Happiest Season Was So Close to What We Deserved
By: Lilith Maddox
Tags: Film, Queer Media, LGBTQ, Film Reviews, Movies

*Spoilers for Happiest Season ahead*

When I first heard about Clea DuVall’s “Happiest Season” I felt as if the universe was finally answering my call for a queer take on one of my favorite categories of film. And… I mean, it tried to deliver. It had a happy ending in the way all rom-coms have happy endings: the central couple gets together/stays together/rides off into the sunset no matter what else happened in the preceding moments. I shouldn’t have expected anything else.

As a queer woman, I recognize the anxiety that surrounds coming out. For the unfamiliar, Dan Levy beautifully encapsulates it in what may be the best scene in the entire movie — seriously, someone please give him an award for how perfectly he delivered this scene. In short, everyone has their own timeline, everyone’s experience is different, and nobody should be forced out of the closet.

At the same time, nobody should be forced into the closet, which is exactly what Harper (Davis) does to Abby (Stewart) from the moment they step into her parents’ freakishly heterosexual suburban home. With a few tweaks in the story, Harper’s experience here — the inner conflict of wanting to open up about a relationship while being too afraid of the repercussions — would have rung true to most LGBTQ ears.

If only her character had been a little more redeemable.

Clea DuVall set out to create something true to her experiences as a queer woman, explaining in an interview with TheWrap that “this movie is autobiographical just in that (she’s) been both characters at different times in this movie”. As a viewer, I would have felt that too if there was more to make me believe that Harper cared, even a little bit, for her partner.

What should have been a heartbreaking moment of Harper being maliciously outed by her uptight sister still wasn’t enough to garner much sympathy.

On the way to her parent’s house, she finally admits to her girlfriend that she had lied about having ever come out to her parents, leaving Abby to crawl back into the closet for the rest of the holidays. Despite the two already living together, and Abby planning to propose, Harper’s family has been made to believe they are just gal pal roommates. From that point onwards, Harper proves to be the world’s most inconsiderate partner. She abandons Abby at family gatherings, stays out late with her hyper-straight ex-boyfriend, and offers no defense as her family consistently jabs at Abby’s parents being dead. What should have been a heartbreaking moment of Harper being maliciously outed by her uptight sister still wasn’t enough to garner much sympathy. I felt her pain, but I felt Abby’s pain more severely as Harper instinctively responds by denying their relationship.

The sheer comedy of Kristen Stewart pretending to be straight in this outfit could’ve carried a whole rom-com, if only the romance part wasn’t so exhausting. Photo credit: Hulu.

An honest story about Harper’s inner conflict would have been notable if an inner conflict was shown at all. Alternatively, a quirky comedy about a lesbian couple hiding their relationship at stuffy holiday gatherings (as a team who were both onboard for the arrangement) could have been cute, had about 90% of Harper’s toxic behavior been cut. It’s possible to be closeted without being so terrible.

For a story told with so much care, the resolution feels cheap, resorting back to the beloved cliche of a perfectly wrapped, somewhat unbelievable, happy ending.

Granted, DuVall did an immaculate job in depicting queer experiences with an honesty rarely seen on film. It was easy to empathize with Abby, whose identity is promptly shoved into the basement to uphold appearances. If that was the story the movie set out to tell, it did so flawlessly until the very end, when we watch Abby forgive a film’s worth of gaslighting after a gas-station apology. After a moment of validation for the many queer people who cannot stand to be with someone who is closeted, Abby’s frustrations (and her remarkable chemistry with Aubrey Plaza’s Riley) are swept aside. For a story told with so much care, the resolution feels cheap, resorting back to the beloved cliche of a perfectly wrapped, somewhat unbelievable, happy ending. What started as a rom-com became something more honest… and then it went back to being a rom-com. I love rom-coms, but as soon as they delve into something deeper, they need to commit to being something else.