Director Noah Schamus’ directorial debut, Summer Solstice (2023), tackles ideas of performance and the beauty of finding someone who sees a person’s full self. The movie, which follows trans man Leo (Bobbi Salvör Menuez) and his longtime cisgender friend Eleanor (Marianne Rendón) on an impromptu weekend trip together, is an emphatic, enjoyable, yet fairly predictable drama about friendship, queer identity, and reconnection. 

The film is told with a simple beauty in its visual look and patient bridging of the characters’ differences. Shots of the green summer environment and poolside hangouts bring a soft and comfortable feeling of harmony with nature. Influences from the restless sensual dramas of Luca Guadagnino and Pedro Almodóvar are clear in nearly every frame, only further exemplified by its quiet guitar score.

One critical moment from the film features Leo practicing lines with Eleanor. Eleanor tells Leo that he needs to say his lines with more anger and emotion in his voice. Leo tells Eleanor that the character is gentler, and he wouldn’t have that much animosity growing inside him. Of course, this interaction represents the crux of Eleanor and Leo’s friendship and differing personalities. By practicing his lines to Eleanor, Leo is indirectly confessing his feelings to her. She doesn’t seem to notice.

Throughout their road trip, Eleanor and Leo reconnect over life and find their differences come to the surface with greater effect than ever before. Past love, feelings and emotions boil as the two realize they are farther apart than either would like to admit. When they find themselves lost in a forest, they are “Metaphorically lost and actually lost,” as Eleanor blatantly states.

While the film doesn’t always reach the emotional heights it’s going for, it does a solid job of telling this story about finding family. The set-up feels rushed in the first ten minutes, and the trip itself feels like a plot point that needs to happen rather than something that naturally occurs. As the story continues, however, Summer Solstice finds its footing in communicating how even when we fail to see the people around us, they are always there, even if we don’t want to admit it to ourselves.

Summer Solstice’s depiction of Leo as a transgender man is one of the movie’s most notable aspects. Many queer films about trans people focus largely on portraying transitioning rather than showing them living fully as themselves. Trans characters often must constantly explain their identity and existence to the cis people around them, making the films feel more directed toward cis audiences. In the process, these stories disservice the trans audiences that identify with the main character and see themselves represented on screen.

In this film, though, many scenes feature Leo simply existing as himself; it’s a beautiful sight. One scene featuring an uncomfortable conversation at a pool reveals some of Eleanor’s preconceived notions and microaggressions toward Leo. This is demonstrated when she questions why Leo isn’t taking his shirt off to swim. However, the film is not centered around Eleanor’s learning experience but rather how Leo and Eleanor grow apart and together in their own ways. As a result, Summer Solstice avoids falling into the pitfalls that a story like this could have fallen into.

The lead performance by Menuez is exuberant and easily the highlight of the entire film. Limited dialogue and precise physical reactions effectively bring Leo’s internal emotional struggle toward Eleanor to fruition. On the contrary, Rendón’s showy turn as Leo’s best friend doesn’t quite carry the same emotional honesty due to some false and overdone line readings.

The complex dynamic between Leo and Eleanor is the most compelling aspect of Summer Solstice, the anchor that brings conflict and an overall sense of resolution to this story. Schamus leaves the viewer with a feeling of peace and newfound happiness found not in others but in oneself.

Review Courtesy of Matt Minton at NewFest 2023

Feature Image Credit to Noah Schamus via SensCritique