On 25 November, Happiest Season, starring Kristen Stewart and Mackenzie Davis, and written by Clea DuVall and Mary Holland, made its debut on Hulu. Due to the scarcity of lesbian romantic comedies, this film broke the streaming platform’s premiere records as queer audiences swarmed, eager for positive LGBT+ representation.
In countless interviews, the cast emphasized the couple’s “happy ending.'' This of course refers to the ‘Bury Your Gays’ trope in queer cinema — the tendency to kill off and/or break up LGBT+ couples. In contrast, this film boasts of Abby and Harper’s prevailing romance. However, ironically, most who watched this film wished for nothing more than for the pair to separate.
It always had the potential to be rocky — the trailer revealed a plot centred around the closeted Harper (Davis) who brings her girlfriend, Abby (Stewart), home for Christmas. Although it would have been refreshing to have a queer romcom where sexuality was not the main plot point, its comedic format seemed to assuage concerns. Perhaps the humour would make light of a potentially traumatic situation; we see Kristen Stewart literally hiding inside of a closet, and the couple scrambling to conceal their shared night together when family members barge into a bedroom unannounced. These ridiculous moments emphasise the sillier memories that come from being closeted to your family. As a result, queer audiences let their guards down, prepared for a fun, relatable romcom. Instead, our hopes were shattered when we were presented with 1 hour and 40 minutes of emotional abuse.
Harper’s treatment of Abby is inexcusable. To highlight her worst moments: Harper first invites Abby to spend Christmas with her family under false pretences, only revealing that she is closeted when the couple have almost arrived at the house. Having been given no real opportunity to back out of the situation, Abby reluctantly agrees to hide the true nature of their relationship, and her own sexual identity. It is quickly revealed that the wealthy family is conservative and disapproving of the queer “lifestyle;” they aim to project the perfect image to better the father’s political campaign. Harper is complicit in her family’s hostile treatment of their guest, allowing them to ban Abby from a party after she is falsely accused of theft. After spending days ignoring Abby, leaving her alone in an unfamiliar town of strangers, Harper accuses her of being “suffocating” when she inquires why Harper had been out until 2am with her ex-boyfriend — an act made more worrisome by the family’s previous attempts to reunite the couple. At the film’s climax, Abby is publicly humiliated when the couple are outed — an accusation which Harper vehemently denies. Harper subjects Abby to all this trauma despite knowing that Christmastime is triggering for her girlfriend even under normal circumstances as it reminds her of the loss of her parents.
This film is essentially the romcom version of Get Out, but for white lesbians. Abby politely navigates the household’s increasing hostility that lurks behind their plastered smiles, whilst tucking away her own feelings of embarrassment, alienation and emotional pain. However, whereas in Get Out we have the satisfying ending of the main character’s escape, in true romcom fashion, the last fifteen minutes see the rapid resolution of the couple’s issues, and we are shown a flash-forward of their engagement.
DuVall accurately articulates the trauma of the closet experience through Abby’s friend, John, played by Daniel Levy. In a rare tender moment for the comedic character, John gives an impassioned speech explaining how each person’s varying levels of privilege affect their ability to come out. Indeed, queer people can sympathize with Harper’s position; it is understandable that one would struggle to nurture their partner when they are currently unable to nurture themselves.
However, this moving speech has the effect of excusing Harper’s toxic behavior. Although queer couples can understand her feelings, we also know we are responsible for the pain we inflict on others whilst repressing our true selves. Harper cannot help her familial situation, but she is responsible for her hasty decision to involve Abby, as well as her insensitive treatment which would even violate the expectations of a platonic friendship, let alone a romantic relationship. This circumstance instead required early disclosure, full transparency, an in-depth discussion of boundaries and constant communication and reassurance on Harper’s end. Hence, Harper’s closeted nature is merely the catalyst which exposes the deeper cracks in their relationship. Throughout the film, Harper reveals that she is not a kind or supportive partner to Abby, giving the audience very little to root for.
Harper’s irredeemability is made even more apparent by the introduction of her foil. Harper’s ex-girlfriend, Riley, befriends Abby and takes her to a local gay bar. It is not that this character is out that makes her more suitable for Abby, nor is it solely to do with the natural chemistry between Kristen Stewart and the charismatic Aubrey Plaza. Rather, it is because Riley’s character shows far more compassion towards Abby than we ever see Harper display. Consequently, many are wishing that this pair had ended up together instead of the central couple.
But underneath the internet's shipping of Stewart and Plaza lies a more poignant demand: the demand for self-respect. It is not just that queer audiences wanted Stewart to choose Plaza, it is that we wanted her to choose herself. Too often queer people feel compelled to remain in unhealthy relationships due to the smaller dating pool. This is exacerbated for lesbians, and even more so for lesbians of color, as we find that most LGBT+ spaces cater for and are populated by white gay men. As a result the “love the one you’re with” mentality persists, leaving many feeling stuck in their current partnerships, despite their obvious incompatibility.
Under these circumstances, the revolutionary ending would have involved Abby breaking up with Harper. Instead, Abby’s rapid exoneration of her girlfriend is not only highly disappointing, but a complete normalization of toxicity within LGBT+ relationships. Even though being closeted is an unfortunately universal experience for most queer people, Harper’s abusive behaviour should not also be presented as an accepted fact of the queer experience. After suffering in silence, enduring exclusion, humiliation, and even subtle gaslighting, it would have been more gratifying for Abby to take a definitive stand against this treatment by leaving the relationship behind.
It is imperative that in their desperation to give us the happy ending we all crave, writers do not overlook the importance of depicting healthy queer relationships. Recently, the Netflix show ‘Sex Education’ paired its gay character, Eric, with his former bully, Adam. Although Harper’s actions are not as severe as Adam’s, Happiest Season falls into a similar trap of allowing its closeted character to externalize their issues in an abusive manner with very little consequence. These stories, where the sole justification of a relationship rests on its longevity and endurance, fail to recognize that sometimes it is better to terminate the partnership. While LGBT+ audiences want to see a queer relationship survive to the end of a film, we do not want to see it at the expense of one character’s integrity.
Despite our high hopes, a ‘happy’ holiday romcom still eludes lesbians. For now, our on-screen queer Christmastime relationships remain restricted to dramas, with the critically-acclaimed masterpiece, Carol (2015), and Netflix’s exceedingly corny (but more diverse) indie, A New York Christmas Wedding (2020).
Louisa Johnson (she/her) is a writer from California, living in London. She has a First Class BA in English Language and Literature from King's College, London and is currently undertaking her MA in Global Creative and Cultural Industries at SOAS. In her spare time she writes about art, issues and current affairs related to Black people and the LGBT+ community on 'The Vital Blog': https://thevitalblog.wordpress.com/. She also co-hosts a podcast called 'The Monstrous Feminine' which discusses women's representation in horror films.
Follow Louisa on Twitter and Instagram: @louisaaajo