It's not surprising that director and co-writer Luke Gilford's debut feature National Anthem started out as a photography book, because it sometimes seems like a series of impeccably composed images in search of a story. Even if the narrative is a bit thin, though, Gilford creates an affecting portrait of a particular subculture, with sympathetic characters and a sweet — if slightly undercooked — central romance.
Gilford captures the sense of discovery that the somewhat sheltered 21-year-old Dylan (Charlie Plummer) feels when he enters the House of Splendor ranch, an unlikely cultural oasis in rural New Mexico where queer ranchers and rodeo performers have carved out a community for themselves. Dylan spends his days working menial construction jobs to help support his much younger brother Cassidy (Joey DeLeon) and his alcoholic mother, Fiona (Robyn Lively), and he's never met anyone like Sky (Eve Lindley), a trans woman who takes Dylan under her wing when he's hired to help out at the ranch.
Dylan is immediately smitten with Sky, but she's in a relationship with ranch owner Pepe (Rene Rosado). The central love triangle provides only mild drama, and the same goes for Fiona's token resistance to Dylan taking up with people who fly one of "those flags." The seemingly insurmountable family conflicts are resolved quickly and quietly, which can undermine the characters' supposedly intractable long-term differences.
It's refreshing to see an LGBTQ-focused movie that's almost entirely devoid of homophobia or transphobia, but the lack of tension makes the stakes feel lower, both for Dylan and for the House of Splendor residents. It must take a lot of courage to be a proud, flamboyant nonbinary cowperson like Carrie (Mason Alexander Park) in a small town, but Gilford gives little sense of the characters' struggles.
He offers only slightly more depth for Dylan and Sky, but Plummer and Lindley have easy, relaxed chemistry, and Gilford doesn't hold back on the sensuality of their connection. Many of the scenes at the ranch and the rodeo are so slick and glossy that they look like a commercial for a rugged but inclusive clothing brand, but Gilford also gets more raw and intimate with some of the close personal interactions. This isn't a movie that's interested in being coy about its characters' sexual expression, in whatever form that takes.
National Anthem's one moment of pure anguish comes off as contrived, though, and the movie works best as a stylish celebration of queer joy. There may not be much to the characters, but there's value in simply depicting a world where they can unapologetically be themselves, one which eagerly welcomes curious outsiders like Dylan and Cassidy. Gilford gives plenty of screen time to the rodeo events and to various drag performances, including Dylan's own drag debut as he allows himself to explore his identity.
That kind of exploration usually comes with harsh backlash in movies, but recent films like the teen rom-coms Crush and Anything's Possible have shifted the focus to positivity and acceptance, telling stories about queer characters without emphasizing their trauma. It's a relief not to keep waiting for some kind of tragedy, and Gilford effectively conveys the excitement of participating in these activities and performances. It's easy to see why Dylan is so drawn to the House of Splendor, even without the romance aspect. The ranch seems like the kind of place where anyone would enjoy spending time, and the people there are almost always friendly and upbeat.
That's enough to keep National Anthem engaging, even when the drama is less than compelling. As a photographer, Gilford clearly knows how to bring out his subjects' inner charisma and enthusiasm, and he does the same for his characters. Their light shines through effortlessly, and the audience can't help but respond accordingly.
National Anthem
