‘Outerlands’ Review: A Slow-Burn Nonbinary Drama Set in a Changing San Francisco

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Elena Oxman’s “Outerlands” is a film of great cinematic sleight of hand. The withdrawn San Francisco drama, about lonely nonbinary nanny and restaurant server Cass (Asia Kate Dillon), is simple in its presentation, but disguises numerous layers to its story. These eventually unravel, and build to an emotional wallop. When work crush Kalli (Louisa Krause) suddenly leaves town, Cass is placed in charge of her quiet but headstrong 11-year-old daughter, Ari (Ridley Asha Bateman). The longer Kalli stays away, the more Cass is forced to reckon not just with the possibility that Ari has been abandoned, but with their own childhood abandonment, which continues to ripple in the present.

This straightforward plot is often broken up by poetic interludes, made up of languid shots of a changing cityscape. Once a bustling queer capital, the inequality plaguing San Francisco has reached something of a breaking point. On one side stand tech company high rises. On the other — in Cass’ rundown neighborhood, colloquially called the Outerlands — tenants struggle to make rent despite working numerous jobs.

Cass has a gay friend at the restaurant, Emile (Daniel K. Isaac), who implores them to join him at various queer nights at local bars. Sometimes Cass elects against in an off mood, since they’re frequently depressed. Other times, the wrong kind of judgy look from a cisgender queer person signals an early end to their night. Dillon’s voice and appearance have changed considerably since their recurring role on “Billions,” which only adds to the meta-text of the movie: to exist as a transgender and/or nonbinary person in modern America is to invite scrutiny. However, “Outerlands” never over-enunciates its political scope (in fact, it’s barely vocalized it at all). Rather, it wraps its socio-political context gently around the details of Cass’ lived experience.

For Cass, living out in the world, among other people, is precarious, whether because of their gender identity, the childhood traumas that have left them unable to trust people, or the subtle, unspoken space where the two overlap — externalized by Oxman with riveting, static closeups. Sometimes, being misgendered adds to an already crappy day, but sometimes, having your identity defended or affirmed by someone you like makes you more attracted to them. The film never separates Cass from their surroundings; this is where its dramatic strengths most shine.

With the help of Lena Raine’s haunting score — built of paradoxes between electronic tones and orchestral compositions — “Outerlands” frames San Francisco as a transient space, never fully allowing Cass to feel at ease. This sense of impermanence informs even the movie’s most understated drama, usually revolving around Cass trying to connect with Ari while also tracking her mother down.

As the self-sufficient adolescent Ari, Bateman delivers a performance wise beyond her years, with whip-smart comedic and dramatic timing born from instinctive avoidance. Young Ari doesn’t want to confront the reality that her mother might never return, though the brusque independence with which Bateman carries herself tells its own story, as though Ari has had to contend with this scenario before.

As the film goes on, both Bateman and Dillon open up brief windows into their characters’ insecurities. In the process, Ari and Cass expose their most vulnerable selves, if only for a few fleeting moments. And yet, even when they’re at their most stoic — a defense mechanism that feels learned — the frame always hints at their respective desires for past comforts. Ari, despite approaching teen-hood, holds on to stuffed animals given to her by her mom. Cass, while on the precipice of middle age, lives in a messy, minimal studio apartment made up like a boy’s dorm room, and eventually retreats into a video game from their youth (when they aren’t drowning themselves in beer, that is).

For those who’ve experienced great pain in childhood, one’s inner child is something still in need of nurture — something of which Cass is reminded by an older lesbian woman she meets at a bank, the kind-eyed Denise (Lea DeLaria, in a small but moving role). However, for Cass, loving themselves no longer comes easy, since being loved has always seemed so fraught, leading to its own vicious emotional cycle. Dillon taps into this delicate aspect of queer and gender non-conforming experience — that of someone lacking support structures — by creating a hardened surface that lures the audience in, making us curious to not just discover the details of Cass’ past, but eager to feel their most complicated, contradictory emotions alongside them.

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2025-03-17 03:48