Luke Gilford’s feature film debut, National Anthem, is a coming-of-age tale of the tenderest sort, set in rural America as a young man discovers the place where he truly belongs. 

 

Inspired by Gilford’s own monograph National Anthem: America’s Queer Rodeo, National Anthem centers on Dylan (Charlie Plummer), a twenty-one-year-old caring for his little brother and working construction and taking whatever odd jobs he can get in the parking lot of a hardware store. Eventually, that leads him to Pepe (Rene Rosado) and a ranch called House of Splendor, where Dylan meets a community of queer folk who welcome him as one of their own.

 

National Anthem is achingly beautiful, depicting the intersection of marginalized America, from the working poor to drag queens and queer rodeo riders holding their own events, celebrating both their cultures, queer and rodeo. Gilford’s father was a rodeo champion, and his intimate knowledge of the world of ranches and rodeos shines in the film, capturing everything from the bond between horse and rider to the thrill of Dylan’s first bull ride. (There is a horse tragedy in the film, be warned.) He also captures the beauty and grime of true Americana, which has its own colorful glamour under the dirt and sweat of ranching.

This is a glamour that is real, a little messy and imperfect, not cast in the shadow of Hollywood, New York, or glam rock, it’s glamour expressed by people making do far away from the presumed centers of queer culture. There’s a little bit of Eighties sleaze and the rodeo’s own language of buckles and leather that mixes to great effect with drag ensembles and Dylan’s exploration of his own sexuality. National Anthem is a lush film, lensed by cinematographer Katelin Arizmendi, that simply lets the natural beauty of the western landscape and the queens unfurl in their own time and space.

 

The ranch becomes a haven for Dylan away from his depressing home life where his alcoholic mother, Fiona (Robyn Lively), complicates everything. There he befriends Carrie (Mason Alexander Park) and falls for barrel racer Sky (Eve Lindley). The combination of working the ranch and discovering himself with Sky unlocks a new future for Dylan, one with more possibilities than just escaping his sh-tty small town. Plummer is excellent as Dylan, and Lindley shines as Sky, who is confident, sexy, and vulnerable in turns—it’s easy to see why Dylan falls for her pretty much at first sight. Park also gets a couple of really great moments as Carrie, speaking with the bittersweet surety of a soothsayer who knows how it all ends before it’s over. 

This is a hopeful and melancholic film in turns, revealing a world that is both safe from queerphobic judgment but that also exists because of it. The film is not interested in indulging that ugliness, though characters will occasionally drop dialogue that sketches the pasts that brought them to the ranch. It’s not so much turning a blind eye as it is choosing not to make trauma the center of the film. National Anthem has a tender heart for misfits who find their people in unlikely places, the way the ranch’s occupants cling to and celebrate one another says enough about what they have faced outside the ranch.

 

National Anthem is a film about first love and self-discovery, about queer rodeo and rural America. Things that seem oppositional are harmonious, and Dylan’s journey into this little-seen slice of Americana is as revealing of the world as it is him. It’s a world of acceptance and celebration, of love and heartbreak and hope. Gilford balances his film on a tonal pinhead, the story rooted in something painful but the film a celebration of a culture that exists in defiance of pain. It’s not all sunshine and roses, but National Anthem knows that finding oneself and first love are often a thorny path that leaves an indelible mark on those who walk it. National Anthem is about that walk and those thorns, and what we discover about ourselves and our world along the way. 

 

National Anthem is now playing exclusively in theaters. Content warning for a scene of animal suffering.