Throwback Review: ‘Edge of Seventeen’ (1998) and the Disappointment of Coming-of-Age
This review contains minor spoilers for Edge of Seventeen (1998).
“What makes a good gay film?” asks B. Ruby Rich, the author of New Queer Cinema. In 1998, the scholar described her feelings with the state of queer cinema, dreading the predictability and impossible, conflicting demands of gay and lesbian film festivals. She writes,
“…queer publics want films of validation and a culture of affirmation: work that can reinforce identity, visualize respectability, combat injustice, and bolster social status. They want a little something new, but not too new; sexy, sure, but with the emphasis on romance; stylish, but reliably realistic and not too demanding; nothing downbeat or too revelatory; and happy endings, of course. It’s an audience that wants, not difference or challenge, but rather a reflection up there on the screen of its collective best foot forward.”
I can understand this frustration with the state of queer film and television over two decades later, even at a time when there is more representation than ever for LGBTQ people. However, most contemporary queer media is made to appeal to the heterosexual masses rather than simply to actual LGBTQ people. As a collective group of consumers and creators, we have our polished, predictable visions of boy-meets-boy and girl-meets-girl, the onscreen deaths, the cartoonish homophobes, and a never-ending list of tropes and clichés that, by now, just seem expected for any queer character’s presence. There are exceptions, of course, when LGBTQ writers and directors are allowed to produce their own work the way they want. But most of the time, I find it difficult to discover a film or series that genuinely defies expectations and feels radically queer. Does a queer film have to be radical to be considered “good”? I don’t necessarily think so, but it is nice when a piece feels unpredictable, and brings something new to its own conversation, and feels as if it accurately portrays a queer experience.
One such hidden gem (on Netflix) is a gay coming-of-age independent film from 1998 titled Edge of Seventeen. Directed by David Moreton, Edge of Seventeen follows the loosely autobiographic story of its screenwriter, Todd Stephens, about growing up and coming out of the closet in Ohio during the 1980s. The film was shot in the actual town of Sandusky, Ohio where Stephens grew up, and utilized real locations like the amusement park and the local gay bar. We are introduced to Eric (wonderfully performed by Chris Stafford), a 17-year-old student on the last day of school who starts his summer job at an amusement park restaurant with his best friend, Maggie. Their boss is Angie, played by the Lord of the Lesbians herself, Lea DeLaria, in a role that she knows exactly what to do with. Among their co-workers is Rod (Andersen Gabrych), who catches Eric’s eye and begins flirting with him. “I’m into Madonna,” Rod signals. “Do you have a girlfriend?” Eric asks. Rod replies, “Yeah, his name’s Danny. Actually, we just kind of broke up.” Up to this point, Eric’s sexual preference remains unconfirmed by the text, but the subtext tells the audience all they need to know.
Eric and Maggie (in an expertly understated performance by Tina Holmes) are very close, but not romantic. They are so comfortable with each other that Maggie undresses in front of Eric and borrows his jeans. This particular type of relationship between a closeted boy and a straight girl rings true to life because of their naiveté and ignorance toward what is probably true. On the outside, Eric is just as unaware of his homosexuality as Maggie, but Chris Stafford’s performance eloquently demonstrates there is something else going on in his head. And at this age, if you are closeted, it is common to have a best girlfriend with whom you feel more than comfortable, even if the other party might have different ideas about your relationship. The other party may even think that there is potential for a romantic relationship.
Eventually, Eric has his sexual awakening, and it is awkward and strange and achingly accurate. The sex scenes portray something not always present in film — they are not romantic in the sense that there are swelling orchestral strings or smooth editing, or even the lingering feeling that you’re supposed to be moved by this. In a 1998 interview with IndieWire, Todd Stephens elaborates, “I’m sort of sick of dissolves and gooey sex scenes. It’s not real. When I wrote it, I pictured it done in real-time. We just wanted to show how amazing and sexy and hot and scary and freaky it is to get naked in front of somebody.” The sex also seems to physically hurt Eric more than pleasure him, which many gay men feel while having sex, especially for the first time (more filmmakers should note this). And as an audience member, you do get the feeling that Eric idealizes these experiences as being much more romantic than they really are.
Alongside his budding sexuality, Eric visually transforms throughout the story. From a relatively normal hairdo, Eric changes his look to freshly gelled and trendily styled, then bleached on top with a side-flip, then combed over and accessorized with a hat. He also experiments with eyeliner and quirky fashion that completely contrasts with what other boys at his school are wearing. At a party, a classmate calls Eric “queer” because of his clothes, and Eric is forced to put spoken words to his thoughts. Upset, Eric drives to his first gay bar experience, a local dive named The Universal Fruit and Nut Company, and meets up with his old boss, Angie. Upon seeing her little queer baby all dressed up, Angie proudly welcomes Eric with open arms into her vibrant, colorful, gay world. There is a sudden sense of relief and comfort as the tension is released. Eric meets Angie’s local queer friends and dances with a man for the first time. After sniffing some poppers that are passed around the dance floor, Eric has sex with the man he just met in a car outside. After the encounter, Eric suggests another date and tries to kiss the stranger goodbye, but as he unenthusiastically accepts Eric’s phone number, it’s more than clear that this guy could not be more uninterested.
Realistic to the expectations of any newly-sexually-awakened teenager, Eric strives for a romantic relationship from at least one of these sexual encounters but is let down again and again. Eric gets so emotionally hurt that he works up the courage to come out to Maggie by telling her he thinks he is “into guys”, which, on a relatable level, is terminology fitting of Eric’s apprehension. Contrary to much of what I have seen in film and television, this particular coming-out scene prioritizes its character dynamics and realism above trying to manipulate its audience emotionally. There is dialogue that actually sounds like it was written by someone who has had this type of conversation before, and Chris Stafford and Tina Holmes superbly perform this scene in a way that does not feel melodramatic or overacted. Eric confesses he is scared, and he wants to meet someone special and fall in love, but he needs the support of his best friend in the meantime. Maggie lightly cries and supportively hugs him anyway as the camera lingers on her side of the hug, suggesting through visual language that Maggie is, on some level, let down by this, as it has been implied that she has strong romantic feelings for him. Coming-out scenes are tricky because these experiences vary from person to person. Even so, writer, director, and both actors skillfully establish feelings of trepidation, fear, anxiety, vulnerability, confusion, disappointment, and ultimately reverence and supportive friendship from both characters in less than four minutes. Fun fact: Maggie’s house was actually screenwriter Todd Stephens’s actual childhood home.
Like most teenagers, our protagonist makes numerous horrible and rash decisions throughout the film. Time and time again, Eric leads Maggie on without considering long-term consequences. He frequently lies to his mother even when he doesn’t need to and relentlessly tracks down Rod at his dorm even after Rod asks him not to call anymore. In an incredibly relatable line of action, Eric repeatedly attempts to recapture the electric feeling from when he first had sex. He also blindly considers every sexual encounter a potential relationship, and is disheartened when life does not match his expectations. In the last scene of the film, Eric goes back to The Universal Fruit and Nut Company with Angie and her friends, where he knows there will always be solace and pride, where he does not have to feel out of place. The film ends on a challengingly optimistic note that many gay movies up to this point have not — things end badly in almost all aspects of Eric’s life except for his relationship with himself. Life after his losing his virginity has proven to be very disappointing, but he is at least now out of his shell and living truthfully. Personally, this ending feels more accurate about what it is to “come of age” than what I am used to seeing onscreen. Our protagonist does not end up with a love interest, and many bridges have been burned, but life is only just beginning for Eric. With its grounded approach to storytelling, heartfelt performances, and lifelike dialogue, Edge of Seventeen manages to bring its own newness and unexpected realism to the coming-of-age genre.
It is unfair to compare this piece to other gay films written by gay people because there is no monolithic gay experience or coming-out journey. There should be a wide, limitless variety of media about gay people because every experience is different, and everybody deserves to feel represented. Edge of Seventeen realistically presents a specific type of coming-out journey that I, a white gay male, feel a connection to, and I am privileged and fortunate to have such a film that makes me feel this way. And it warms my heart that more young LGBTQ people than ever will feel represented in today’s landscape of queer cinema and television, still, we can definitely do better. I’m not entirely sure what makes a “good gay film”, but it certainly helps when LGBTQ people are allowed to write and direct films that reflect their own reality.
Edge of Seventeen is available to stream on Netflix.
