Directing: A+
Acting: A
Writing: A+
Cinematography: A+
Editing: A

There’s a lot to say about National Anthem—all of it good. I can literally find nothing critical to say about this beautiful film, which I fell deeply in love with at first sight.

Maybe I should try harder? I did have it pointed out to me that the queer utopia of a rural ranch depicted in the film is populated almost exclusively by conventionally beautiful people. Not a single fat person among them, although Mason Alexander Park, as a nonbinary supporting character, while not in the least bit fat, at least has a body type that looks normal (insofar as “normal” even means anything). But, I found this detail very easy to overlook—very similar criticism has been thrown at defiantly queer pop singer Troye Sivan and his music videos featuring overtly queer sexuality. In either case, I would still consider it realistic: friend groups may not always consist of a broad physical commonality amongst its bodies, but they often do. It doesn’t inherently mean they are being intentionally exclusionary; sometimes it’s just how it happens.

And American Anthem is, after all, still a movie. And it should be noted that it is sprinkled with edited interludes of visual portraits, showcasing queer people who are not among the primary cast but are meant to be queer people in the rural sphere of this film’s world—and these run the gamut, nonbinary people to trans people to drag queens (at least as they appear: these distinctions are never made explicit), here with a wide diversity of both skin tones and body types.

This really gets to what I perhaps love most about National Anthem, in that it is packed with the iconography of rural America, the kind of imagery and culture we have long been conditioned to believe is to the exclusion of the queer community—and makes it queer. We see active participation on rodeos, ranch hands handling bales of hay and horses. It should be stressed that none of this is presented as camp, as we are also conditioned to expect. We just see queer people—including people in drag—earnestly participating in cultural activities they love, that just happen to be in rural, small-town America.

National Anthem doesn’t get directly into the politics of queerness, although we see many clips of beautifully shot Progress Pride flags flapping in the wind, the way we often see slow-motion clips of the American flag flying. This is not to the exclusion of the American flag either, which we also see waving—this is the unique visual palette of America, not seen in any other country; it simply belongs to queer people too. What National Anthem clearly understands is that frankly depicting queer relationships as opposed to queer politics is still in and of itself a political act. These images of Pride flags still have meaning.

The story follows Dylan (a wonderful Charlie Plummer), who takes care of his little brother Cassidy (Joey DeLeon) who is a bit neglected by their checked-out, recovering alcoholic mother (Robyn Lively). Fiona, the mother, makes sporadic income as a hairdresser while Dylan supports the family with sporadic construction work. One day, he gets hired to work on a local ranch called “House of Splendor,” a place populated with a kind of queer commune, a community Dylan has never been exposed to, and his world opens up.

So here’s another thing I love about National Anthem. This may be different with younger generations of viewers, as this film is not the first with this distinction, but it’s still a very recent change in the evolution of queer cinema: there is no turn of plot that hinges on queer trauma—there really isn’t any queer trauma in this film at all, although there’s a sprinkling of queer discomfort. Still, I come from an era where years of queer cinema would have me expecting a horrible event to befall the queer protagonist: a gay bashing, or his parents disowning him or kicking him out of the house. Nothing of the sort happens here, although his mother betrays a bit of homophobia on her part: the first time she picks up Dylan from work on the ranch she says, “You see they had one of those flags? You can just never be too careful with people.”

And then: Dylan’s relationship with his mother does become a plot point in the film, but both a minor one and a seamlessly integrated one. And that is because this is not a movie about “coming out,” but rather a coming-of-age story about a young man who finds himself welcomed into a community of people who already know who they are and are comfortable with who they are, and who lead by example. Dylan finds himself falling for a trans woman named Skye (Eve Lindley), the only slight complication being the romantic dynamics of her open relationship with a beefy Latino man named Pepe (Rene Rosado).

Mind you, I may be using these terms, like “trans” and “nonbinary,” just to offer clarity on how these characters are presented—but National Anthem is entirely unconcerned with the terminology of identity, and these words are never used by the characters. None of them ever even uses the word “gay,” and all of this feels like a subtle yet subversive move on the part of the film’s director and co-writer, Luke Gilford (in a stunning feature film debut), with two other writers, Kevin Best and David Largman Murray (this also being their feature film debut). There’s a wonderful moment when Dylan’s little brother Cassidy asks Carrie (Mason Alexander Park), “Are you a boy or a girl?” When Carrie replies, “Neither,” Cassidy’s retort is a chipper “Cool!” And of course, this is the common response of children when introduced to such concepts, as opposed to what reactionaries of the far-right (and, frankly, far too many in the queer community itself) might have you believe.

I’m not sure I have fallen so hard so quickly for a film like this since Moonlight (2016). And while that film distinguished itself by showcasing queer Black characters, I would say the distinction with National Anthem, while centered on mostly White characters, is its beautifully shot showcasing of gender diversity. I will admit, there’s a lot here that is very personal to me. It would take me a while to think of the last film that so directly and deeply spoke to me.

The casting in this film is superb all around, with Charlie Plummer truly shining as the lead. (Strange side note: he was also the lead in a very good 2018 film called Lean on Pete, and between that film and this one, one wonders whether Plummer has a thing for films in which a horse meets a horrible fate.) I find myself tempted to call National Anthem a flawless film, and its relatively mixed reception by audiences—predictable for a film focused on queer characters (some of this may just be the typical online “review bombing” by bigots)—only makes me want to defend it harder. There’s a strong argument to be made that this is the best film of the year, regardless of how much of the year is left. The race is over, we can close it out with a beautiful rendition of the National Anthem by a trans person, just like this movie does.

*You’ll want to reach out and take part in the warmest queer group hug ever.*

Overall: A+