‘National Anthem’ Is the Best Western of the Year (Sorry, Kevin Costner)

Any Western fans aghast over the recent delay of Kevin Costner’s Horizon: An American Saga - Chapter 2, take heed and rejoice: Here comes National Anthem, another Western riding in to take its place.

Watching the trailer for the new indie might lead you to wonder if this suggestion is meant to take the piss out of Costner’s presumed constituency of grandfatherly traditionalists—and it is, a little. But after watching Costner’s noble but (so far) shapeless attempt to make ’em like they used to, it really might do a viewer some good to check out a ranch-and-rodeo movie that feels distinctly contemporary in its conflation of open-West freedom, American community, and the queer experience. Also: It’s 99 minutes, rather than 180.

The first feature from photographer Luke Gilford, inspired by his collection of pictures observing the United States’ queer-rodeo subculture, looks at first like a hardscrabble indie, with the obligatory reckless alcoholic mom (Robyn Lively) replacing the archetypal hard-drinking gambler dad. Dylan (Charlie Plummer) takes any odd jobs he can find to help support his mother and his sweet-natured young brother (Joey DeLeon), while quietly yearning for some little piece of life he can have to himself. (No prizes for guessing what happens to the money he’s squirreling away for that purpose.)

Dylan gets an unexpected shot at freedom when he takes a day-laboring job at a ranch owned by Pepe (Rene Rosado) and catches a glimpse of Pepe’s girlfriend Sky (Eve Lindley), who is transgender. Sky isn’t the only queer-identifying member of Pepe’s crew; his ranch functions as a haven and a community center for anyone who sees a link between queer performance and rodeo culture.

In a remarkably well-directed and well-acted series of exchanges, Plummer and Gilford start to excavate Dylan’s buried self while barely referencing it in dialogue. Dylan, increasingly ecstatic at the prospect of figuring himself out, spends more time at the ranch, much to his mom’s dismay. A relationship between Dylan, Pepe, and Sky forms that’s more triangular than what we typically see in conventional (read: straight) Westerns.

Not a whole lot more happens in National Anthem, which is a mixed blessing. Some of the expected conflicts—for example, good ol’ cowboys taking issue with the out-and-proud residents of Pepe’s ranch—never really materialize, a relief given how many queer films focus on pain and oppression. Are Gilford and screenwriter David Largman Murray acknowledging the insane drag-performance controversy when they have Dylan take his little brother to a drag show and enjoy an absolutely fabulous time? Probably, right? Either way, there’s a quiet catharsis to the movie’s low-key sweetness, and to the purity of affection between Dylan and Sky even when she insists it’s all just for fun. The movie is also straight-up gorgeous, with 35mm film capturing rich colors, whether on the New Mexico landscapes or inside big-box stores.

At the same time, Gilford has a photographer’s approach to this material, which means a certain amount of languid scenes that emphasize imagery over character. The people he’s following tend to drift through the frame, sometimes in mushroom-fueled desert sex reveries. His movie isn’t as tragically inert as a Tom Ford joint, but as good as Plummer and Lindley are, they both have a certain wispiness about them. There are moments when National Anthem threatens to become a movie about an open relationship, which is a lot less interesting than a movie about queer rodeo performers. Its lack of surprise culminates in a lingering final shot that might as well have been imported from any number of sensitive indies.

What lingers more clearly than this imagery and its occasional resemblance to an arty denim ad is the gentleness that Gilford brings to a typically violent, conflict-heavy genre. It would be easy enough to argue that National Anthem isn’t a Western at all; it’s more like a belated coming-of-age drama. But for the genre to move into the 21st century without riding purely on nostalgia, it needs movies like National Anthem that don’t feel bound by tradition, even when the iconography is familiar.