In this documentary, two friends take a roadtrip across the continental United States in an effort to reconnect with each other and the world at large after one of them transitions from man to woman…

If you’ve known me in all my pretentious glory in recent years, it is likely you’ve heard my ‘anti documentary diatribe.’ I’d like to take this opportunity to clarify the speech a bit, if I may, and assert that I am not a documentary hater. I bemoan the streamlined, content-fetishization of most documentaries that seemingly get popular nowadays.

Netflix made a concerted effort in the past decade to put millions of dollars into popcorn documentary content with stylish cameras and shallow focus hyper-inflating contrived intrigue within deeply personal traumas.

Also, the headspace on the confessionals often serves no visual purpose and it drives me insane. This, so far, is an incredibly poor review of Will and Harper. Let me return to the point. What I mean to say is I think it is ironic that a film like Will and Harper comes along on Netflix(!) and manages to strike with such an authentic hopefulness and empathetic lens.

There’s a brilliant self-awareness that graces Will and Harper and invites a more personal exploration for the audience. It’s a cliché to acknowledge the vitriol that spews in the modern age through the luxury of social media, but that truth is a vital component of Will and Harper and by association our understanding of the landscape that they must navigate on their journey across America.

The thesis of the film is two-fold: there is a literal road trip across the US, a desire to uncover a macro-truth about how pervasive the widespread political ‘controversy’ of the trans-community truly is, and an interpersonal journey in which Harper and Will can ideally reconnect with one another and be able to better talk about their experience as individuals.

What ensues is a construct of pure empathy, not just for Harper and Will who unveil so much of their shared experience in such relatable ways that it should be normalized, but also for the nation itself. I often find myself bitter about the world looking at overarching outcomes of political elections and tying narratives that speak to generalizations and collectives about where the country’s heart has fallen, but the beauty of Will and Harper is that it reminded me—if only for an hour and 50 minutes or so—that the truth is likely far less easily categorized by boxes of hate and not hate.

On the film’s journey, Harper experiences the full gambit of spiteful hate bred from insecurity and lack of learned empathy, but she also experiences joy, compassion, inclusion, and recognition. The racetrack sequence remains the crown jewel of the film not only for its cathartic release, but simply because it paints so clearly the picture that the human experience is a shared one.

Harper feared being ostracized, feared the hate she would receive from the world because the world insisted on telling her that’s what it was wiling to give her, and even if it was only for the briefest of moments at that racetrack, in that bar, or in any of the countless places across the country, the world was willing to say, ‘no, come out to the track.’

For Will’s part, there is an important lesson in being a friend. It would be easy for Ferrell to rest on his laurels, place the cameras in the car in an effort to puff-piece himself comfortably further into superstardom, and it is this level of self-awareness that makes Will so honest in this film. It’s not lost on him that he has a position of authority—for lack of a better term—in dictating how this particular dynamic can unfold.

Will Ferrell wisely helps in setting the stage for the film from the perspective of a layman, as if to say, ‘many people have these questions that they are too scared to ask, so let a star like Will Ferrell be the analogue for those curiosities.’ In working through the discomfort, Will’s eyes open empathetically in the same way that one hopes the less-exposed audience’s would as well.

The question of the ‘success’ or proof of thesis about the world of Will and Harper is perhaps its only drawback. Is its artistry a mirage only capturing moments that paint another narrative for a more encouraging and accepting future? A documentary chronicling a moment in time can only be as successful as its subjects are willing to allow, and are we perhaps seeing the best behaved of the passersby as they yearn to have a drink with Will Ferrell?

I’d like remain optimistic that it’s not an illusionary experience for America, but it remains to be seen. It may be naïve of me, but I would like to believe that in seeing a shared experience, in relating to something onscreen, Will and Harper does have the power to save lives.

And if not, then perhaps relating to the journey of an interpersonal friendship, sharing in the catharsis of Harper as she reveals herself in that poignant moment outside of her mid-century modern house that she purchased to isolate herself from the world that she thought hated her, maybe that in and of itself is enough. 9/10