National Anthem Review: A Refreshingly Unique Queer Coming-of-Age Story

A “queer rodeo” may sound like an oxymoron, or even impossible in a highly polarized America. Queer rodeos, however, do exist. They’re often in the Southern and Southwestern states typically described — and too often dismissed —as so-called Red States. Red States, just like Blue States, are far more complex than a two-word description would suggest, containing dominant cultures (liberal in some, conservative in others, and an almost even split in still others).

Even states that are openly hostile to LGBTQ+ rights can be home to thriving queer communities, like the one in National Anthem, photographer Luke Gilford’s impressively realized feature-length debut as a writer-director. Working from a loosely structured, episodic script credited to Gilford, Kevin Best, and David Largman Murray, National Anthem centers on Dylan (Charlie Plummer, Lean on Pete), a 21-year-old day labourer. As the only monolingual Caucasian among Latino labourers, Dylan naturally stands out, but he’s far from unique. He lives with a self-absorbed, alcoholic mother, Fiona (Robin Lively), while doubling as a parental figure to his adoring preteen brother, Cassidy (Joey DeLeon).

It’s not until Dylan finds himself at the queer-run ranch “House of Splendor” for another gig in a series of one-off jobs that he begins to awaken to the possibilities of a different life. The new possibility seems truer to Dylan’s long-buried sense of self. The utopian House of Splendor doubles as a working ranch and a judgment-free community. Not anyone can join this self-sustaining queer community, of course.

Nominally led by elder statesman Pepe (Rene Rosado) and his trans girlfriend, Sky (Eve Lindley), the queer community sees Dylan as one of their own before he recognizes it himself. Instantly attracted to Sky under Pepe’s watchful eye — they have an open, polyamorous relationship, although it too has limits — Dylan finds himself drawn into a romance that’s unlikely to last. At the moment, however, it’s more than enough to push Dylan into accepting his true self which seemed impossible just days earlier.

Ably assisted by cinematographer Katelin Arizmendi, Gilford finds lyrical poetry wherever he turns the camera. From the initial shots of Dylan toiling in a pit, filling hand-carts with sediment, to his first glance of Sky astride her favourite horse (a shot filled with campy eroticism), to intense sex scenes, and on through our first sight of the promised queer rodeo and a drag show attended by Dylan and an obviously thrilled Cassidy, Gilford displays a natural visual sense. (That drag scene stands out, mostly because of its polemical messaging meant as a response to the transphobia typical of recently passed anti-drag-show laws.)

To Gilford’s considerable credit, National Anthem deliberately avoids the all-too-familiar tropes of queer coming-of-age stories. Dylan and the House of Splendor community exist outside conventional (cisgender heteronormative) society. Still, the usual expectations (intimidation, violence, anguish) are subtle. A hint of one character’s homophobia gives way almost immediately to acceptance. Gilford refreshingly resolves the romantic triangle between Dylan, Sky, and Pepe without any of the characters turning into outright villains or even antagonists.

If anything, Gilford’s reliance on pictorial beauty hides an elliptical approach to storytelling and character development. Given his initially passive, reactive nature, Dylan’s self-actualization as queer depends on the audience doing the work the elliptical script often doesn’t. Dylan’s libido-driven fantasies give us hints of his long-suppressed inner life but disappear long before National Anthem reaches its bittersweet ending.

National Anthem opens in theatres on July 19.



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