You might not know it from the publicity campaign, but the latest big-screen project for breakout “Euphoria” actor and sex symbol Jacob Elordi is 100% a gay love story.

Alright, perhaps that’s not entirely accurate. “On Swift Horses” – adapted from the novel by Shannon Pufahl and directed by Daniel Minahan from a screenplay by Bryce Kass – actually splits its focus between two characters, the other of which is played by “Normal People” star Daisy Edgar-Jones; but since that story arc is centered around her own journey toward lesbian self-acceptance, it’s unequivocally a “Queer Movie” anyway.

Set in 1950s America, at the end of the Korean War, it’s an unmistakably allegorical saga that stems from the marriage between Muriel (Edgar-Jones) and Lee (Will Poulter), a newly discharged serviceman with dreams of building a new life in California. His plans for the future include his brother Julius (Elordi), a fellow war vet whose restlessly adventurous spirit sparks a kindred connection and friendship with his sister-in-law despite a nebulously strained dynamic with Lee. Though the newlyweds follow through with the plan, Julius opts out in favor of the thrill of a hustler’s life in Las Vegas, where his skills as a card shark gain him employment in a casino. Nevertheless, he and Muriel maintain their friendship through correspondence, as he meets and falls in love with co-worker Henry (Diego Calva) and struggles to embrace the sexual identity he has long kept secret. Meanwhile, Muriel embarks on a secret life of her own, amassing a secret fortune by gambling on horse races and exploring a parallel path of self-acceptance with her boldly butch new neighbor, Sandra (Sasha Calle), as Lee clings obliviously to his dreams of building a suburban family life in the golden era of all-American post-war prosperity.

Leisurely, pensive, and deeply infused with a sense of impossible yearning, it’s the kind of movie that might easily, on the surface, be viewed as a nostalgia-tinged romantic triangle – albeit one with a distinctively queer twist. While it certainly functions on that level, one can’t help but be aware of a larger scope, a metaphoric conceit in which its three central characters serve as representatives of three conflicting experiences of the mid-century “American Dream” that still looms large in our national identity. With steadfast, good-hearted Lee as an anchor, sold on a vision of creating a better life for himself and his family than the one he grew up with, and the divergent threads of unfulfilled longing that thwart his fantasy with their irresistible pull on the wife and brother with whom he hoped to share it, it becomes a clear commentary on the bitter reality behind a past that doesn’t quite gel with the rose-colored memories still fetishized in the imagination of so many Americans.

Fortunately, it counterbalances that candidly expressed disharmony with an empathetic perspective in which none of its characters is framed as an antagonist; rather, each of them are presented in a way with which we can readily identify, each following a still-unsatisfied longing that draws them all inexorably apart despite the bonds – tenuous but emotionally genuine – they have formed with each other. To put it in a more politically-centered way, the staunch-but-naive conformity of Lee, in all his patriarchal tunnel vision, does not make him a villainous oppressor any more than the repressed queerness of Muriel and Julius make them idealized champions of freedom; all of them are simply following an inner call, and each can be forgiven – if not entirely excused – for the missteps they take in response to it

That’s not to say that Minahan’s movie doesn’t play into a tried-and-true formula; there’s a kind of “stock character” familiarity around those in the orbit of the three main characters, leading to an inevitably trope-ish feel to their involvement – despite the finely layered performances of Calva and Calle, which elevate their roles as lovers to the film’s two queer explorers and allow them both to contribute their own emotional textures – and occasionally pulls the movie into the territory of melodrama.

Yet that larger-than-life treatment, far from cheapening “On Swift Horses,” is a big part of its stylish appeal. Unapologetically lush in its gloriously photographed recreation of saturated 1950s cinema (courtesy of Director of Photography Luc Montpellier), it takes us willingly into its dream landscape of mid-century America – be it through the golden suburbs of still-uncrowded Southern California or the neon-lit flash of high-rolling Las Vegas, or even the macabre (but historically accurate) depiction of nuclear-age thrill-seekers convening for a party in the Nevada desert to watch an atom bomb detonate just a few short miles away. It’s a world remembered by most of us now only through the memories and artifacts of a former generation, rendered with an artful blend of romance and irony, and inhabited by people in whom we can see ourselves reflected while marveling at their beauty and charisma.

As lovely as the movie is to look at, and as effective as it is in evoking the mix of idealism and disillusionment that defines the America of our grandparents for many of us at the start of the second quarter of the 21st century, it’s that last factor that gives Minahan’s film the true “Hollywood” touch. His camera lovingly embraces the beauty of his stars. Edgar-Jones burns with an intelligence and self-determination that underscores the feminist struggle of the era, and the director makes sure to capture the journey she charts with full commitment; Poulter, who could have come off as something of a dumb brute, is allowed to emphasize the character’s nobility over his emotional cluelessness; Calle is a fiery presence, and Minahan lets her burn in a way that feels radical even today; Calva is both alluring and compelling, providing an unexpected depth of emotion that the film embraces as a chord of hope.

But it is Elordi who emerges to truly light up the screen. Handsome, charismatic, and palpably self-confident, he’s an actor who frankly needs to do little more than walk into the scene to grab our attention – but here he is given, perhaps for the first time, the chance to reveal an even greater depth of sensitivity and truth, making his Julius into the film’s beating heart and undisputed star. It’s an authenticity he brings into his much-touted love scenes with Calva, lighting up a chemistry that is ultimately as joyously queer-affirming as they are steamy.

Which is why Sony Pictures’ promotions for the film – which avoid directly referencing the sexuality of its two main characters, instead hinting at “secret desires” and implying a romantic connection between Elordi and Edgar-Jones – feels not just like a miscalculation, but a slap in the face. Though it’s an eloquent, quietly insightful look back at American cultural history, it incorporates those observations into a wistful, bittersweet, but somehow impossibly hopeful story that emphasizes the validity of queer love.

That’s something to be celebrated, not buried – which makes “On Swift Horses” a sure bet for your must-see movie list.

If you’ve ever wondered why so many queer movies are are coming-of-age stories, it might be that you were lucky enough to go through the transition into young adulthood without having to worry about your sexual alignment or gender identity being acceptable to your family or your friends or the world at large – and if that’s the case, we are truly happy for you. That’s the way it should be for everyone.

Unfortunately, it’s not. For many millions of queer kids, growing up is still an experience fraught with fear, shame, and very real peril, and this was true even before the current era of government-sanctioned homophobia and bigotry. It’s never been easy to become who you are when you’re surrounded by a family or community that refuses to accept who you are. It’s as near a “universal” queer experience as one can imagine in a demographic as diverse as ours, and it reinvents itself with each new generation – so there will always be an appeal for queer audiences in stories which express that often painful odyssey in a way that makes us feel “seen.”

That’s why “Egghead & Twinkie” – a 2023 film fest fave only now getting a VOD release (on April 29) – is such a welcome and refreshing addition to the genre. A passion project from Asian American filmmaker Sarah Kambe Holland, who expanded it into a feature from a “proof-of-concept” short she made in 2019, it brings a Gen Z perspective, which makes it as unique and contemporary as it is recognizable and relatable.

Set in suburban Florida, Holland’s movie centers on the relationship of its two title characters. “Egghead” (Louis Tomeo) and “Twinkie” (Sabrina Jie-A-Fa), childhood friends with a deep bond from growing up across the street from each other, face a crossroads as the cute-but-nerdy Egghead prepares to depart for college, leaving behind Twinkie – an Asian-American adoptee raised by socially conservative white parents who is one year his junior – just as she is beginning to come to terms with her long-hidden lesbian identity. Planning to connect with her social media crush (Ayden Lee) at a nightclub event in Texas, she enlists Egghead to accompany her as she “runs away” from her restrictive parents into the arms of a girlfriend she has never actually met in person, at a bar she’s too young to get into. Needless to say, it’s not a great plan – especially since the straight Egghead has long-hidden feelings of his own for his BFF – but it leads to a shared adventure in which they each must redefine both their feelings and their commitment toward each other, while staying one step ahead of her frantic family and dealing with the mishaps inherent in taking an impromptu cross-country road trip in a car you stole from your father.

There’s a youthful verve to the whole affair, punctuated with the inevitable irony that comes from watching it unfold through the eyes of age and experience – something that younger viewers may appreciate less than its spirit of boldness and (admittedly comedic) rebellion – and embellished with a visual aesthetic that reflects both Holland’s background as a YouTube “content creator” and the lead characters’ shared love of comics and animé; but what gives the film that extra “oomph” and makes it feel more significant than many of the other youth-oriented queer entertainments of recent years is not so much about the style of its storytelling as it is the nature of the relationship at its core.

Though “Egghead & Twinkie” is unequivocally a queer coming-of-age movie – which certainly deals with its teen lesbian protagonist’s journey to self-acceptance and includes an unexpected but irresistible connection with a fellow queer Asian American teen (Asahi Hirano) she meets along the way – it is ultimately a film less about queer identity than it is about friendship. While it allows ample opportunity for Twinkie to refine her values and learn from the mistakes of her rebellious quest for self-acceptance, it never loses sight of the fact that her long-term relationship with Egghead is one of mutual support and unconditional love. More than a romance, this YA-ish story of love beyond sexuality is a tale of true allyship, in which the unconditional understanding between friends – between fellow living beings – becomes more important than the romantic fantasies usually highlighted within more naive conceptions of queer existence. It’s a love story, to be sure, but the love it lifts up is the kind which ultimately has little to do with questions of sexual identity; instead, it’s the kind that transcends biology and sexuality to express something arguably more essential – the genuine emotional bond between two kindred souls that grows from shared experience and mutual acceptance. It’s that rarest of movies which celebrates the value of platonic love, and ultimately reinforces the connections of our shared humanity as being just as significant as those forged through our sexual makeup. It’s a love story between friends, not a romance between strangers, and the fact that its platonic protagonists are able to find the value of their connection beyond juvenile assumptions and impulses makes it arguably a more mature and insightful experience than even the most idealistically rendered young-love fantasy could ever hope to be.

Of course, its success in achieving that goal hinges on the chemistry between its two young stars, and both Jie-A-Fa and Tomeo capture that alchemical magic with natural ease; both performers originated their roles in the short that inspired the feature, and the familiarity of their dynamic together goes a long way toward making it work. Additionally, the performances of both Hirano and Lee – indeed, even of Kelley Mauro and J. Scott Browning as Twinkie’s clueless but ultimately loving adoptive parents – avoid the kind of judgement and clichéd convention that might otherwise make them predictable stock caricatures.

In the end, though, it’s the hopeful, humanistic vision of Holland – who also wrote the screenplay – that informs “Egghead & Twinkie” and helps it resonate beyond the typical. In crafting a queer coming-of-age story that has less to do with sexual wiring than the need for the grounding, life-affirming power of unconditional love, she has managed to craft a vibrant, hopeful, and heartfelt testament to the power of real humanity to overcome and transcend the prejudices and boundaries imposed by a social order that hinges on conformity over individual fulfillment.

That’s not just a queer issue, it’s a human issue – which is why this sweet, charming, and genuinely funny teen “non-romcom” captures us so willingly and so completely.

Creating a worthy remake can be a tricky proposition, especially when the movie being remade is a beloved classic – but that doesn’t mean it’s an impossible one.

Consider Andrew Ahn’s new version of 1993’s “The Wedding Banquet,” a film that put future “Brokeback Mountain” director Ang Lee on the proverbial map in America, which opens in theaters this weekend after a debut at Sundance earlier this year. The original, an American/Taiwanese production which became a surprise hit in the U.S., broke ground with its story — a culture-clash comedy of manners about a queer romantic triangle attempting to stage a sham wedding, it was quickly embraced by LGBTQ audiences thrilled to see representation on the big screen – and positive representation, at that – in an era when it was even scarcer than it is today. To undertake a remake of such a film is a bold move, to say the least.

Yet gay Korean American writer/director Ahn (“Spa Night,” “Fire Island”) has built his blossoming career on films about queer relationships among Asian American characters, with as much (or more) emphasis on family, both biological and chosen, as on romantic partnership; It seems natural, perhaps, for him to reinterpret this influential classic through his own lens, and he’s already proven himself as a filmmaker whose strengths line up perfectly with the material.

Even so, Ahn hedges his bets, perhaps, by collaborating on the new screenplay with James Schamus, who also co-wrote the original (along with Lee and Neil Peng), and the result is a movie that – although it recrafts the original romcom for a newer age and reconfigures its central relationships a bit to “up the ante” on its complications – stays relatively faithful to the broad strokes of its plot.

In this iteration, the New York setting is transposed to Seattle, and the plot revolves around not just one queer romance, but two: Chris and Min (Bowen Yang and Han Gi-Chan), a stalled grad student and his South Korean boyfriend, and their lesbian friends-and-landladies Lee and Angela (Lily Gladstone and Kelly Marie Tran), who are struggling to become parents through expensive IVF treatments. Min, an artist whose temporary visa is about to expire, wants to stay with Chris and build a life in America, but his grandmother (Youn Yuh-jung) – currently running the vast family business empire to which he is heir – wants him to come home and claim his place in the organization. A wedding to Chris would secure him the green card he needs to defy his grandmother’s demands, but it would also mean outing himself as gay and potentially being cut off from his inheritance. As a solution, he offers to pay for Lee and Angela’s fertilization procedure in exchange for a “green card wedding” with the latter, ensuring that he can remain in the U.S. while also remaining in the closet to his family.

Of course it’s an idea as bad as it sounds, but despite some reticence, the couples agree to the plan; but when Grandmother decides to come to America and meet the bride in person, the four of them must attempt to pull off a masquerade that escalates far beyond their expectations after she insists on putting on a traditional – and elaborate – Korean wedding worthy of her grandson’s exalted status, all while wrestling with the ambivalence and doubts that begin to encroach on their relationships as the scheme begins to fray at the edges.

Those who’ve seen the original already know that things don’t play out exactly as planned – and anyone who hasn’t won’t be surprised when it doesn’t, anyway. We already told you it was a bad idea.

That, of course, is the charm of the romcom, a genre in which mishaps, crossed wires and conflicts are all part of the fun, and in any case it gives Ahn’s film the opportunity to explore – as Lee did with the original – the more serious and relatable challenges of reconciling our queerness  with the deeply ingrained traditions of our cultural backgrounds; he does so with gentle wit and an equal measure of respect, but he’s not above getting laughs by pointing up the sheer absurdity that sometimes goes along with the process. Neither does he hesitate to delve into the messiness of queer relationships, even (and perhaps especially) with lifelong friends, or the deep insecurities and self-criticisms which get in the way of sorting them out.

To these ends, “Wedding Banquet” relies heavily on its cast, who embrace and clearly relish the chance to flesh out these characters. Yang brings his inevitable “SNL” star power to the table but downplays the wackiness in favor of a more nuanced tone, and Gi-Chan shines as his pragmatically idealistic partner; Gladstone’s intelligence and authenticity is a grounding force, while Tran counterpoints her with an eminently likable turn as her spunky-but-anxious misfit of a girlfriend – and the resonance they each bring to the prospect of motherhood highlights the longing for family and legacy that so many queer couples carry as they build their lives together.

It’s not all about the couples, though. Veteran Chinese American actress Joan Chen (“Tai Pan,” “Twin Peaks”) is a scene stealer as Angela’s hyper-supportive mom, whose participation in her daughter’s “lavender wedding” requires her to go against her deepest instincts as a proud ally, and Bobo Le provides a further connection to the theme of family with a charming performance as Yang’s tomboy-ish little sister. The anchoring performance, however, comes from acclaimed Korean star Yuh-jong, whose shrewd, savvy, and staunch portrayal of Gi-Chan’s power-player grandma adds a much-needed dose of level-headed wisdom into the midst of the whirlwind.

In the end, Ahn’s update of Lee’s classic comedy scores big points for honoring the original’s message of acceptance and embracing the notion of reimagining our traditional ideas about family structure to meet the needs of an ever-changing world; it also succeeds in maintaining a heartfelt sense of empathy for each of its characters, all of whom appeal to us precisely because of their imperfections and their hangups. None of them are perfect, but all of them are perfectly human, which goes a long way toward making Ahn’s remake feel like more than just the slickly-made feel-good romcom it resembles.

And yet, given the screwball potential and the endless possibilities for farcical developments in the convoluted deception attempted by its sets of lovers, Ahn’s “Wedding Banquet” could have been funnier. Leaning into an idealized and sentimental perspective as it gracefully brings its characters’ lives into place, it occasionally feels a bit “precious,” too “Hollywood” to be believed.

Again, however, this is part of the charm of the romcom: if generations of straight audiences have gotten the chance to buy into idealized big screen fantasies about life and love, then why shouldn’t we enjoy the same privilege?

With that in mind, “The Wedding Banquet” makes for a perfect opportunity to entertain and validate ourselves – and even if it doesn’t tickle your funny bone, it’s a generous enough feast for your queer soul that it deserves you to see it.

Just make sure you bring somebody special to share your popcorn with.