(Un)conventional Masculinity in the Films of Garrett Hedlund
When I resolved to watch Garrett Hedlund’s filmography, I’d only seen two of his films: Tron Legacy and Mudbound. In one, he played an effectively charming protagonist, and in the other, he was acting (a rare occurrence, as I later learned). Somewhere between the two movies, I got the impression he was talented, underrated, and only in 20 feature films. The question became, why shouldn’t I watch all of them?
Three months later, I have many answers. I have watched some horrific films. I have also seen Garrett sing with Gwyneth Paltrow, sleep with Steve Buscemi and die for Brad Pitt. I have observed his terrible chemistry with Kelly Macdonald and his electrifying chemistry with Oscar Isaac. I have spent far too much time analysing the patterns in his career. Firstly, that Garrett can act, but rarely does. Secondly, that he can’t do accents, which factors into a persistent typecasting. Finally, that his characters repeatedly exhibit a fascinating relationship with conventional masculinity, that deserves further examination.
This theme is immediately drawn into focus by a recurrent complexity in father-son relationships. There is no single positive paternal relationship in Garrett’s films, which is remarkable, given how many explore family dynamics. The earliest example of such a relationship is Friday Night Lights — where Garrett’s father (Tim McGraw, who interestingly plays his romantic rival in Country Strong) is emotionally abusive. In his introductory interview, the reporter asks Garrett’s character, Don, what it’s like to be ‘the son of a local legend’. This is the arc through which Don is introduced: it is not simply an element of his characterization, but a defining attribute. Fraught paternal relationships occur again and again — in Eragon, On the Road, Tron Legacy, Mudbound and Death Sentence.
Perhaps the most interesting and in-depth case is Lullaby. The film follows Garrett (Jonathan)’s relationship with his terminally ill father, who has recently made the decision to end life support. The opening scene features a monologue where Jonathan states that ‘[my father] has been dying for years. He’s gotten good at it. Doesn’t mean I want to watch’. This is one of his only films which allows for reconciliation, but as this monologue exemplifies, the journey is not easy. Jonathan’s relationship with his father is not an inherent positive which must be rediscovered, but a negative which may or may not be resolved.
Even the exceptions to this rule are interesting, as in Four Brothers, the brothers are adopted by a single woman (removing ‘the father’ entirely from his development). In the film, Bobby (Mark Wahlberg) becomes a paternal figure to the other brothers, as the oldest and most aggressive, but particularly to Jack, Garrett’s character. Though this relationship is more positive than those discussed above, Jack is a constant target of homophobic jokes. At one point, Bobby orders a round of drinks ‘for my brothers […] And a warm milk for my sister here’ (referring to Jack). Garrett is thus separated from the others in his lack of masculinity.
Throughout his filmography, this perceived lack of masculinity is a point of tension. In Friday Night Lights, Don’s father shouts that ‘I was supposed to make a man outta you’ when Don fails to achieve sporting perfection. Equally, in Mudbound, Garrett’s father states that ‘Jamie won’t shoot. He don’t have the ***** to kill a man up close’. In this film, Garrett’s dramatic foil is his older brother, who exudes typical gender identity to the point of toxicity, and lives up to his father’s expectations. Again and again, Garrett is seen by the characters to attempt and fail at masculinity. It just so happens that the stereotypically masculine character who jumps on this perceived weakness is frequently represented by his father.
Garrett’s failure at traditional masculinity isn’t always framed as a dramatic, though, but is also sometimes humorous, as seen in Four Brothers. Similarly, in Georgia Rule, his sexual naivety is contrasted against Rachel (Lindsey Lohan)’s cognizance. In their brief relationship, she takes on the traditionally masculine role of pursuer. She questions him about his (lack of) experience before pressuring him to continue. When they eventually confront his girlfriend about the encounter, Rachel states that ‘I took advantage of him’ and is never directly contradicted on this point. Furthermore, though Garrett is introduced in this film as a traditional romantic lead, this arc is never completed. They do not end up together.
In fact, there are few examples of ‘completed’ romantic arcs in his films. Tron Legacy, Pan and Lullaby imply potential, but no definitive resolution. The only traditional romance is Dirt Music, and, as mentioned above, his lack of chemistry with Kelly Macdonald is one of the most striking things about the film. This can’t be read, in good faith, as misogyny. He appears natural opposite Jessica Brown Findlay and Kristin Stewart. However, both women, significantly, play siblings rather than romantic partners. Through 20 films, Garrett never effectively dons the outfit of heterosexual lead which is so associated with conventional masculinity.
This lack of chemistry leads on to another point: the most intense relationships in Garrett’s films are consistently homosocial. Aside from the father-son dynamic, this is also true for other relationships — from Mojave’s desert face-off with Oscar Isaac (where both men are fixated on each other for no textual reason), to Unbroken’s internment camp understanding (where his dramatic crucible is the torment of hurting Jack O’Connell). In military dramas, Billy Lynn’s Long Half-Time Walk, and Triple Frontier, he is defined by his relationship to the men around him.
Even Mudbound, where Garrett engages in an affair with Laura (Carey Mulligan), the more important dramatic relationship is between him and Ronsel (Jason Mitchell). The bond between the two men takes over the second half of the film and replaces any romantic aspect. While this is a comment on the different sides of America, the moments of ‘fresh air’ in a depressing movie are when the two men simply exist in each other’s company. It is hard to watch the film and not draw a parallel between their secret friendship, and the traditional arc of a forbidden romance.
There is no single explanation for this queer subtext which runs through Garrett’s filmography. At times, this subtext is actively distorted. For example, Patroclus and Achilles’ exact relationship has been debated throughout history, but in Troy, where Garrett plays Patroclus, it is explicitly conceived as homosocial. Director Wolfgang Peterson casts the two men as cousins. This undermines any explanation that relies on intentional casting, as the film goes out of its way to remove the potential for a queer reading of the intense male relationship.
To date, the only character portrayed by Garrett who is explicitly sexually involved with men is Dean Moriarty in On The Road. Again, this is an interesting case of adaptational discretion, as the film blurs the line between fiction and reality. In contrast to Troy, On The Road emphasizes non-conforming acts which are side-lined in the book. There is no doubt in Kerouac’s novel that sex between men occurs, but it is never faced head-on. Rather, it happens on the edges of consciousness, through euphemism, whereas the film is extremely clear. The implications of this on Dean’s sexuality are open to individual interpretation. However, both Patroclus and Dean Moriarty, in their own way, exhibit an ambiguous and inherently disruptive sexuality.
To define Garrett’s cinematic relationship with masculinity as a ‘lack of’ is profoundly inaccurate. If for no other reason than that he is a man, and his gender expression is male. Realistically, though, Garrett also matches the stereotypical imagery of masculinity. Certainly, he is intertextually targeted for not living up to conventional standards, but this should not be taken at face value; the characters who make such claims are particularly untrustworthy adjudicators of moral value.
Furthermore, the queer subtext which runs through his films, noted above, does not serve to make him any more or less masculine. It simply emphasizes an atypical, but no less legitimate, relationship with masculinity. Garrett’s best roles have been when he is allowed to exemplify this ‘otherness’, in contrast to the ‘straight’ centre of the film (such as in Mudbound, On The Road, and, unquestionably, Eragon). The interesting aspects of this ‘otherness’ are its consistency and its subtlety. Throughout Garrett’s filmography, gender and sexuality play different symbolic roles at different times, but they never completely align with expectations. His unconventionality is thus transgressive in how close it appears to conventionality.
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