“I love you just the way you are.”

It’s what Mark Darcy (almost) famously says to Bridget Jones, his paramour, near the end of Bridget Jones’s Diary — a film I love to absolute bits despite its (many) flaws.

But while I’ve spent more than one Christmas watching and rewatching Bridget — and even talking over it to complain...

I’ve noticed that, lately, I’ve been trading in this straight romantic fantasy for its queer version.

Because the fantasy in queer films is a parent (or parental figure) who tells you this — only it's I love you just the way you are.

In Pride (2014), it’s a mother figure wishing Gethin Happy Christmas in Welsh because his mother can’t — which leads to him finally returning home to Wales to declare, “I’m in Wales! And I don’t have to pretend to be something that I'm not! I'm home! And I'm gay! And I'm Welsh!”

In Call Me by Your Name, it’s Elio’s father telling him: he sees the friendship that was something more with Oliver, and he wants Elio to treasure it. And then, at Christmas, it’s the way his parents treat Oliver (on the phone) like a son-in-law because they’ve already accepted him as family — something Oliver says he would never get from his parents.

And in All of Us Strangers, it’s Adam’s mom singing along to the lyrics of Pet Shop Boys’ “Always on My Mind,” quietly apologizing for her shortcomings as a parent in the only way she can:

“Maybe I didn't treat you

Quite as good as I should

Maybe I didn't love you

Quite as often as I could

Little things I should have said and done

I never took the time

You were always on my mind

You were always on my mind.”

Because the queer fantasy of acceptance is one we can all get behind — even if it’s not something the world always offers.

But film can be a consolation, too, even when it isn’t offering a fantasy.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot this year, thanks to Joachim Trier’s new film Sentimental Value (the year's very best film now on VOD!), which isn’t a queer film but offers a different, equally important catharsis.

Sentimental Value refuses to give in to the fantasy (except perhaps in the film within a film) of a (in this case, narcissistic) parent even recognizing their shortcomings, let alone doing anything about them.

It offers something instead: that catharsis doesn’t always come from the people we think we need it from, but can be achieved nonetheless.

Which is kind of a bitter pill, but a hopeful one, too, perhaps because it’s a realistic one.

And yet it’s also the inverse of Trier’s first masterpiece (and my favourite film), Oslo, August 31st — where, like an Aristotelian tragedy, the catharsis doesn’t happen onscreen, but with us, the audience. (And I find it hugely life-affirming because real life so rarely delivers that catharsis — but the film still does!)

In the new year, I’ll be diving into Oslo, August 31st and Sentimental Value — and how they build catharsis through film form — in a new offer called The Deep Focus.

But for now…

Wishing you whatever kind of closure, comfort, or catharsis you need today.

Happy Christmas!

Alex