Self-Value

I keep thinking about the film Happiest Season (dir. Clea DuVall, 2020). So much of it struck me, and, apart from briefly outlining some thoughts with a friend, I haven't had much chance to talk out all the things about it that still tick over in my mind. I rented it back in December in preparation for a podcast discussion about it the next day, which the prospective guest postponed, and I never heard back. I have an open-door policy on this: folk are welcome and invited, but I will not chase them. Being someone with more authority than me on the film's most prominent subject matter, I didn't feel I had the standing to talk it through on the podcast by myself, and this person had so much to say on Twitter that I knew it would have made for a lively and informative discussion. Ach, these things happen, and I was keen to watch the film anyway because I've always liked DuVall as an actor and had a feeling she'd be a great storyteller too. 

I very much enjoyed every aspect of Happiest Season. Having witnessed friends survive terrible coming out experiences when my own mum had made a point of expressing support for my relationship choices before I was even considering such things, I appreciated the film's message about the complexity of this element of LGBTQ+ identity. Being surrounded by religious conservatism of 'both' flavours in Belfast, you got used to friends and dates having to lead splintered lives. I understand that people wanted to see the lesbian equivalent of a heteronormative Christmas romance, but so much of society isn't there yet, and, I hate to break it to you, but a lot of heteronormative Christmas movie romances are pretty toxic. In saying that, Harper's (Mackenzie Davis) actions towards Abby (Kristen Stewart) and Riley (Aubrey Plaza) in the film were considered by many viewers to be abusive.

For me, the film presents avenues towards empathising with just about every character. In Harper I saw someone straining to protect the different shards of her life and prevent them from shattering further. Yes, she is an asshole at times and she makes mistakes, mistakes that have reasons - not excuses, reasons - that make them understandable. Imagine believing that the very core of your identity and the gender of the person you love could destroy in an instant everything your parents spent their lives building. If you believed in that fervently enough, you'd do everything you could to not allow the sheer weight to crush you. Then on the other hand, Abby who has lost so much and has little economic privilege compared to Harper, but in terms of acceptance and the freedom to be true to herself, has a personal wealth beyond measure compared to the restriction Harper has always lived with. If Harper is abusive, it is towards herself as much as anyone else; her Christmas miracle (and we must bear in mind the film is underpinned with references to It's A Wonderful Life [dir. Frank Capra, 1946]) comes when everybody's truths out in a spectacular Christmas Eve family row, after which her parents' acceptance of her sexuality is resoundingly encouraging.

What it all boils down to in the end is self-awareness, self-value and self-assurance - attributes Harper's sister Jane (Mary Holland) has in abundance. My favourite part of the film was during the row when Jane, who's been put down by her family her whole life, declares that she is something and that she likes herself, which is more than the extended Caldwell family members can boast. Sloane (Alison Brie) and Harper as the eldest and youngest siblings have had the most encouragement, while middling Jane has always been left out. Although disappointed and wanting to be involved, she was content to do her own thing in her own time; as well as being a router-whisperer, she's an artist and writer with a vivid imagination whose work is recognised in the end, and with proper support from her newly queered extended family becomes a success.

Jane's pairing with John (Dan Levy) gave me so much joy. John fleshes out the 'sassy gay best friend' trope as well as having more rounded characterisation in becoming (if I remember correctly) Jane's publicist following a subtle subplot in which he completely gets her fantasy world-building because even sassy gay men can also be fantasy fiction nerds with zero talent for pet-minding. Jane endlessly puts herself forward for dating and never dwells on rejection, because she in herself is enough. What John does is give her the knowledge that there is an audience out there for her work and he supports her in reaching it. Neither character needs to be fulfilled by a romantic relationship, and both are enriched by their friendship built on mutual interests that emerges on the periphery of the film's central romantic relationship.

Seeing women, whether fictional or real, advocate for themselves encourages me to do the same, and to be more explicit in building others up. If we pull each other up and have the conviction to pull ourselves up, everyone does a little better. Jane vocally liking herself and calling out the rampant underappreciation of all the useful and joyful things she does is empowering for everyone around her and provides the catalyst for change and self-acceptance in the film. Everyone's lives improve over the next year, and I know my outlook is certainly brighter for having spent time in her company.