‘Palmer’: We’re Past The Need For Another Antiquated Allyship Drama Like Apple's Latest Film [Review]

“I’ve had a change of heart based on a personal experience,” said Senator Rob Portman in 2013 when announcing that his own son coming out inspired a shift in his stance towards marriage equality. For the previous Congress, the Senator received a 0 from the Human Rights Campaign’s scorecard for supporting LGBTQ rights in Congress. Perhaps this is an extreme example, but it points to a larger issue. Personal exposure to marginalized communities can help humanize them, but this acceptance is not sufficient to dismantle the systems of oppression and discrimination holding them down.

Yet, this lie continues to spread like wildfire through cinema. This pernicious misrepresentation of reality is not true when it comes to racism, despite what “Driving Miss Daisy” and “Green Book” might want us to believe. It is also not true when it comes to homophobia as the journey of Justin Timberlake’s titular character in Fisher Stevens’ “Palmer” might suggest. A similar undercurrent runs through the upcoming release Joe Bell,” another film starring a musician-turned-actor as a macho guy softened by bearing witness to the terrors foisted upon queer youth. These films are only interested in these bullied characters insofar as they can advance the straight male protagonist’s gradual journey away from their prejudices.

READ MORE: The 100 Most Anticipated Films Of 2021

Fresh out of a prison stint, Eddie Palmer returns home to Louisiana with the intention of rebuilding his life and reputation. That prospect is tough enough on its own in a town that remembers his crime all too well, a burden evident in every glimpse of Timberlake’s doe-eye despair. But the death of Palmer’s magnanimous grandmother, Vivian (June Squibb), bequeaths him another responsibility, one that proves both challenging and restorative.

Vivian had been taking care of a neighboring cherubic 7-year-old, the gender-nonconforming’ Sam (Ryder Allen), as his meth-addicted mother, Shelly (Juno Temple), has a habit of disappearing. All too familiar with the perils of falling into the system, Palmer takes mercy on Sam and agrees to serve as a temporary custodian. A man who grew up not knowing his own father is now obliged to assume the role in a surrogate capacity for a tyke who otherwise would have no one in his life.

READ MORE: The 25 Best Films Of 2020

Palmer’s first instinct is always to shield Sam from the abuse he faces from narrow-minded classmates by suggesting he toughen up. Either give into performing a traditionally masculine identity, or shove the bullies back. Yet in time, Sam’s innocent love of all things princess awakens childlike compassion in Palmer. This softening of his heart converts his passive tolerance into an active acceptance of who Sam is. Given the sense of comfort that radiates from Allen’s performance, Palmer would have to be made of stone not to melt.

Sam’s influence over Palmer opens the opportunity for romance with his teacher, Maggie (Alisha Wainwright), a development that is fairly indicative of the film’s priorities. Fisher Stevens does not appear to have any grandiose ambitions for what this one story represents, but that’s no reason to let it off the hook. “Palmer” constitutes little more than a celebration of entry-level allyship, which might have passed in 2013 but has little place in 2021. There is merit in a figure like Timberlake using his platform to bring this message to his fans, some of whom may need to be brought into the light. Yet, we should congratulate narratives and characters who take their audience on a journey culminating in an acknowledgment of biases and taking the most preliminary steps to correct them.

It’s not that the film does not understand what being an accomplice looks like. Knowing that Sam plans to dress up as a princess for Halloween, Maggie dons the costume of the school’s male principal in solidarity to demonstrate the performative nature of gender. This graceful moment makes for a welcome burst of radicalism in a film that too often excuses good intentions as their own reward. A better future for Sam and children just trying to live out their truth goes beyond just marching arm-in-arm in celebration at something like a Pride parade. It requires targeting structural and cultural issues that continue to oppress non-heteronormative youth at their root.

Gender-nonconforming kids deserve better than to see their existence limited to furthering the journeys of straight white men like Sam does in “Palmer.” Their appearances in media should be both more plentiful and purposeful. These children are worthy of attention in their own right, not just as an accessory to someone else’s path to redemption.

Then again, maybe it’s for the better that “Palmer” does not attempt to be that movie for Sam. When Cheryl Guerriero’s script comes into proximity with other hot-button issues like incarceration and addiction, it only skims the surface of engaging and understanding them. The film has nothing to say about Palmer’s borderline alcoholism (not like that condition has ever wrecked a family), and his challenges as a former prisoner are little more than plot obstacles. The less that can be said about Shelly’s deadbeat druggie of a mother, the better; no amount of Juno Temple’s humanizing spark could save her character from a mess of misguided tropes.

Shelly’s re-emergence in the film’s third act nearly derails the entire movie as her custody claim turns “Palmer” into a low-rent “Kramer vs. Kramer.” Her presence injects vitriol and venom into a film that’s best when remaining in a low key of nicety. Those good vibes at least make for pleasant company, even if they’re not going to change the world. We should expect more from movies, but in the meantime, we can at least settle for this. [C-]

“Palmer” arrives on Apple TV+ on January 29.