About an hour into the new Netflix documentary “Will and Harper,” Hollywood actor and comedian Will Ferrell and his close friend Harper Steele take stock of the cross-country trip the two have embarked on. Steele, a former “Saturday Night Live” writer, reads off a handful of hate comments people had posted on social media following a string of public appearances by the two.
They share a look, and Ferrell says he hadn’t much considered that his usual humorous antics would expose his trans friend to difficult public sentiment. It’s the most impactful scene in a solid film documenting what it’s like to be a trans American in close proximity to a celebrity. As Steele notes toward the end of the film, not many trans people have a legendary funnyman like Ferrell to help shield them from direct harassment.
As Steele notes toward the end of the film, not many trans people have a legendary funnyman like Ferrell to help shield them from direct harassment.
The film centers on Steele’s identity as both a trans woman who came out during the pandemic-era lockdowns and someone who has historically enjoyed cross-country, sometimes sketchy, travel all over the U.S. While most people may see the film as a Will Ferrell “trans 101” learning experience, in which he gets to ask his trans friend the usual curious questions about her identities, to me the film is more about Steele’s relearning how to exist in some of her favorite types of places as a trans woman, using her celebrity friend as a sort of soft landing toward that goal.
Before her transition, Steele used to love stopping at random dive bars in the deepest red areas of the country, sometimes even hitchhiking from place to place. But after her transition, she’s been afraid to go back to those places, sticking closer to the safety of her home just outside New York City.
This is a real problem for many trans women, me included. Though I came out half a decade before the pandemic, I haven’t been up for going out much since the Covid era. Where I used to be a frequent traveler around the States, now I would rather stay at home as the country has descended further and further into Republican-driven hatred for trans people.
I imagine Steele’s story will be relatable to many trans women. But interestingly, in the documentary, her actual interactions with folks out in public don’t match up with the many hate comments online or the reports of danger that we read so often.
In one scene, Steele decides to walk alone into a bar somewhere in deep red rural America while Ferrell waits in the car. As she enters, the camera captures some sketchy glances from some of the bar’s patrons, a Confederate flag and a bunch of Trump paraphernalia on the walls. Eventually, Steele works up the nerve to strike up a conversation with another bargoer nearby, and it goes well. Only after she attaches herself to a group at the bar does she call in Ferrell, who obviously captured the attention of everyone there.
The conversation was genuine and full of personal curiosity and not related to her trans identity. In another scene shortly after, Steele and Ferrell go to a stock car race on a dirt track in Oklahoma. There, Steele mentions to a couple of guys in the stands that she used to attend races like that all the time before her transition but since then she hasn’t been sure how people would react.
Personal contact and connection have always been the best weapon for LGBTQ acceptance in the U.S., and trans issues are no different. The men she’s talking to, who look straight out of central casting for rural white American men, encourage her to come back. “Don’t be afraid. If you want to come out, come out,” one says, implying that they’re all just racing people. In another scene earlier in the film, Steele and Ferrell meet and take photos with Indiana Gov. Eric Holcomb, a Republican, at an Indiana Pacers basketball game. Afterward, the two discuss how Holcomb signed legislation outlawing gender affirming care for trans minors and talk about how they wish they had thought of it in the moment so they could have asked the governor about the issue. Overall, “Will and Harper” tells an interesting story about how America is tangling with the issue of trans rights. In face-to-face conversation, Steele’s trans identity seemingly isn’t an issue. The film captures genuine connections with strangers, while all the hate and vitriol are reserved for keyboard warriors who never bother to interact with Steele face-to-face, having only seen her from afar at the Pacers game or at a steakhouse in Texas. Personal contact and connection have always been the best weapon for LGBTQ acceptance in the U.S., and trans issues are no different. While the documentary tells a touching story about friendship enduring a major change, to me it’s also a story about America enduring a transition of its own: finding a fit for trans people in red state America. If only every trans American could have a celebrity like Will Ferrell around for safety.
Katelyn Burns is a freelance journalist based in New England. 
