‘Will & Harper’ road trip only travels so far
Harper Steele, a transgender woman, walks into an Oklahoma bar. Anyone reading this review should know that this is very much not the opening to a joke; rather, as the camera notes the bar’s Confederate flag, pro-Trump and “Fuck Biden” signs, the expectation is that this may be a setup for confrontation in a place suggesting anti-LGBTQIA+ values.
Instead, “Will & Harper,” a movie with good intentions and light impact, merely observes as Harper calls Will Ferrell – her friend since she was a writer during the early days of the actor’s time at “SNL” and who is at that moment standing outside the bar – and invites him inside. The patrons are of course excited to see him and, it must be said, probably would be less likely to get into an altercation about any potential anti-trans feelings while in the presence of Hollywood stardom and Netflix cameras. At one point Harper and Will correct a young man who misgenders Harper; the guy apologizes and praises Will for supporting his friend.
Yet at the start of director Josh Greenbaum’s (“Strays”) documentary about the titular duo driving from New York to California, the stated mission is to not just determine what their interpersonal dynamic looks like following Harper’s transition but if the country she loves still loves her back. The Oklahoma bar setup begs the question of the contrast between the friendly conduct of the people talking with Harper and the demonstrated stance of the establishment they frequent, but the movie doesn’t go to such an admittedly difficult place.
In fact, on numerous occasions Will feels like he missed a chance to stand up for Harper more directly. That includes after meeting Indiana Governor Eric Holcomb at an Indiana Pacers game and only learning of Indiana’s transphobic policies afterwards, realizing that it was an opportunity to speak frankly with someone who appears friendly in person but has worked to make life more difficult for people like Harper. And after Harper receives horrendous comments on social media after she and Will eat at a Texas steakhouse (where Will announces himself very loudly, dressed as Sherlock Holmes, ensuring maximum attention and possible trouble), Will breaks down and feels like he should have done more to help. But Harper says he shouldn’t, and there’s no sense of if either responded to any of the online negativity, or their perspective on combating ongoing prejudice in today’s America. Meanwhile, Greenbaum often captures time and distance through montage, and “Will & Harper” struggles to arrive at earned breakthrough moments – instead reaching for them through fireworks while Bon Iver plays and the friends put hands around each other’s shoulders.
Certainly you could argue that “Will & Harper” (note the order of the names in the title) captures growth in the moment and demonstrates important, basic lessons about being an ally. It’s heartbreaking to hear Harper share how she retreated from herself as a result of ignorant statements heard as a kid, and the fear and doubt sparked by an unhelpful therapist then and online nastiness now. The bond between the pals is affable and appealing, even if the movie isn’t particularly funny. Anyone wanting a warm-hearted and minor look at what it is like for Will Ferrell specifically to have a friend who is trans in the U.S. will get that, as well as a sense of the years it often takes for social perceptions to change. Though the movie doesn’t have a steep hill to climb (Will is completely supportive from the start), no one should minimize the challenge of embracing identity in an intolerant world, or even the small uncertainties that can exist between individuals or friends or family members or strangers when something feels unknown or uncomfortable.
Yet the questions Will poses don’t spark extended discussions that would feel like we’re in the car with these two for long periods of time. He is pretty restrained in his curiosity, asking about Harper’s dating plans and also what her boobs are like, and rarely talking about anything heavy for long before turning to humor. (Harper also initially identifies questions she wants to ask Will, and then doesn’t ask him.) That’s not necessarily unexpected, of course, for these people or for anyone. But the idea that “Will & Harper” would be a fascinating deepening of a relationship alongside an insightful exploration of prejudice vs. acceptance across the U.S. doesn’t come to fruition. There’s also no outside context of the trans experience over time to identify where Harper’s very justified fear comes from, and at times the absence of aggression is used as evidence of things being OK.
Plus, there’s often the sense that what Will in particular is doing or saying is because a documentary is being filmed, and even then there’s a distance between what you thought would be achieved and where “Will & Harper,” which uses the phrase “shitty beer” three times in the first six minutes, actually goes. (A running gag about Will wanting Dunkin’ Donuts is particularly weak, as are conversations about what they would name their own beer and the pursuit of a Kristen Wiig-written road trip theme song that results in something sweet but inaccurate in its generic claim that “a friend is a friend ‘til the end.”) Though progress is worth celebrating, learning that there’s more to learn doesn’t feel like enough, and the movie doesn’t seem to advance understanding about identity or people’s misconceptions about it. Time spent with other “SNL” alums (Tina Fey, Tim Meadows, Will Forte) in multiple locations also demonstrates additional support but diverts from the goals. And going to D.C. just to try and fail to see President Biden isn’t fruitful or especially amusing either.
So no matter how valid the mission and the perpetual importance of advocating understanding and acceptance at a time when some people are still cruel and accept that in their proposed leaders (!!!!), it’s hard to watch the doc and not feel like it hit the road in search of something that it ultimately doesn’t find.
C+
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