Despite the magnified impact of this year’s Cowboy Carter, the current re-examination of the cowboy image has been in the currents for a while. The proclaimed Yeehaw Agenda challenges the longstanding notion that the position was primarily occupied by white men. From archival fashion statements from Naomi Campbell and the Isley Brothers to Jordan Peele’s Nope, squeezing in the bouts of controversy of excluding Black artists from country music recognition, it should suffice to say that there are quite a few things listed in the agenda (and may they prosper above the racism).
If trimmed to a political-minded focus, Luke Gilford’s National Anthem also gives a second glance at the cowboy. Particularly, it’s the associated masculinity on boundless land: physically sturdy, mentally stoic, heroically alone. It’s not a new thought per se (gay astronauts when?), but still has a somewhat sparse population; Brokeback Mountain is the lone monument of the queer cowboy, followed by musician Orville Peck’s leather-intense costuming. Though it’s his first film as a director, Gilford is familiar with confronting gendered spaces, norms, and expected visualizations of the human body through his career as a photographer. National Anthem is an adaptation of his photobook shadowing the International Gay Rodeo Association, now stationary enough to get to know the characters.
The film exists as a window to a community already existing comfortably in its skin, withholding outward statements on identity or representation. A shy 21-year-old manual laborer named Dylan (Charlie Plummer) is invited to this world when he is picked up by the ranch boss Pepe (Rene Rosado) to help install fences. When they arrive to the ranch (rather, the House of Splendor), Dylan is transfixed by the freewheeling occupants, daring to love outside explanation.
As a coastal resident, I’m entranced by how the Wild West backdrop can feel timeless. While National Anthem is of the modern era, Gilford removes a lot of context to indicate the current outside perception of the transgender community or polyamory. I still presume that there are homophobic shudders when the House of Splendor trots through the aisles of a superstore, but the film isn’t a us vs. them conflict. Despite the broadness of the title, the film centers on Dylan’s awakening. Because he has been trying to make ends meet with his alcoholic, fun-loving mother (Robin Lively) and taking care of his little brother Cassidy (Joey DeLeon), Dylan’s exploration into his identity has been stifled until the window opens. Naturally, as a person who sees possibility beyond real life, Dylan goes in further.
It may be comforting to know that Dylan’s screentime isn’t taken up by self-hatred or the balance of two different personas. Contrast to Harris Dickinson’s razor-sharp edges in Beach Rats; Plummer wields the teen idol-looks of a young Chad Michael Murray with the softness to receive and experience. There is an expected character pitfall (love, of course!) that unravels the otherwise intriguing journey into self-acceptance, but watching Dylan take in his experience with a vulnerability is a touching reset for these kinds of characters. For example, when Cassidy catches Dylan coming home late with makeup on his face, the subsequent scene isn’t made of closeted panic or fearful threats. Dylan calmly asks Cassidy to help remove the makeup, also erasing the idea that this is meant to be shameful.
It is Pepe’s partner Sky (Eve Lindley) that becomes Dylan’s foil when he finds himself wedged in between desire of a home and intimacy of a close love. Love (or, if I were to really label it in this instance, an intense crush) can push someone outside their comfort zones, but in having this relationship exist, it pushes National Dream out of its dreamy realm and into the rooted truths about the world’s complications. Gilford dreams in softened defiance (I think of his recent shoots with Jeremy Allen White and Andrew Garfield for British GQ), and the backdrop of the New Mexico land elevates an atmospheric wonder to Dylan’s vision. Nonetheless, romantic endeavors and heartbreaks can feel like a roadblock. There are several ways that Gilford could have shown off his work with the IGRA or how National Anthem could have ended, but with the faith of a photographer, everything that we see feels sure and steady. We have the Yeehaw Agenda to thank for revitalizing the cowboy space as an enjoyment outside its usual audience; now it’s time for the gay agenda to bring up a new item in its next meeting.
National Anthem
2023
dir. Luke Gilford
96 min.
Now playing at Coolidge Corner Theatre
