Twelfth Times the Charm: Diane Warren: An Oscar Anomaly

 

Today is the big day. I think I speak for millions when I say this was the strangest year in cinema that we've had in quite some time. Ironically, this has less to do with what movies have come out and more with where we had to watch most of them, in our own houses. Tomorrow is "A Very COVID Oscars" (trademark pending), and everyone is excited to experience some degree of normalcy as we watch the Academy show us all how they are better than the Golden Globes in putting on a show that isn't riddled with self-conscious embarrassment. A very low bar indeed. 

This year, among many of the triumphant firsts, such as the first Asian and Muslim actors nominated for Best Actor and the first Asian woman nominated for Best Director, lies another underdog in an admittedly less popular category, Best Original Song. Diane Warren rose to prominence in the mid-1980s as a multi-talented songwriter. It took only a few short years for her to be recognized as a beacon of melodic and lyrical wonderment by the Billboard Charts and the Academy Awards. However, fate had other plans in mind for Warren's warbling. Eleven nominations later, and Warren has still not received a win, being foiled each year by songs just a few notches above hers in popularity, though not necessarily in musicality. Let's go through the musical journey that has led Diane and us to this day as we wait to see if one of the most renowned songwriters of this generation can finally bring home a statue that doesn't even have golden ears to enjoy her songs with like the rest of us. 

1. "Nothings Gonna Stop Us Now" by Starship

Co-written with Starship Band member Albert Hammond for the movie Mannequin (1987). Admittedly, I have not seen this film yet, though I intend to, so I can't speak much to how the song resonates with the subject matter. I can speak to the fact that this is one of my parents wedding songs and is a prime example of Warren's musical prowess with its infectious and high-energy hook and all-encompassing declaration of an unstoppable love. It is undeniably 80s in sound and yet still resonates with nostalgic endearment to this day. The song is very much a template of what Warren't later work would achieve in terms of hypnotic memorability. Alas, this Oscar was snatched by the similarly nostalgic theme from Dirty Dancing (1988). It was the first, but certainly not the last time, that Diane's song would be overshadowed by box-office numbers, with the assistance in this specific case of Swayze's damn finely toned legs. 

2. "Because You Loved Me" by Celine Dion

Warren had already been collaborating with the Songstress for some time before they worked together to create one of the arguably best ballads of Dion's career for the film Up Close and Personal (1996). Though the film itself received lukewarm reviews, the song was a certified hit that helped solidify Dion as a household name until she'd go on the next year to do THAT SONG FROM TITANIC (1997), which deserves its own blog post. The song has obvious romantic connotations in connection to the film's subject matter, but Warren has admitted that the song's inspiration was, actually, her mother, whose endless support has helped her reach the stars. Here's hoping she has sufficient support tonight from the Academy as this time around, she was foiled by the only original song featured in the film version of Evita (1996) performed by Madonna, another powerful musician that Diane Warren has surprisingly never crossed musical paths with before. 

3. "How Do I Live" by LeAnn Rimes

A year later, Diane would work with the then-upcoming artist, LeAnn Rimes, who she'd go on to work with again in numerous other film-related projects. Sung for the film Con Air (1997), the song is quintessential Diane Warren with its lush melody and impassioned lyrics professing the question of how one can endure life without the one they love. The short answer is, you listen to a lot of LeAnn Rimes to deal with it. Rimes and Warren stood no chance of being the victors in this round up against Titanic, but the song still became a stable of the 90s and is considered one of Rimes's most well-known vocal performances. 

4. "I Don't Wanna Miss A Thing" by Aerosmith

Diane Warren was on a two-year losing streak at the Academy Awards that unfortunately didn't stop, despite the quality of work remaining above par. Aerosmith's rock ballad, originally intended for Celine Dion, was powerful vocally but powerless against the likes of duetting divas Whitney Houston and Mariah Carey, who sung "When You Believe" for The Prince of Egypt (1998). 

5. "Music of My Heart by Gloria Estefan and NSYNC 

If this musical pair-up isn't strange enough, the director of this film, which is about a music teacher inspiring and improving the lives of her young impoverished students through the power of instruments, was the late and great Wes Craven, known primarily for horror films. The movie was a modest success, and the song encapsulates the devotion an effective educator has towards their pupils and the gratitude those pupils have for their educator in return. Phil Collins walked away with the Oscar instead for "You'll Be in My Heart" from Tarzan (1999), a song that should make you cry just from reading the title, lest you are a soulless miscreant. 

6. "There You'll Be" by Faith Hill 

After having no Academy nominations in 2000, Diane returned to the red carpet with a ballad for her second Michael Bay project, this time an arguably better one, Pearl Harbor (2001). Sung by Faith Hill, most people interpret the song as being from the perspective of Kate Beckinsale's character. However, it's worth noting the lyrics have a kind of duality to them and could just as easily be inspired by the male friendship at the center of the film between Ben Affleck and Josh Hartnett's characters. Diane continues to lose in style against another well-respected songwriter for the screen, Randy Newman, with his song "If I Didn't Have You" from Monsters Inc (2001). If the Academy didn't have Randy and those monsters that year, there is little doubt Diane would've left with her first Oscar. 

7. "Grateful" by Rita Ora

In 2014, this marked Warren's first nomination in several years, and it must be noted that many felt she was strangely robbed of a nomination four years prior for "You Haven't Seen The Last of Me" from Burlesque (2010) even though the song garnered critical acclaim and won that year's Best Song Award at the Golden Globes. "Grateful", a self-empowerment anthem, was plagued by poor promotion by both the label and singer Rita Ora herself, something that Diane Warren was unafraid to express her qualms about on social media at the time. Honestly, with this being her seventh nomination without a win, you could hardly blame her for feeling a lack of support, a sentiment shared by the main character in the film Beyond the Lights (2014), for which the song was written.  

8. "Till it Happens to You" by Lady Gaga

Another rarest instance of collaboration for Warren, here she and Mother Monster cover a topic rarely discussed, let alone sung about, rape. Used for the documentary The Hunting Ground (2015), the song's haunting melody and starkly blunt lyrics make it clear that this is nothing to be subtle about the severity of this topic and Warren and Gaga's habit for grandeur in their musical works come in very much handy here. Gaga's performance of it was accompanied by a large group of survivors giving the already emotional punch of a song added depth and sober somberness. The song lost out on the award to Sam Smith's Bond Theme, and this may be the first year where Diane's loss is truly undeserved given the initial lackluster reception to Smith's theme by the media and general public when it was first released.  

9. "Stand Up for Something" by Common and Andra Day

Continuing off from the experimental nature of her last collab with Gaga, this tune found Warren teaming up with acclaimed rapper and actor Common to craft a song to honor Chadwick Boseman's portrayal of Thurgood Marshall in Marshall (2017). Andra Day brings the song to life with the necessary combination of tenderness and strength that it requires, and the results are worthy of the subject matter, even if they weren't worthy of the Academy Award, which went instead to "Remember Me" from Coco (2017). 

10. "I'll Fight" by Jennifer Hudson

The soul of late Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg lives on in this anthemic number brought to life by the multi-blessed vocals of Jennifer Hudson. It is a high honor in life to be able to write a song dedicated to one progressive giant in the world of justice, while Warren has been twice blessed with such a responsibility. The year, Warren had little faith that she'd be able to beat out former collaborator Lady Gaga with her song "Shallow" from A Star is Born (2018). At least, Warren had a song on that film's soundtrack as well.

11. "I'm Standing With You" by Chrissy Metz 

If "Because You Loved Me" has undercurrents of maternal love to it, then this song is a tsunami of motherly affection. It is Diane's second song for a faith-based film after "Compass" for the movie Heaven is for Real (2014) was unable to secure a nomination. This song was done for the film, Breakthrough (2019), about a mother watching her son fight for his life on a hospital bed after a tragic accident. Chrissy imbues the song with everything it needs and more, and her stunning Oscar performance was only partially squandered by a bizarre directorial choice to not have the performer be given a proper introduction. Much like how the songwriter has never received a proper Oscar. 

12. "Lo Si (Seen)" by Laura Pausini 

The Life Ahead (2020), set in Italy, brings together a former prostitute who now tends to the children of other sex workers with a black street-orphan who is forced to be taken under her care. Through the time they spend together, they come to recognize the humanity in one another's existence, previously clouded by their own pride and prejudices. It is a familiar tale, but nonetheless, a beautiful and heartwarming one, especially when brought to life by the likes of screen legend Sophia Loren and phenomenal newcomer Ibrahima Gueye. The original English version of the song is written by Diane Warren, while accomplished singer-songwriter Laura Pausini co-wrote the Italian version. Pausini has additionally recorded the song in several different languages. In a year and a half of such global torment, a song such as this fits right at home. So many have felt unseen and forgotten in the midst of a global pandemic, so many left behind by society, by government, by sheer human failure. To hear Pausini's tender vibrato assure them, assure us, that we are seen and loved is truly a musical gift. The lyrics and melody are simple, as are so many of Warren's greatest achievements, and they certainly connect to the film's story. However, what Warren has on her side this year more than any other is that this song speaks to the universal here and now. We are all trying to be recognized and validated more than ever before because of the distinct sense of loneliness and disconnect that we've had to experience. It's not that they should be awarded the Oscar because they lucked out on the year and time the song got released. Nay, they should win because the song will continue to speak to our deep-seated desire for intimacy long after we are able to hug and congregate together again without these particular fears and trepidations. 

There is no irony lost on the fact that, if Diane Warren does claim her victory this evening at the 93rd Annual Academy Awards Ceremony, it will be for a song that is at its very core about recognition, appreciation and acceptance. Regardless, her music will continue to have a substantial and substantive impact on film history for the foreseeable future—best of luck, Diane. We see you.   

         

  

Why WandaVision is the Story of Now

For the past year, so many of us have wished, whether aloud or within the confines of our minds, that we could control the world around us. We wish we could lower the positivity and fatality rates of a still largely uncontrolled virus. We wish we could mask-up the ignorant individuals of our respected societies. Above most else, we wish we could keep the impending darkness of tremendous tragedy and hurt outside the borders of our self-contained sanctuaries, even though it would still be waiting just outside the blockade for us.  

I came into WandaVision as a casual fan of Marvel with the exception of X-Men, which ironically hasn't been a Marvel property in terms of legality for a number of years up until the recent past. I've always gravitated more told DC Comics material, though I was never wholly certain as to why. Now older and a bit more self-aware, I realize that a partial-explanation for this might be that from a young age I related more to women then men, and I found the women of DC Comics from Wonder Woman to Zatanna, from Harley Quinn to Martha Kent to be compelling, multi-faceted and strong. This is not to say that Marvel does not contain strong female characters, but growing up people were hardly talking about Gwen Stacy, let alone the fact that she eventually came into powers herself later on, and they certainly were not talking about Black Widow before Scarlet Johansson brought her to life on the big screen. The women of Marvel, again outside the world of X-Men populated by badasses like Jean Grey, Mystique and Storm, were just not within my sphere of consciousness. When I saw the promos for WandaVision, having a vague understanding from watching Avengers: Age of Ultron (2015) a billion years ago, and Avengers: Infinity War (2018) while I was mildly intoxicated one evening at home, I was immediately beguiled not only at the pastiche-style with which the story would be told but that it would be told from the female perspective. A story of grief, in a year and a half, filled with it to the brim, that would seemingly also appease superhero fans, often-considered to be brutish and less invested in cognitive insight than in punching stuff. I had to see for myself if WandaVision could succeed with such lofty ambitions. The results were not just pleasantly surprising, nay. They reinvigorated my creative beliefs in how stories could be told across film and television, which demographics they could be told to, and most importantly, what they could be about on a thematic level. 

Episodes 1-3:

The best way to describe the entirety of WandaVision is a masterclass on nostalgia, and the first three episodes are the perfect introduction into this world of strange-familiarity. The specificity in costume design, lighting, cinematography, dialogue, set design etc., is nothing short of magnificent, as if these eras of television never ceased existing in the first place, because on so many television every day, thanks to syndication and reruns, they haven't. Many have complained about the "slow start" of the first two entries, which feature zero "action" as would be defined by any superhero fan of the last two decades. Instead, "Filmed Before a Live Studio Audience and "Don't Touch That Dial" ask you to sit back and relax and revel in the reminders given as to why Vision, Wanda and the loving bond they share was such a fan-favorite in the film franchise they came from in the first place. We get to see them as everyday people and recognize them as ourselves despite their extraordinary abilities. Without this set-up, we as the audience could not fully comprehend as richly as we do why Wanda yearned for normalcy and why she will so fiercely fight against anyone or anything that risks disrupting it, as made evident by her actions at the end of episode three to "Geraldine." 

Episode 4 

In many ways, the most uninteresting episode of the series, though that isn't entirely its fault. "We Interrupt This Program" does just what its title implies. It is an expositional dump the size of a New Jersey Highway, its the byproduct of WandaVision residing inside such a wide-spanning universe. Explanations must be given, characters must be established, and stakes must get raised if the rest of the series can be allowed to have the emotional gravitas it will most certainly possess. We forgive this episode's hefty narrative-obligations almost completely in gratitude towards actors Teyonah Parris, Randall Park, and the always delightful, Kat Dennings who give the supporting cast of character enough heart and humor to get us through this explain-a-thon. Even Josh Stamberg gives an appropriately-arrogant performance as Acting Director of S.W.O.R.D. Tyler Hayward. It isn't a series highlight as much as it is a necessity, but at least the creative team tried to make the vegetables as tasty as possible when feeding them to us.    

Episodes 5-7

It's important to note that as the eras of television have progressed, the conflicts dealt within them have gotten more serious. This reflects the evolving landscape of American Television. In the 1950s and 1960s, most American audiences didn't want serious subject matter to be explored in their sitcoms. They wanted escapism from the hardships already outside their own front doors ranging from war to poverty, from political corruption to racial inequality. However, by the late 70-90s, audiences had grown to accept that tough times were a part of who they were and therefore should be exhibited in the characters they watched on TV each night. Episode 5, "On a Very Special Episode..." my personal favorite of the entire limited series, is the best example of the trust that had grown between television-makers and their audiences to handle a subject matter like death in a way that can be teachable and still entertaining. We see Wanda start to learn this lesson in this very same episode, and she tries to pass on the wisdom to her young sons, Billy and Tommy, that death is okay and the complex feelings that come alongside it are valid and imperative to the human soul to experience. It is the arrival of her brother (played by Evan Peters of Fox Marvel fame in a clever, if not infuriating, red herring) that stops this emotional maturity in Wanda before it can lead her to dismantle this self-imposed delusion of superb suburbia. We will later learn that this was done deliberately. For selfish reasons, a certain nosy-neighbor played by the incomparable Kathryn Hahn could not allow Wanda to have such an epiphany, at least not yet, and not unsupervised. 

Episode 8

While the acting in the penultimate episode "Previously On" is phenomenal, with Olsen, Bettany and Hahn putting in their best performances in the entire series here, the lack of imagination in its set-up warrants some criticism. Surely the writers could have found a way to embark on this journey to the past in a way that felt less "A Christmas Carol" in its execution and more aligned with the television tropes the series as a whole had been so expertly celebrating up to this point. Still, with an opening witch-burning unlike any other and a quote that has already sparked memes upon memes, the episode manages to be a triumph despite its conventional, borderline literary structure. We get the explanations we need in a much-more visually absorbable method than in Episode Four.  

The episode also sparks surprising criticism against big-government and the military not often seen in the Marvel Franchise, which frequently positions its heroes as brave militants or subsidies like Tony Stark, fighting the good fight with noble intentions. Here we see faults acknowledged in spades, from Wanda and Pietro's loss of their parents due to war to her mistreatment as next of kin to the person she loved the most in the world. Hayward's holier-than-thou argument that Vision must be destroyed to protect society at large is proved to be bullshit when they turn a version of him back online later in the episode. They would never not take advantage of such a power source, not when it can be used as a means of war and domination. Still, though corruption is acknowledged and briefly explored, the series does not completely deviate into a piece of Anti-War propaganda. After all, Monica and Jimmy are military and law enforcement personnel, respectfully, and they each play a positive role in ensuring that alls well that ends well. It challenges conventional notions but doesn't completely follow through.

Episode 9

Full disclosure, as I've just watched the finale now, this part of the review is the first that I am writing. "The Series Finale" as it is so aptly titled, will in little doubt enrage many fans. Almost every single popular theory, from the arrival of the ominous comic book Big Bad, Mephisto, to the true identity of Evan Peter's Quicksilver imposter, fans were left with few Easter Eggs to fry for breakfast Saturday morning. Even the one cameo we all thought would be definite, the arrival of Benedict Cumberbatch's Doctor Strange, turned out to be a non-starter. Showrunner, Jac Schaeffer and her team for eight straight episodes hardly pulled focus off of Wanda and Vision's journey for other such fanfare with the exception of setting up an origin story for Monica Rambeau, so why would we expect the finale to dedicate a significant portion of time to other MCU properties? That isn't to say the finale didn't provide fan-service. Many of those who came here for the kind of subdued pensive introspection we got in Episode 8 would be, at least somewhat disappointed to find a large portion of the finale dedicated to those hallmark fight sequences that superhero films cannot survive without. Others argue that the finale didn't explore the mythos of witchcraft enough, nor Wanda's guilt for what she had done to hundreds of people trapped inside the Hex. These are valid oversights, but at least they can be remedied in future installments of her journey in the films. Still, despite some fair grievances, this started as Wanda's story, and it appropriately ended as such. 

Some will have wanted it to end as a film, which in the case of superhero franchises, explosively sets-up the next enthralling chapter to come. Still, with a dedication to homaging Television of Great, WandaVision doesn't sacrifice its devotion to the medium that helped bring it to life in its final bow. How many sitcoms have ended with the simple flicking off of a lamp? How many one-hour dramas finish with the main character setting off on a new and exciting journey usually away from the primary setting? The bad guys neutralized, the kids tucked in. It was time to go, and go it did, with the elegance of understatement and subtly which defined some of the best parts of this nine-episode journey. Paradoxically, the final episode manages to break cinematic conventions through a television-lens context. Vision defeats his identical counterpart not with his fist, but his words, a rarity in a battle between men on the big or small screen, well, in this case, android-men, but I digress. When Wanda inspects underneath the car for Agatha's body, she finds only her shoes, a clever nod to the Wizard of Oz (1939), another story of hope and heartache begetting a fantastical world of seeming paradise. In these moments, "The Series Finale" is giving small but noticeable "thank you's" to the medium that allowed it to get to this point in the journey, film. 

Conclusions: 

Much will be written, and rightfully so, about how the finale most importantly represents Wanda's acceptance of grief. She makes the ultimate sacrifice a matriarch can make, her family. However, we do not see her dissolve into an inconsolable heap. This time, Wanda finds strength in her loss. Though White Vision is out there, he is not the person she fell in love with, and I'll be honest, it would likely be a sizable disadvantage to the emotional resonance of the material if he were to become himself again. If our losses are permanent, so must be Wanda's, not because of some twisted sense of fairness, but because Wanda has always been since Episode 1 an extension of us, of our entrapment due to lockdown, of our grieve over a life un-lived or cut short.  If she can survive it, we can, with or without magical powers. 

In the post-credits scene, Wanda hears the voices of her sons. In the context of the Marvel Franchise, this insinuates that they are out there somewhere. Maybe not in this universe but another. However, for those who have only come to visit Westview to witness Wanda's cathartic journey, to the casual viewer, and those that have lost loved ones they can never get back, this moment means something else. It means that if grief is love persevering, then a life lived after loss is a life shared with those departed. That's why Wanda and Vision, in their tearful goodbye, show hope because perhaps his next life will be lived as a memory inside of the woman who loved him for the man she knew he was within himself. He won't be a physical manifestation, living, breathing and tripping over an ottoman, but a voice to guide her in her dimmest moments moving forward. The most magnificent thing Wanda could do for him and herself was to allow him back inside her mind, for that is where he is meant to exist now, as are so many gone too soon. Indeed, by the end of the series, we find that Wanda's greatest power possessed is to love others more than herself. It's the creed every superhero needs to live by. That's the vision of life she's found. That's WandaVision. 

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.