, her father is a conservative politician with a chance at election victory. There’s so much taboo about Harper being gay that it’s best left unsaid.
Which is a shame because her life before this trip is one of happiness. She’s comfortable with Abby when living out of town, yet finds herself closing up when around her parents. It becomes very clear why, especially as her sisters are highly competitive, testing to see who’s the faster ice-skater and more successful career-wise. There’s constant undermining of each other’s follies, and it comes at the expense of feeling like they’ll be a disappointment to their parent. Forget being gay, it’s the sense of perfection that they can’t keep up with. There’s an artificiality to their happiness, having a mother who criticizes a photo if it’s too blurry because it’ll look bad on their Instagram account.
Then there’s Abby, who is much more confident in her sexuality yet feels the pressure of laying low for five days. This isn’t her family. She barely knows them, and it only makes her feel more isolated by their exaggerated behavior, the intrusiveness of sleeping in a guest room that serves as an additional storage room. Everyone’s barging in, causing her to feel judged every step of the way. No matter what happens, it feels like she’s about to be prodded in the back, only ever having her friend John (Dan Levy) to turn to for solace. Like Harper, she is alone and frustrated. There’s no proper way to reflect her own public displays of affection for her. And, to make matters worse, she wanted to propose on Christmas Day.
One of the small ways that the film stands out is its choice to be a full-on Christmas movie. Wrapped in the holiday scenery, it subverts expectations by reflecting an absence of joy. Even if Harper and Abby are at the center of the story, there is this push among everyone to be that perfect Christmas card. They must, if just for their father’s sake and to uphold a reputation that none of them truly believe in. These are characters that exist in the fray, hiding behind a smile. It’s only when they get behind a closed door, itself symbolic of their restriction, that they begin to express any intimacy, any ability to be who they want.
Based on cultural criticism, there is also conflict in how this film treats characters. While most have admitted to liking Abby, there’s been some backlash towards Harper. It’s most noteworthy because there are small moments where it’s clear that she’s making mistakes. She’s imperfect, especially compared to her ex Riley (Aubrey Plaza), who has the confidence that Abby craves. The brief affair is a respite from the sense of being isolated during the holidays, going to drag bars, and feeling like their authentic selves. Meanwhile, Harper is paralyzed by a conservative upbringing, the fear of being rejected causing her to act irrationally, unable to be as compelling of a character.
The issue is that because it’s a holiday comedy, few take the time to notice the sadness and loneliness in the characters. While Abby’s is most apparent, appearing in such delightfully uncomfortable moments like a shoplifting scene, Harper is more reserved and has to try even harder to hide. All she has to do is get through five days without her life falling apart. It’s a tough moment and one that serves as a deeper pain. Even before Riley, Abby had John to call. Much like Harper’s family, Riley was in some ways ignoring what was important in her life for momentary happiness.
There is another noteworthy drama that deals with coming out, though in a very different context. Whereas Happiest Season is rooted in a couple that has had years of love and affection for each other, Love Simon (2018) features a moment even more uncertain. As a teenager, Simon (Nick Robinson) is discovering his sexuality and having those formative moments when everything becomes clear. He likes the boots that men wear, becomes obsessed with theater, and overall begins to accept that his interests are different. It all starts with an online relationship, done through e-mail. It serves as a mystery throughout the story, trying to figure out who is this mystery man that Simon is in love with.
While not the first mainstream queer movie, it was considered an important film for how it depicted the coming out process. It was a gay teen movie that sought to normalize the whole experience, removing a lot of the taboo and presenting something more truthful. The joke at the time is that it sought to make gay cinema boring, providing a spin on the conventional coming of age romantic comedy. For the most part that was true, and it’s to Robinson’s credit that he makes Simon full of eagerness, finding the trials and tribulations of being accepted to be difficult.
Like Happiest Season, Love Simon isn’t afraid to explore the discomfort of queerness from heteronormative society. There is this sense of being an outsider that is uncomfortable at every turn, and yet there is a need to go through it. Because one has to be honest with themselves, they’ll eventually find a happiness that is more authentic, not allowing them to be just conventional. Queerness is celebrated among Simon’s friends, even if getting the entire school to accept him proves to be much more difficult. There is bullying and harassment that plagues Simon, finding it taking a toll on his emotional well-being. And yet, there is that small support group that is there for him, giving him hope.
Both of these films exist somewhat in genre tropes if just to create the idea that love of any kind isn’t to be considered deviant. This is a subliminal way to make the audience more accepting of the characters, allowing them to be more than stereotypes that have developed for decades. They’re allowed to be flawed, going through obstacles just to experience a normal-ish life. Simon makes more than a few mistakes on his way to meeting his online boyfriend, and by then he’s found out who has accepted him for who he is. It’s as much a love story about being true to yourself as feeling less alone in the world. It’s typical teenage fare, but with a clever enough spin.
Happiest Season is also quietly more interesting because of its choice to have a predominant focus on queer characters. While the supporting cast is straight, four of the leads represent gays in normal stages of their life. It’s the type of film that finds going to drag bars fun, where John can buy a bag of chips while complaining that all the orange colors taste different. These are small moments that feel organic, allowing some escape and normalizes queerness as more than a simple love story. It’s about forming a deeper bond of a metaphorical family, who will always have your back.
It’s the perfect counterbalance to Harper’s family. Despite being closer to the heteronormative, they are more of a mess than the gay characters. It shines through in their ability to be so competitive that they create a toxic environment where everyone feels inadequate, constantly fighting for affection. The audience understands why Harper feels intimidated, why Abby wants to jump ship almost immediately. There’s a fakeness, an unwillingness to listen to each other that would definitely make them stronger. Instead, they want to work on creating the image of joy. With that said, none of them are as happy as those early minutes when Abby and Harper take to a random rooftop and look out at the world, being shamed by the residents that include some kinky action involving a reindeer furry.
Even at these films’ most dour moments, DuVall and Love Simon director Greg Berlanti knows how to please a crowd, showing compassion and allowing them to convey their struggles. Simon is more akin to voice-overs and imagining what it would be like for straight people to “come out.” In some ways, Love Simon is a more interesting view of coming out simply because it revels in that while Happiest Season ends with the big moment serving as this triumphant revelation of a family needing to learn to listen.
In a moment of true irony, Harper’s coming out scene happens during a “White Elephant” gift exchange, itself designed as a Mystery Santa event. It’s also a play on the old saying “the elephant in the room,” which by this point is overheated because of Riley/Abby’s relationship giving Harper lower self-esteem. Given that this scene also features sister Sloane (Alison Brie) destroying Jane’s (Mary Holland) picture that she spent 100 hours working on, it’s clear that this is about much more than Harper. It’s about everyone having their own repressed feelings, frustrated that nobody’s respecting them as much as the next.
Love Simon also has the benefit of feeling more organic and reflective of a fallout from the coming out. Simon is the master of his story, as awkward as it may be, while the news trickles out among people that he personally trusts. Happiest Season, for all its greatness, more exists in a fight or flight moment where Harper has to either be honest with her parents or lose Abby. Everyone is annoyed at each other, and it comes with the reality that coming out is difficult and everyone’s story is different.
In the best scene between both of these movies, John conveys a lesson that is true to the Christmas season: belonging. The whole story is about that, and yet this is the conflict that seeks to tear everything apart. As he speaks about his father not talking to him for 13 years, there is that painful realization that not everyone has a loving enough family to come out to. As the audience has seen, Harper’s family is not all that easy to do it for. The Christmas miracle is learning the gift of tolerance, to rebuild. If the family and Abby can accept Harper for who she is, there’s a chance that everything could work out.
To varying degrees, these two films end with happy endings that reaffirm their place in romantic comedy tropes. Because of this, they’re not as revered or considered as revolutionary for not being as authentic as certain segments want. With that said, Love Simon is the story of Simon versus the world whereas Happiest Season is Harper versus just her family. Both are crucial to understanding and empathizing with queer characters, and these directors know the value in acceptance, in showing the pain and discussing it while knowing that some people can have their happy ending. Until coming out loses its taboo, it’s frankly the only way that these mainstream movies are going to end. There’s nothing wrong with it, especially when Happiest Season ends with a delightful Instagram montage. In fact, if it gets general audiences to begin to see LGBT issues in a more compassionate light, the happy ending may actually be for the best, presenting a future that everyone deserves to live in.
Comments
Post a Comment