Review: WILL & HARPER

 by Rob DiCristino

A cross-country odyssey of friendship, identity, and Pringles.

I’ve been best friends with the same group of guys since the fourth grade, a fact that comes as a great surprise to some who know me but absolutely no surprise to those who know me — or any of us — well. Our wives joke that we decided on each other early on and never needed anyone else in the mix, that despite moving to other states or undergoing life changes that would compromise our hang time — infants can’t play Halo — what was set in those days would never really change. We all have other friends, of course, but unlike relationships that are contingent on sharing a neighborhood or a workplace, ours never required that same structure or circumstance. Six months might go by without us seeing each other, but we can always just pick it up as if nothing’s changed. All of this is to say that Will Ferrell and Harper Steele sound like the same kinds of friends. They met on Saturday Night Live, where she was a writer and he was, well, Will Ferrell. They were colleagues. Friends. Brothers. Yeah. You see, back then, Will knew Harper as a man named Andrew.

After SNL, Harper would inspire the more esoteric side of Will’s filmography, co-writing films like Eurovision Song Contest, A Deadly Adoption, and Casa de mi Padre, while serving as a chief creative voice for Ferrell’s website, Funny or Die. All that time, Will knew his friend as a Midwesterner who loved cheap beer and crappy diners. They were drinking buddies and road trip partners. They went to each others’ weddings and birthday parties. They knew each others’ kids. So when a sixty-year-old Harper suddenly emailed Will to let him know that she had transitioned, that Andrew was becoming — had always been — a woman named Harper, Will was struck by a million questions: “Why the name Harper? How long did she feel this way? What made her keep this in for so long?” Most importantly, “How will this change our friendship?” So with director Josh Greenbaum (Barb and Star Go to Vista Del Mar) and his cameras in tow, they’ve set off on a road trip to answer these questions, ask a few more, and figure out exactly where they’re supposed to go from here.

Will & Harper is the document of that journey, the hopeful and delicate story of a friendship on the verge of a change. Or is it? One of the first and most striking things that separates the film from its supposed premise the lack of any tangible conflict between the two leads: After all, it’s not as if Hollywood Celebrity Liberal and Also Probably God-Hating Pornographer Will Ferrell is some closeted bigot who would have to compromise his personal and political views for his transgender friend. He’s attentive and supportive from first to last, asking only a few tongue-in-cheek questions — “Do you love your boobs?” — and acting mostly as an enthusiastic companion as Harper explores the Middle America that she fears no may no longer accept her for who she truly is. They hit the Grand Canyon, eat Pringles in a Wal-Mart parking lot, buy — and set off — fireworks, and visit Harper’s sister in their home state of Iowa. Audiences hoping for a sweetly-tinged road trip movie with the occasional laugh and revelatory tear will be more than satisfied with the result.

In fact, there’s very little conflict to be found anywhere in Will & Harper that isn’t a manufactured byproduct of a person — any person — going out in public with Will Ferrell. To wit: One sequence finds them visiting a Texas steakhouse and taking on one of those “Eat this gigantic steak in an hour and get it for free” challenges. Ferrell enters the restaurant dressed as Sherlock Holmes and loudly announces himself and his companion, drawing as much attention to them both as possible for the duration of their meal. And while a later scroll through Twitter reveals a barrage of insults from the usual faceless internet trolls, there are no uncomfortable confrontations in the restaurant. Or in the hotel pool. Or in the Confederate-flag-waving bar they visit in Oklahoma. In fact, getting misgendered at a greasy spoon is the worst of the indignities Harper faces, and while this certainly doesn’t diminish the incredible risks she is taking to reconcile her past and present lives, it’s hard not to feel like the experiment was compromised once it involved Will Ferrell and a camera crew.

In fact, a running thread about Harper’s close-minded therapist is brought full-circle when a woman at the Grand Canyon expresses regret for failing to support her own trans client. No argument. No apprehension. Just a peaceful encounter and a personal catharsis. This is as encouraging for us as it is for Harper, of course, and no viewer in their right might would wish harm on a documentary’s subject for the sake of a narrative, but it’s further proof that Will & Harper may have been better served by a different filmmaker or, more realistically, a different traveling companion. Harper still has questions about herself and her future, boundaries she still refuses to cross, and demons she still needs to vanquish, but Ferrell and Greenbaum clearly lack the comfort or imperative to interrogate any of that. And hey, that’s not their fault. If goofy jokes and celebrity cameos are all they can offer their friend in her time of need, then that’s great! I’m sure we’d all like to do the same. It just doesn’t make for a particularly compelling documentary. Whether that matters or not will be up to you.

Will & Harper hits Netflix today, Friday, September 27th.