There are few forms of cinema I enjoy more than documentaries, but there are also few forms of cinema I hate to review more. Documentaries are a vital part of our film diet, playing an important role as pieces of journalism or advocacy. And yet, they’re hard to write about. I don’t want to regurgitate information presented in the film, and unless they do something new with the form or are notable for some technical aspects, there’s not much else I can say even if I like it than, “go see this movie.”
Will & Harper, now available on Netflix, is probably the one that will get the most notice, because of the presence of comedian Will Ferrell. During his time at Saturday Night Live, Ferrell formed a friendship with writer Andrew Steele. During the pandemic, Steele contacted Ferrell to let him know that she was now a trans woman going by the name of Harper. Ferrell suggested taking a cross-country road trip to allow Harper to visit the places that she previously enjoyed going to but where she now felt a bit unsafe. It also allows for the opportunity for Ferrell to ask questions about her transition, whether it’s how she chose her name or whether she has become a worse driver since transitioning.
I’m going to be completely honest that the experience of trans men and women is not something I am overly familiar with. I don't personally know anyone who has transitioned. Because it’s not an issue I have wrestled with myself, I don’t quite understand the identity conflict, anxiety and depression that accompany it. I do know, however, that people are hurting. And I also know that, unfortunately, instead of sitting with trans men and women and listening to them, many people are quick to condemn, shame and express views that are disconnected from the human being in front of them.
Which is why Will & Harper is so refreshing and necessary. Ferrell doesn’t come in with his opinion and the film doesn’t launch into arguments or polemics. It is, instead, an ode to friendship and empathy. Ferrell asks questions and is open about areas where he knows he has little knowledge and might screw up. He mostly listens as Harper tells her story, including her deepest moments of despair and depression, and the changes to her mental health since transitioning. Ferrell is interested and engaged, and says his biggest question is how to navigate their friendship in light of the changes.
Ferrell and Steele fall back into the rhythms of friendship easily, and it’s just as fun to watch them banter together – usually with Ferrell pushing his shtick – as it is fascinating to watch them discuss Harper’s transition. It’s an often moving film, and Steele deserves a lot of credit for discussing such intimate details so openly and on camera. While Ferrell is the celebrity, this is Harper’s story, and it doesn’t get lost in the movie star shenanigans. Early in the film, Harper talks about how she loved to frequent dive bars, back alleys and low-rent motels, feeling a kinship in some of the more dangerous and dank places in the country. But she doesn’t feel safe there any longer.
One of the film’s strongest ideas is how Ferrell’s presence helps take the spotlight off of Harper. He’s there to ease the tension at a local bar, to order a 72-pound ribeye at a steakhouse or dress in an outrageous outfit at a fancy dinner so no one will bother them and Harper will be the most beautiful person in the room. It’s a tricky approach – when things go well at the dive bar, for instance, it’s hard to tell whether the patrons would be as friendly if a likable movie star wasn’t in the room. But sometimes, even Ferrell’s presence doesn’t ensure smooth sailing, and the film’s most affecting moments are when the funnyman tearfully regrets not pressing Indiana’s governor harder on his anti-trans laws, or dealing with the toxic social media fallout of the duo’s night at the steakhouse.
I don’t cry easily in movies, but I’m easily moved by depictions of goodness. And I found the room getting a bit dusty throughout Will & Harper just because of the empathy and support on display. It made me admire Ferrell a little more, and Harper is a brave, likable and beautiful soul. Will & Harper isn’t revelatory, but it is a touching, funny and much-needed antidote to our toxic and divided culture.
Join or Die isn’t as emotional a journey, but it’s a fascinating one. A celebration of social scientist Robert Putnam and his life’s work – most notably, his best-selling book Bowling Alone – it’s a glimpse at the loneliness epidemic and makes a strong case that joining a club could save lives and make our nation a better place.
I won’t rehash Putnam’s research here; there are articles out about him and Bowling Alone is still in print (I’m reading right now). But the gist of it is that, in the 1970s, while studying which Italian states thrived and which failed, Putnam discovered that civic involvement was key to a successful community. Coming home, he found the same thing in America, but quickly noticed something troubling: involvement in municipal clubs, sports leagues, churches and other organizations was declining across the board. His book got its title from the fact that, while more people than ever were bowling, fewer were joining leagues.
Putnam is an interesting figure. He’s an excitable researcher who’s been honored by presidents, and he’s a great storyteller. And the film makes a compelling argument that our tendency to isolate ourselves from others and go it alone is partially responsible for our anxiety, bad health and our divided political atmosphere. When you bowl with a friend who doesn’t share your political views, it’s a lot harder to demonize them. Churches and municipal groups like Kiwanis or the Lions Club are not just vital places to make connections; they contribute to the community and are crucial in making towns and cities better places. Fraternal organizations often provide friendship, structure and hope to people who have had rough lives.
Again, I won’t go into it all – that’s what the film is for. But it’s a fascinating and convincing argument, and could hold an answer to so much of the toxicity in our nation these days. And while it might sound like an “eating your vegetables” documentary, being so heavily based on research and thick books, directors Rebecca and Pete Davis use an array of tactics to keep it interesting and moving along briskly. Yes, sometimes it seems to be more of a celebration of Putnam than an exploration of his ideas. And I wish the film built on Putnam’s research by exploring how our isolation might have only been exacerbated by social media and smartphones. But it’s still worth exploring and discussing these ideas.
What I’m saying is: go see these movies.
Will & Harper is now on Netflix; Join or Die is touring the country – check its website to see when it will be playing near you.