An early highlight of 2025 so far has been the recent Address to Congress. In the past, it would be easy for me to say that I don’t understand everything that the president says as he rattles off his agenda to a public. It’s usually where you get the best sense as to how congress is responding to the changes in real time. The applause and jeers are equally important to understanding the validation of what’s to come. Usually, at least in the case of the predecessor, there would be some humoring of “let’s talk it out.” This time around, dissenters were censured and the talking points were the most alarmingly against my personal values that I think I’ve seen in my adult life.
I never said that every highlight needed to be a good thing. In this case, my takeaway was that America is leaning into tendencies of an exclusionary dystopia. Major institutions are being threatened with total disruption. Lies are spread. Disagreement has become weaponized and treated like reality TV. Nothing feels practical anymore and any progress that I felt was there even a few years ago is gone. It has officially happened. There’s no reason to believe that the next generation will have it better.
Of everything that was discussed, one of the topics that overwhelmed me to the point that I’ve struggled to return to social media was the transphobia. In theory, nothing the president harped on could qualify as off-brand. There’s two genders. No more ideologies in schools or flags in front of government buildings. Conspiracies were cheered for as it became clear that this was what the room (or the half that was doing anything about it) wanted. Of the past three years, this was the most an address focused on the transgender community. The previous record? Joe Biden, without a plan, blanketly said, “We have your back.” I’m sure he did *something* but between that and Emilia Perez (2024) dedicating 0% of their Oscar speeches to the community they represented really drove home just how cosmetic this debate has been. Finally, having your governor spout some transphobic rhetoric despite first coming to popularity because of his push for gay marriage in San Francisco almost 20 years ago only shows the divide even among what’s considered liberal-minded agendas.
There’s too much that could derail what’s ostensibly an opinion piece on the film National Anthem (2023). On some level, this is too much subtext to bring to a film that is at its core a feel good coming of age story. Remove the specificities, and you get that familiar story of a young man finding his community and learning to embrace a larger world. As dumb as it sounds, it made me think of American Honey (2016) with its cast of Midwest outsiders looking for a way to fit in. However, that’s to do the story a complete disservice because it shines most when forced to confront the invisible lines between what’s recognizable cinema tropes and the elements that, quite frankly, would seem radical to anyone who saw The Address to Congress and thought that America was doing just fine.
As a title, it’s easy to understand what National Anthem is wanting to say. The title evokes the unifying language that our nation is defined by. It’s the words we say together in hopes of feeling connected as a larger identity. We are a community of 50 states under the stars and stripes. We’re supposed to feel our hearts race as the singer hits those high notes and make you understand that, as a song, it is connected to a history that’s centuries old. This is how we continue the traditions of our ancestors while bringing about our own personal perspectives with the freedoms afforded to America. On some level, the discourse around what message we want to share with the world is always up for debate. In director Luke Gilford’s view, it’s as much one for the larger country as it is the queer community who sing it in hopes of feeling part of it.
While this story centers around Dylan (Charlie Plummer) as he comes to embrace a ranch owned by, let’s just say “the alphabet mafia,” I was more compelled by his love interest. Sky (Eve Lindley) dons the poster art on a horse and is presented as the ideal woman. Among this community of odd characters was a trans woman who not only was given a prominent role, but treated with a level of respect on a screenwriting level that caught me off guard. Unless it’s something like The People’s Joker (2024) or I Saw The TV Glow (2024), the chances of a trans character getting a happy ending, or at least not one indebted to a cisgender gaze, decrease significantly. Even if this seems like your milquetoast romance, there was something that felt revolutionary in having Sky just be so… normal. Even from a queer cinema lens, she was playing a role often reserved for the ingenue who would lather Dylan’s face in convenience store make-up and have his entire world rocked.
Maybe it’s because of how toxic the larger discourse is, but Sky felt like fresh air. In a time where it felt like representation was getting worse, here was a female character who had complete agency to be in an open relationship. She had her own life outside of Dylan that reflected nuance and made you understand her as more than a prop. She would go to rodeos and line dance in-between drag shows. Even the way that National Anthem explored the sexuality of the characters had a stark, unglamorous simplicity to it that made you realize that, at its core, it was a passion that any consenting adults would have. Most of all, it’s maybe the first time I’ve seen in a film of this kind a cisgender character fawn over a transgender character and not have it feel exploitative or manipulative. It was pure. The characters may have been awkward, but Gilford’s direction made you understand the greater message.
As someone from Southern California, it sometimes is difficult to fully wrap my head around how difficult it must be to be queer in the Midwest. As a result, many of the tropes around coming out stories can feel hackneyed or lack a humanity that wasn’t totally rooted in “My experience was so original and nobody else has done this before me!” type storytelling. I get that on some level acceptance and rejection are universal experiences and there’s only so many ways to reflect this. In the past two years, I’ve weakened my hesitation to praise this approach. It used to feel outdated. Having watched The Address to Congress, I’m more willing to accept that even the more optimistic stories are, at best, twinged with a heck of a lot of real world heartache.
The further you go away from Sky’s story, the more you understand why Dylan is the central focus. He is, for lack of a better word, uninitiated. He may be familiar with LGBTQIA+ as a larger concept, but he hasn’t met a queer person. His mother is adamantly against them and reflects the outside world that would immediately oust Dylan if they found him wearing make-up. The fact this is contrasted with so much joy makes you understand what’s on the line. Dylan goes through the familiar ups and downs that come with discoveries like this. There’s curiosity and shame alongside the recognition that no matter what he thinks, there is nothing inherently wrong with being different. In fact, it’s much more interesting than the miserable repression. It may come with outside hate, but at least, hopefully, there will be recognition of a fulfilled life.
To put it simply, I’m an advocate for representation no matter how big or small it winds up being. In my personal life, the work of Alice Oseman (notably “Loveless”) was crucial in helping me recognize that asexuality was more of a universal experience. The art also connected me to like-minded people who, in their own way, was celebrating their identity through self-expression. When you spread that out to other collectives, you come to understand that the more something is discussed and recognized, the less abnormal it feels. Soon it becomes part of the larger vernacular and then suddenly things that once seemed confusing become practical and, ideally, trivial to the point of non-entity.
For a while, cinema felt like it was heading in that direction and I was thrilled by how Gen-Z would get to avoid the painstaking “bury your gays” phenomenon in favor of more celebratory walks into the sunset. I’m not wishing to suggest that National Anthem has a predictable ending (or one that fits a “sunset” narrative), but it’s more life-affirming than what the federal platform would have you believe. In a time where rhetoric is growing less subtle about trans eradication, having National Anthem depict a love story that’s not a ploy for a greater miserablist take is beautiful.
At its core, maybe the reason that Gilford’s movie resonates with me is because of how unexceptional the story becomes. There is no gut-wrenching twist. Even in a world that acknowledges the perils of homophobia, it takes time to recognize the optimism and hope of community, that it can thrive. The larger discourse may pit everyone against each other, but National Anthem suggests that even in those reddest of states, there’s somebody who cares. No matter who watches the film, there’s a chance to learn that America is not a land of stereotypes. Trans identities are capable of living normal lives full of joy. And, for those like me who are more “coastal elite” territory, it provides a pleasant update to the tragic tales that anyone in the Midwest who is different is miserable. In some sense they are, but in some sense they are not totally lost.
The more I read online from trans commentators on how they feel betrayed by the larger queer community for not standing up for them, the more I realize how despairing these times are. Progress has never been more at risk. Empathy hasn’t been in this short of supply in decades. Soon everything from my adult life will be at risk of disappearing, and I have to wonder what there is to unify us. Like the title suggests, what does the national anthem stand for? What ideas do we wish to be unified by? Ideally, they’re closer to Gilford’s aspirational take. Even then, we can strive to go further and build back a sense of humanity that I feel like I saw at one time. It hasn’t fully disappeared. It’s just hidden among the louder dissent.
The road to get there won’t be easy. I’m not sure if we can even step foot on it in our current state. However, there must be a push towards something better. I can’t have The Address to Congress be the launch party for an America that I will loathe living in for the rest of my life. I have to believe that, together, we are stronger. Change is gradual but inevitable. Having known so many amazing people who see the good in the world, I have to believe that day will come. Until then, films like National Anthem remind me that some already have gotten the message. Now we have to wait for everyone else.
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