"Nimona" and the Enduring Power of Queer Animation
The new Netflix film showcases the exuberant power of queer joy and queer solidarity.
If you’re a regular reader of this newsletter (and I know you are!) then you’ll know that I’m a passionate fan of animation. Ever since I was young, I’ve loved the way that this particular art form–particularly in its 2-D incarnation–has the power to take you out of the humdrum world of reality and plunge you into a realm that is more colorful, more beautiful and, often, more musical. There is, moreover, something queerly utopian about it, in that it allows you to lose yourself in a space where even the most basic laws of physics don’t hold sway, where you can be, if just for a little while, something that you could never be in everyday life.
All of which is why I was very much looking forward to Nimona, the new animated film that just released on Netflix this past weekend. Though originally slated to be released by Disney (after its purchase of Fox), it finally found a better home at Netflix (there were, apparently, some major hurdles at the House of Mouse due to the film’s overt queer content). The result is, I think, one of the best animated films of 2023, right up there with Across the Spider-Verse.
The film follows Ballister Boldheart, a commoner who is elevated to be a knight despite the fact that he is a commoner. After he is framed for the assassination of the queen, he goes on the run, where he meets up with Nimona, a shape-shifting agent of chaos with whom he begins to form a powerful bond, despite their very different philosophies about how to resolve his status as public enemy number one. And, while all of this is going on, Ballister’s golden-haired boyfriend (and boy wonder) Ambrosius Goldenloin, finds his own loyalty to the society and his ideals tested as he sets out in pursuit of his beloved.
Visually, Nimona is quite simply stunning. There’s a fluidity and a certain quirkiness to the 2-D animation that is evocative of both the graphic novel on which it’s based (and that I also enjoyed the skillful way in which it blends medieval imagery and futuristic technology, creating a cohesive aesthetic that works from beginning to end. Watching it is almost like seeing a fairy tale brought to beautiful and vibrant life right before your eyes, and its visual sophistication is matched by the compelling screenplay and the tremendous talent of the voice cast, particularly Chloë Grace Moretz and Riz Ahmed, who play Nimona and Ballister, respectively. There’s a warmth and a genuineness to their relationship that makes them both easy to love, and their repartee is sharp enough that several times it made me laugh out loud.
From its very first moments, Nimona also makes it clear that this is also going to be an unabashedly queer film. As Ballister sits looking down at the arena in which he will very soon be knighted, he begins to angst about what this will mean and whether he will ever truly be accepted by either his fellow Knights or by their society at large (which seems rigidly and almost fanatically hierarchical). Fortunately, he can take shelter in the unequivocal love of his dear Ambrosius, and I’d be lying if I said that my heart didn’t swell a bit at seeing such a beautiful gay love story brought to life in animated form. And, while Ballister and Ambrosius have their fair share of difficulties, they do eventually get their happy ending. It’s particularly wonderful to see the extent to which their relationship is accepted among their peers; if there’s an issue, it’s one of class rather than sexuality. In the world of Nimona, homophobia as such doesn’t exist.
Nimona, on the other hand, is a more complicated and complex representation of animated queerness. It doesn’t take much imagination to see how Nimona’s ability to transform into any being–to say nothing of their refusal to say that they’re a girl, no matter how much Ballister might want them to do so, and no matter how much doing so might save them both a great deal of trouble and heartache–can be read as a visual and narrative metaphor for genderqueer or trans identity. Indeed, as Nimona points out again and again, they simply are Nimona, and the film allows them to have moments of genuine joy. It’s a beautiful thing to watch Nimona transform into everything from a rhino to a whale in the blink of an eye, and it’s particularly poignant because, we subsequently learn, not transforming makes them feel as if they are dead inside.
All of which isn’t to say that Ballister and Nimona don’t face their fair share of repression, and no one represents this more than the Director, the woman tasked with training the Knights and instilling in them the rigid orthodoxy of the Institute, who believes Ballister poses a threat and so frames him for the murder of the Queen. The Director, like all ideologues, believes absolutely that what she is doing is for the best, and she is willing to sacrifice everyone and anyone on the altar of her beliefs, whether that’s Queen Valerin or even Ambrosius (whom she stabs, not aware until it’s too late that it’s Nimona in disguise). Frances Conroy endows the character with a crisp diction that is very much in keeping with her personality, and it comes as no surprise that, in the end, she’s even willing to destroy half of the population of the city itself to save it from the “monster” that she believes Nimona to be.
Nimona is one of those films which will, I think, come to be seen as particularly important, particularly given the unabashed vitriol that the right in America continues to pour onto members of the LGBTQ+ community. I’m sure I’m not the only one who is grateful that this film ended up being released through Netflix rather than through Disney, given the latter’s ongoing hesitation to unabashedly embrace queer stories (and, if the rather unfortunate fate of Strange World is any indication, I don’t think they’ll be all that eager to do so again). This allows it tremendous freedom, and it makes the most of it. It manages to show both the joy and the sadness of queer existence, and no scene shows this better than the one in which Nimona, having been traumatized by visions of their past seemingly rejected by Ballister, rampages through the city, transformed into an amorphous beast of pain. It is only when Ballister stops them from taking their own life–telling them that they see them–that they are able to return to their quasi-human form. Nimona is a timely reminder that queer solidarity is the only way forward from the darkness in which we currently find ourselves.
It’s a message we would all do well to heed.