This isn’t to insinuate that every film with a queer protagonist must juggle several things at once, but to instead push back on the idea that “coming out” is enough, that our most visible queer narratives should continue to fall under an umbrella that’s quickly becoming obsolete. In the case of Happiest Season, coming out is the story; much of the narrative tension hinges on determining when and how Harper will eventually open up to her family. Everything else — Harper’s complicated relationship with her sister Sloan (Alison Brie), for instance — works in service of this A-plot, no matter how much more interesting (or funny) these storylines feel on their own.
I keep returning to a specific scene, one that doesn’t even involve Harper at all, even if her presence still ominously looms over it. About halfway through the film, Abby accompanies Riley (Aubrey Plaza), Harper’s ex-girlfriend, to a local gay bar. As RuPaul’s Drag Race queens Jinkx Monsoon and BenDeLaCreme sing campy covers of Christmas classics on stage, Abby and Riley sit in a booth, exchanging stories about Harper. At one point, Riley opens up about the traumatic experience that led to their breakup in high school; unsurprisingly, it was also the result of Harper’s fear of coming out the closet. “The thing that I can relate to is being in love with somebody that is too afraid to show the world who they are,” Riley sincerely confides in Abby after sensing how much this entire closeted holiday experience has been affecting her.
It’s a rare moment of profundity for the film, one that reorients focus away from Harper’s conventional coming-out journey towards a novel discussion about the hurt and pain she’s incidentally caused others while trying to maintain her own secrecy. It was touching and sincere, and more importantly, it felt raw and fresh — an actual update to the coming out genre, offering incisive new insights into an experience that’s been explored time and again. And while I try not to judge films based on what they aren’t, I can’t help but imagine what a version of this film could have looked like.
Over the coming years, I have no doubt that Happiest Season will become a critical part of the Queer Holiday Canon. (Kristen Stewart’s star power is simply too strong to ignore.) To that effect, I hesitate to write the film off completely. It’s funny and light, without a doubt the kind of film that will grow on you with time, especially if you’re able to watch it alongside similarly cynical friends.
But that’s just it: for all its merits, Happiest Season stops short of being something truly great, something truly “universal.” By leaning too hard on the expected, tried-and-true notion of “coming out,” the film squanders its obvious potential. I know there’s a really great film buried inside Happiest Season. It’s such a shame it never got the opportunity to, well, come out.
Happiest Season is streaming on Hulu now.
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