It’s no secret that Disney hasn’t exactly been at the forefront of LGBTQ+ representation in their films, despite their attempts to do so with minor characters or blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moments. So imagine my surprise when I realized Disney released a moving coming-out allegory in the summer of 2005 under the guise of a superhero movie.

On the surface, Mike Mitchell’s Sky High may just seem like a high school comedy with a silly twist. In reality, the film is thematically rich with ideas about authentic identity and pushing against societal structures.

Sky High tells the story of Will Stronghold (Michael Angarano), the son of two prominent superheroes (Kelly Preston and Kurt Russell), as he starts his education at a prestigious superhero high school. Much to his dismay, his powers have yet to manifest despite being well past the age at which most of his peers discovered their powers. 

A key function of Sky High as an institution is sorting its students into two categories—hero or sidekick—based on how they perform during a brief demonstration in front of their peers. On top of having no powers, Will and his friends are placed in the sidekick track based on the arbitrary evaluation process. Will opts to keep both facets of his identity a secret from his family.

The film ruminates in the middle ground between expectations and reality regarding identity and the shame that comes with being unable to fulfill those expectations. In the world of Sky High, there is a distinct, cookie-cutter image of what a hero should be, and anyone who doesn’t fit that mold is ostracized and othered. Even faculty who identify as sidekicks or don’t have powers are bullied by the hero students.

Despite their status, Will and his fellow sidekick friends settle into their path and come to form a found family. They empower each other to take ownership of their identity and make sense of the disparities that come with being a sidekick. It’s with this group that Will finds the courage to come clean to his family about his lack of powers and, when it doesn’t go well, the support system he needs to move forward.

When Will does display superpowers, he is finally acknowledged by the upper echelon of Sky High society and taken seriously. However, his companions aren’t permitted to move upward with him as they still don’t fit the “hero” mold. Ironically, when Will is at his most popular and meeting the expectations of those around him, he is at his unhappiest and loneliest.

Every character grapples with the system they are forced to participate in and the lifelong implications that come from not fitting into it. Will is placed as a sidekick despite being the son of two prominent heroes. Warren Peace (Steven Strait) is a bit of a pariah because his father is a villain. Will’s best friend, Layla (Danielle Panabaker), protests the two-track system of Sky High and is relegated to sidekick. Even Gwen Grayson (Mary Elizabeth Winstead), the most popular girl in school, turned supervillain, is counted out because her powers are rooted in technology rather than physical aptitude. It isn’t until each of these characters steps out of this system and owns their most authentic selves that they are their most powerful.

It’s hard not to watch this movie and not think of my own coming-out experience. I grew up in a conservative, religious suburb. From a young age, I was more effeminate and flamboyant, and adults immediately pointed out that I was not behaving as a boy should. I tried my hardest to fit the mold of what people expected of me but found it impossible and exhausting. I was miserable when I wasn’t being myself and felt disconnected from everything and everyone. Eventually, my real, flamboyant self always slipped out.

As I got older, I realized that I was the very thing I fought so hard not to be, the thing so many people made very clear was  “bad.” There came a point where I couldn’t deny it anymore and knew that I had to come out; however, all these questions intervened whenever I was presented with the moment to do so. Is this the right moment? Should I tell them at all? Will they still love me? Am I going to disappoint them? I agonized over how to say it, when to say it, and who to say it to for years. 

While waiting for the industry to catch up, LGBTQ+ people often derived their interpretations and representation from existing media. Sometimes, the movie resonates in a big way before we even have the vocabulary to understand why we felt seen. Although the ending of the film is typical boy-gets-girl heterosexual fare, Sky High struck a chord with my eleven-year-old self that’s held up for twenty years.

Initially, I wasn’t entirely sure why this film, which underperformed with audiences, remained such a powerful touchstone in my life. Then I realized, watching teens who did not fit societal parameters take ownership of their identity was earth-shattering for me.

It may not seem radical in comparison to the representation we see today. It’s all subtext. But a movie celebrating living authentically, coming out ten years before the legalization of same-sex marriage, feels quite special. In fact, Sky High’s resonance only intensifies as a piece of children’s media championing difference and authenticity in a culture where diversity is being scaled back left and right. 

Retrospective Courtesy of Adam Patla

Feature Image Credit to Walt Disney Pictures via Daily Disney News