Sunday, January 31, 2021

Palmer: A Lesson on Love and Gender

 


Being different can be hard. It's even harder the younger you are and the less autonomy you possess in the world around you. Though we often misperceive the entitlement of younger generations, the truth is the younger you are, the less the world owes you. If this weren't true, fewer children would go hungry every day. Homelessness would be an "adult-only" issue, and children would have to take several classes upon reaching their 18th birthday to be informed about what the world would expect of them now that the "privilege" of childhood has come and gone. It might sound paradoxical to some, but most children are taught that their right to life comes with strict parameters that they are only able to free themselves of upon entering adulthood, if they're lucky. These parameters might be parental expectations, protocols of the educational institutions they're enrolled in or adherence to a scripture made by the place of worship they are made to attend. We act as though childhood is this time for a liberating expansion and exploration of our imaginations, of discovering where we can fit into the world, but this is only so in the most ideal of scenarios. Too many children around the world don't live in the most ideal scenarios, however. 



Palmer (2021) is a cookie-cutter film in a lot of ways. An ex-con, Eddie Palmer comes to live with his grandmother as he tries to put his disgraced life back together and forms a bond with a curious young boy, Sammy, whom he comes to love and protect against the ills of the world. Pretty rudimentary stuff here. Cheryl Guerriero's screenplay as directed by Fisher Stevens hardly trods new cinematic ground, but it's the use of gender identity within an important subplot that does allow it to engage in thematically-richer conversations than it wouldn't have otherwise had. Sam's character is really what makes or breaks this film, though Justin Timberlake does give an impressive performance that works against type even if some people will be left less than convinced that an NSYNC member would beat the shit out of a drunk in a bar or mop the halls of an elementary school. June Squibb in an all-too-short supporting role and Alisha Wainwright, fresh off a phenomenal first season of Netflix's "Raising Dion" each give solid supporting performances that add tenderness to the steaming tension functioning throughout most of the film. Still, it is newcomer Ryder Allen as Sam that provides the film with its most compelling and heartfelt moments of awe, and it is through him that we as the audience are given a lesson in how to treat gender-queer youth at a time when their very existence is being questioned daily.


Sam is a boy who likes to play with dolls. His heroes are fairy princess and basically anyone that has a kind word to say to him. He asks for very little of the world other than for it to allow him to be who he wants to be, who he truly is. The sheer thought that any of this is unusual or "wrong" doesn't even occur to Sam. Why would it? He has shown successful opposition to the indoctrination we thrust upon children from the moment they are born. This is what you are supposed to wear, and this is how you walk when you wear it. This is the toy you are supposed to play with, and those are the children you are supposed to share it with. When a child inquires whether they may step out of these social structures more often than not, they are met with rejection, ridicule and even punishment. We often accuse these children of being "confused" about the role they are meant to play in life. Sam is certainly not confused. At one point in the film, he definitively states that he is a boy, just one that enjoys tea-parties and dress-up. He knows what's in his heart and finds society's attempts at re-educating him on this topic to be comical in all honesty. His rebelliousness is executed with such ease we wish we possessed his level of courage and confidence.  


In what kind of environment does a child like Sam get to best thrive in? The film examines that but some details might be overlooked by some. A gender-queer child, like any other child, needs love, affection, food, clothes, the human basics. On top of that, gender-queer children require acceptance, often more-so then gender-conforming children who's identities are rarely challenged in any substantive way. Sam's struggle is finding someone who can supply him with all of these essentials and not just some. His mother, played with savagery by the consistently talented Juno Temple, though a drug-addict living in a trailer with an abusive boyfriend, does appear to be capable of providing Sam with the acceptance he so desperately requires. She never once scolds him for his effeminate ways and buys (or steals) him the "girly" items he'd like such as a backpack. However, as mentioned prior, she is incapable of providing him with safety and stability. Because of that, he is left exposed to individuals, such as her toxic boyfriend, whom degrade and belittle his sense of self-worth, or at least try their hardest too.


Sam finds solace with Palmer's grandmother, who also doesn't seem to mind his sensitive nature and even encourages it. She is able to provide him with stability and safety, but her advanced age and eventual death prevent her from fulfilling this unofficial contract in the long-term. Furthermore, her devotion to her church, more-so than her family, results in Sam being on the brink of homelessness when he and Palmer must figure out a new living situation within a short amount of time. Even indirectly, the church endangers Sam's human rights to safety and security, because it never owed it to him in the first place. 



Sam's teacher, Miss Maggie, provides him with love and acceptance and within the walls of her classroom. In one memorable scene, she uses a Halloween costume to make a not-so-subtle statement about individualism. Some may find this potential equation of gender-expression as being a performative act and somewhat problematic, but the intentions here are good, and it counts for something, especially for a child like Sam who doesn't often witness any attempts at solidarity or understanding from cis-normative people. Still, much like parents, teachers are limited in the guidance and protection they can provide. Maggie offers Sam stability and security by stating he could stay with her until his mother returns though he chooses to remain with Palmer instead. He senses something in this man that is lacking in the rest of these caregivers.



It is the geniality of Timberlake's well-establish persona that contradicts beautifully with the hardened exterior he exudes in his portrayal of Palmer. He keeps a tricky balance by not veering too far into ultra-masculine nor excessively flamboyant as he and Sam forge a bond built on mutual-acceptance and understanding. Neither tries to become more like the other, and they simply give each other the necessary space to grow and thrive. Sam attends a football game, while Palmer participates in a tea party. They don't do these things out of appeasement. They do them because these actions are declarations. "You can be you." Sam projects this to Palmer more often than Palmer projects it towards Sam. That's because Palmer, in a way, needs these affirmations more than Sam. While Sam needs acceptance to survive, he has built-up a storage of acceptance inside himself for the times in life in which he cannot receive it from others. Palmer hasn't done the same for himself. He doesn't have any self-love on reserve, Sam does. Society taught Palmer he could live without it. In a completely un-shocking turn of events, society was wrong. Palmer is the only person able to fulfil all of the essential needs that Sam requires; it just takes him time to master them all whether that be getting used to him wearing a tiara from time to time or perfecting his sandwich making skills so that the child can have a proper lunch. By having Palmer "need" Sam, just as he is, just as Sam "needs" Palmer to survive and prosper, the filmmaker is doing more than making a statement of tolerance. This is a declaration of essentiality. Queer and Gender-Non-Conforming children are essential to our growth and prosperity as a global society moving forward; they always have been. Not just because they deserve what every other child deserves, but because of the lessons that they teach us about ourselves, about the theft which occurs during our falsely "free" childhoods. They give us a chance to break ancient cycles and stop comprising who we are and considering instead, who we can be.  



The film arrives to streaming at a time when we are arguing about whether it is "fair" to cis-children for a trans-child to play a sport, while completely ignoring the erasure that is embedded at the core of this quarrel. To consider the notion of fairness in this argument suggests that a viable solution would be to prevent willing and able children from participating in physically and psychologically beneficial activities. Think about children like Sam, and those like him, particularly those of color who have additional burdens to conquer in their pursuit of authenticity. Why does fighting for them have to be perceived as fighting against any other child? Why is this an either-or argument? It isn't, and it never was. Palmer is a familiar story, one that we've seen hundreds of times before in some variance and will likely again in hundreds of other films in the future. We've even seen versions of Sam before. Still, we've never seen this Sam before. He is wholly distinguishable upon himself like anyone else is and should be. This Sam comes across our screens as these humanistic debates are occurring in real-time, in our courthouses, schools, and living rooms. Palmer's provided him with the essentials, yes, but you can still provide something of value to him or rather to those he represents. Palmer is a solid film altogether, genuine if not a tad saturated. It can entice a lively conversation or quiet reflection. At the very least, it's an entertaining hour and fifty minutes. That is the least we can ask of it. What do you think is the most someone like Sam can ask of us?  



Sorry if I'm at the risk of sounding like a Sarah McLachlan ASPCA Commercial, but guess what, if you understood that reference, that probably means it works. Happy 2021 Everyone. May this New Year bring you renewed hope and happiness.