As we approach Thanksgiving 2024, it seems safe to say that holiday dinners with the family back home are going to be even more stressful than usual.

Those conversations with cousins and in-laws around the table have always been a minefield to navigate for queer people from traditional families. This year, knowing that the uncle seated across from you voted for somebody who might take away your hard-won rights is sure to make that turkey pretty hard to swallow. With scenarios like that looming large in our minds, there’s a particular twinge of poignance to be felt in watching “Close to You,” a Canadian film from writer/director Dominic Savage in which Elliot Page plays a trans man returning to his small-town family home for his father’s birthday after being away for nearly five years.

Sam (Page) has been living in Toronto, renting a room from a friend-and-surrogate-mother (Sook-Yin Lee) while exploring and adjusting to big-city life as a trans man; now, he’s ready to return home for the celebration, but nervous about the reception he might receive. On the train ride home, he runs into Katherine (Hillary Baack), his “bestie” from school, and the warm – if somewhat awkward – acceptance he feels from her buoys him as he goes on to face his father (Peter Outerbridge), mother (Wendy Crewson), and the siblings and significant others who make up his immediate family circle. 

Things go reasonably well, at first, with a warm welcome from Mum, a newfound acceptance from Dad, and a tentative rekindling of connection with his sisters (Janet Porter, Alex Paxton-Beesley), but increasingly aggressive provocations from a transphobic extended family member (David Reale) become difficult to ignore. He finds an escape and some solace with Katherine, who overcomes an initial reticence to reconnect further after their chance reunion reawakens the emotional bond they once shared; but the old feelings and resentments stirred within his family dynamic threaten to derail any chance of true reconciliation at home, reminding him of why he left in the first place.

Moody, raw, and tinged with a melancholy that asserts itself even in its happier moments, Savage’s movie conveys a tone as chilly as the slushy Canadian winter of its setting. It takes the audience in close – literally, in the sense that much of it is shot in close-up, tight on its players’ faces as if we were part of the conversation – to provide a tangible feeling of intimacy and connect us to the emotional perspective of everyone involved. Much of it has an improvisatory feel, with dialogue that sometimes feels tentative or choked with uncertainty, yet allows for the eruption of frequent outbursts and the resonance of eloquently expressed thoughts. And its authenticity is reinforced by a collection of superb performances, with Page (who co-authored the film’s story with Savage) giving a deeply felt star turn as Sam and a gifted ensemble of actors in support. All together, it creates an atmosphere that effectively evokes the feelings of helpless vulnerability that are familiar to so many of us, queer or straight alike, when we return to the scenes of a youth that we longed to escape.

For some viewers, in fact, the film’s constant feeling of low-frequency anxiety will likely be too much. For many, of course, it will hit close to home, and trigger traumatic memories; for those who can’t relate, it may all seem a bit too “doom and gloom,” and others might see its respectful treatment of a trans narrative as being agenda-driven or even dismiss it as “woke” – though truthfully, those who might do that are not likely to be watching it in the first place. 

Which is not to say that “Close to You” is a complete downer; there are plenty of uplifting moments, too, when connections shine through and we are reminded that, underneath all the confusion and misunderstandings that have strained Sam’s relations with his family, there is love – even if the characters themselves may not feel it in that moment. Nor does it put all the focus of his emotional wariness on his transness; on the contrary, much of the conflict is focused on feelings of isolation, of being judged for having a different focus to his life than the rest of his very traditional family, and other things which make him “different” that have nothing to do with his gender. It celebrates the value of “found” family in the glimpses it gives us of Sam’s other relationships, and even gives us a spark of unexpected romance. In many ways, it might even be seen as a “feel-good” movie, were it not for the sense of unanswered sadness that underpins it all.

That, perhaps, is what makes it resonate not just as a trans story (though it is certainly first and foremost that) but one about queer experience overall: the knowledge that, no matter what positive changes are made or how fully one embraces one’s truth and identity, there will always be people who will judge you for who you are. The problem isn’t within you – it’s within them, so it’s something you can’t fix, and there’s a sense of powerlessness that comes from that.

In the cultural climate that has been suddenly thrust upon us in America, that’s undoubtedly a realization that has been haunting many of our thoughts about who we can trust in a society that has repeatedly shown its willingness to cast us out. It’s for this reason that “Close to You” carries an additional impact for queer audiences that might have been intended at the time of its making; after all, that uncle across the Thanksgiving table may have treated you perfectly well your whole life, but when you know that his love for you was less than his concern over the price of groceries, it’s hard to trust him again – and we’ve just been given a sobering reminder that there is a chillingly large percentage of our friends and neighbors for whom the same can now be said.

“Close to You” premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival in 2023, and was released in Canada and the UK earlier this year, along with limited screenings in the U.S. It’s now available for home viewing via multiple VOD platforms.

If you are anywhere in the Queer rainbow and you grew up as a Catholic, it’s possible — if not likely — that your relationship with that religious institution might be, to put it mildly, conflicted.

Though there are voices within the church establishment today that endorse official acceptance of LGBTQ people and support their equality, for most of its history that has not been the case. Yet, it has also represented a sort of sanctuary for queer people who could avoid the otherwise socially mandated expectations around sexuality and gender by excluding themselves from the conversation — through ordainment into the service of the church and the convenient vow of celibacy that came with it.

While such a path may not be appealing to most queer spiritual seekers today, the church still looms large in the psyche of those brought up in its traditions, and revelations about the vast record of sexual abuse that has taken place behind its sanctified veil have only complicated things further. That’s one reason why the queer appeal of “Conclave” — the buzzy screen adaptation of Robert Harris’s 2016 novel from director Edward Berger — cannot be denied; perhaps, in some fictionalized story about the inner workings of the church at its highest level, some resolution might be found to the centuries-old struggle between sexuality and religious faith.

Packed into a brisk two-hour running time, it wastes not a single frame in conveying its narrative, which chronicles the election of a new Pope after the sudden death of the old one and explores the labyrinthine politics that underlie that highly secretive process. Tasked by his role as Dean of the College of Cardinals to preside over it all is Cardinal Lawrence (Ralph Fiennes), a stoic thinker whose recent resignation from his position over a crisis of faith was rejected by the late pontiff himself; nevertheless committed to conducting the titular proceedings — and hoping to advance the progressive vision of his church’s future represented by popular candidate Cardinal Bellini (Stanley Tucci) — he tackles his responsibilities with a full sense of commitment.

It’s a task that will require all his unbiased wisdom to complete. In direct opposition to Bellini is Cardinal Tedesco (Sergio Castellitto), a reactionary traditionalist who wants to return the church to the policies of its ancient past, with more “centrist” candidates Tremblay (John Lithgow) and Adeyami (Lucian Msamati) bringing additional layers of political nuance to the voting process. With the various contenders trying to manipulate the outcome in their favor and an unforeseen influence rising in the form of newly appointed Cardinal Benitez (Carlos Diehz), Lawrence must set aside his worldly concerns and seek the guidance he needs not only from his keen intellect and understanding of human nature, but from the very faith he struggles with, as well.

Constructed like an old-fashioned potboiler, a mystery set in the halls of power and woven through with political intrigue and private ambition, “Conclave” plays like the kind of classic Hollywood “prestige” movie guaranteed to stir liberal sentiments while couching them in a socially aware yet entertaining yarn. Like most dramas set within a religious context, it invites speculation about the “hidden hand” of the Almighty behind the story, providing an entry point for audiences seeking reassurance about their beliefs in the midst of all the skullduggery, and even delivering an ending that allows the devout to remain steadfast to their faith; it blends philosophical and intellectual sophistication into the kind of thriller which, like the stylized “whodunnits” of Agatha Christie, unearths all manner of human corruption behind the pomp and decorum of a fiercely protected status quo as it inexorably works its way to a clever and satisfying finish — shepherded by Lawrence, standing in for the more worldly “master detectives” created by Christie and other authors of her genre thanks to his sharp intellect and shrewd observational skills. As such, it inevitably provides the expected twists, hidden secrets, and clandestine alliances through which the “mystery” will eventually be traced, and while we can’t always see where it’s headed, it steeps us in a comfortable familiarity that feels predictable anyway.

Still, that’s not entirely a bad thing; the sum effect of “Conclave” rises far above its generic structure, and makes it easy to forgive its tendency toward formula-dictated storytelling. That’s partly due to Berger’s direction, which sculpts the movie’s overall impact through its meticulous attention to detail, immersing us in its world with a near-tactile depiction of the rarified Vatican environment — aided immeasurably by the exquisitely moody cinematography of Stéphane Fontaine, who delivers a richly intimate yet tantalizingly dark setting immersed in the kind of deep shadows that seem to invite conspiracy  — while putting an unwavering focus on the internal narrative of its characters and the sometimes murky motives that drive them. It’s also thanks to the screenplay by Peter Straughan, which crafts those characters as much through what they choose not to say as by what they do, while skillfully using them to explore culturally-relevant themes about the corrupting influence of power and the antiquated prejudices that still hold sway within its cloistered walls.

Most of all, however, the film’s ability to grip us and draw us in rests upon its actors, most particularly Fiennes, already an odds-on favorite for this year’s Best Actor Oscar, who gives a career-best performance as Lawrence, turning a character who might easily seem too good to be true into a layered, relatable “Everyman” that has our instinctive loyalty from the first moment we meet him. Tucci, Lithgow, and Msamati all have standout moments, and Diehz shines as the quiet and unassuming Benitez — but it’s Isabella Rossellini who almost walks away with “Conclave” with her largely silent performance as a Vatican nun who says very little but sees and hears everything.

All this A-list quality certainly succeeds in making Berger’s movie into an engaging, intelligent, and visually impressive piece of populist cinema; and even if its twisty-and-interconnected plot developments sometimes stand out as a little too apt to be believable, its strong points far outweigh those mainstream “compromises.” Still, what likely has made “Conclave” into the first must-see title of awards season is more about what is happening offscreen rather than off. Much of the Papal election it portrays reflects hard-to-miss parallels with the real-life presidential election, which, at the time of this writing, had yet to take place. From the sharp divide between progressive ideals and regressive conservatism to the entrenched misogyny, racism, and homophobia that inserts itself into the process, everything about this fictional Catholic thriller reminds us of the American political campaigns of 2024. And as for specific relevance for queer audiences, we don’t like spoilers — but we can venture to say that at least a few of the film’s surprise developments have a profound resonance with LGBTQ concerns.

Of course, that might not be enough by itself to add this one to your watchlist; but there’s enough food for thought to be found in it that it is worth your while, no matter what.

 “Conclave” is now playing in theaters.

When Finnish-British filmmaker Mikko Mäkelä’s film “Sebastian” premiered at the 2024 Sundance Festival, he told Variety he wanted his movie to provide a “frank and honest portrayal of queer sexuality.” That’s surely enough to lure queer audiences – particularly gay male audiences, thanks to its gay male protagonist – with the promise of steamy onscreen sex, and his movie, now available on VOD platforms after a limited theatrical release, certainly delivers on it. 

That, however, is only half (perhaps less) of what it’s all about, because, like its title character, it lives in two worlds at once.

In fact, “Sebastian” isn’t even his real name. He’s actually Max (Ruaridh Mollica), an aspiring writer who works a “survival job” at a literary magazine while working on his first novel – a “pseudo-memoir” chronicling a gay sex worker’s encounters with various clients. It’s not exactly “pseudo,” though; the experiences he writes about are real, gained by advertising himself on a website for gay escorts to obtain “research” for his book. The results are getting him noticed, and a publisher (Leanne Best) is interested in the completed manuscript – but he finds his focus being pulled away from his “real” life and deeper into the anonymous thrill of exploring his own sexuality in the safety of an assumed identity.

It’s not just his work that’s affected; among the other things that begin to suffer from his growing obsession are his relationships: with his co-worker and bestie, fellow aspiring writer Amna (Hiftu Quasem); with his conservative mother back in Edinburgh, who already disapproves of his lifestyle in faraway, hedonistic London; and to a much older client (Jonathan Hyde) with whom “Sebastian” has developed an unexpected emotional attachment. Most of all, it’s his own sense of identity that is caught in the conflict, as he tries to keep both sides of his double life together while preventing his whole world from falling apart.

It’s a story with a lot of irons on the fire – a quality it seems to share with the novel its protagonist is writing, much to the irritation of his would-be publisher. What begins as the saga of a fledgling male escort – we first meet Max during his first booking as “Sebastian,” after all, suggesting almost from the start that it is this persona that is our true protagonist – soon shifts into that of an ambitious-but-frustrated young author attempting to fuel his creativity through lived experience, laced with the ongoing thread of his own sexual awakening and self-acceptance. It even makes overtures toward an unexpected (and unorthodox) love story, before venturing down a darker path to become something of a cautionary tale, a warning against the dangers of leading a compartmentalized existence and allowing the gratification of one’s personal appetites to overshadow all the other facets of our lives. Along the way, it throws in some commentary about the tense dynamic between creative expression and commercialism in the arts, not to mention the reinforcement of stigma and negative attitudes around sex workers – and sex in general – through the perceptions and representations created by social traditions and popular culture.

This latter perspective might be the key to what is really at the heart of “Sebastian” all along, toward which Mäkelä’s screenplay hints with a description of Max’s work-in-progress as being about “the shame of being ashamed.” From the beginning, it is his own fear of being found out that becomes his greatest obstacle; far more than his reluctance to cross lines he’s been raised to respect, it’s the dread of having his reputation and his prospects shattered that causes him to waver in his path – and that feeling is not unfounded, which is in itself a telling indicator that the power of social judgment is a very real force when it comes to living our authentic lives. Indeed, his personal taboos are quick to fall away as he pursues his undercover “research”, but the guilt he feels about being caught in a social position perceived as “beneath” his own is something he cannot shrug off so easily. With so many generations of religious and societal dogma behind them, such imperatives are hard to ignore.

Yet, there’s yet another aspect of “Sebastian” to discuss, that, while it is self-evident in the very premise of Mäkelä’s movie, might be easy to overlook in the midst of all these other themes. A story about someone pretending to be someone else is inherently about deception, and Max, regardless of his motives, is a deceiver. He deceives his clients to obtain the material for his writing, and he deceives his employers and his publisher about where he gets it; he deceives the people closest to him, he deceives potential romantic partners – but more than anyone else, he deceives himself.

It’s only by becoming honest with oneself, of course, that one can truly find a way to reconcile the opposing sides of our own nature, and that is the challenge “Sebastian” sets up for its protagonist, no matter which name he is going by in the moment. Whether or not he meets it is something we won’t spoil, but we’ll go as far as saying that a breakthrough comes only when Max is forced by circumstance to follow his instincts and “get honest” with someone – though we won’t tell you who.

In the end, “Sebastian” satisfies as a character study, and as a journey of self-acceptance, largely thanks to a charismatic, layered, thoroughly authentic performance from Mollica, a Scots-Italian actor of tremendous range who convincingly captures both sides of Max’s persona and transcends them to create a character that incorporates each into a relatable – if not always entirely likable – whole. Mäkelä’s steady, clear-eyed direction helps, as does the equally dignified and vulnerable performance from veteran character actor Hyde, whose chemistry with Mollica is as surprising as the relationship they portray in the film.

Even so, “Sebastian” suffers from the many balls it attempts to keep in the air. Though it aims for sex-positive messaging and an empathetic view of sex work, it often devolves into the kind of dramatic tropes that perpetuate an opposite view, sending mixed messages about whether it’s trying to diffuse old stereotypes or simply reinvent them for a modern age of “digital hustlers.” Further, in its effort to offer an unfiltered presentation of queer sexuality, it spends perhaps a bit more screen time than necessary showing it to us as explicitly as possible while omitting all but a glimpse of full-frontal nudity, but just enough to conjure the word “gratuitous.”

Don’t get us wrong, though; Mäkelä’s movie – only his second feature film effort to date – is an engaging, sexy, and ultimately thought-provoking ride, even if its tangled ambitions sometimes get the better of its narrative thrust, and it comes with our recommendation.

It’s just that, one of these days, we’d really like to see a movie where sex work is honestly portrayed as a job, just like any other – but I guess we’ll have to wait until society is ready for it before we get that one.