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National Anthem's beautifully shot depiction of the queer rodeo community is a love letter to resilience and pride. Despite its flaws, the film's focus on protagonist Dylan's journey of self-discovery is a compelling thread. The film prioritizes atmosphere over story, capturing the landscape of the queer American West with stunning familiarity.

When gorgeously shot, films are likened to portraits. Photographer-turned-director Luke Gilfords feature debut, National Anthem (2024) , is perhaps the epitome of that term. Inspired by the filmmakers monograph of the same name, National Anthem chronicles Americas queer rodeo scene a contrast of rarely-captured, joyous fluidity and the well-trodden iconography of the American West. At a time when queer and trans rights and identities are under attack, National Anthem provides a temporary reprieve by spotlighting a resilient and proud community. However, the film also falls back on frustrating tropes that do a real disservice to its trans characters and viewers.

It didn’t take long after watching Jub Clerc’s Sweet As to see the comparison point my mind went to first (The Breakfast Club) was hardly an original thought. It’s an archetypal coming-of-age story for a reason. You see a mixed-bag group of troubled teens forced to confront their hardships during a mandated supervised excursion and allusions to John Hughes’ classic aren’t far behind. Whereas he could get away with making that group consist of white suburban kids with differing degrees of entitlement and affluence, however, today’s landscape needs a bit more complexity beyond chip-on-your-shoulder bullying. By setting their film in the Australian Outback, Clerc and co-writer Steve Rodgers talk about race, poverty, and exploitation atop that superficial baseline. Because these kids aren’t confronting privilege. They’re struggling to survive.

There’s a reason Murra (Shantae Barnes-Cowan) comes home and pushes her cabinet in front of her room’s door.