Why can’t JK Rowling be more like actor Will Ferrell? It’s a question that’s been asked ever since the announcement of Ferrell’s new film, the documentary Will & Harper.

The film — which has already been lauded as live-saving — follows Ferrell as he takes a roadtrip with his friend of almost 30 years, Harper Steele. After 61 years of living as a man, Steele has come out to Ferrell as a trans woman. In order for both to explore their feelings around this, and their friendship, the two spend 17 days crossing the country from New York to Los Angeles. 

This all sounds perfectly nice. Well done, Will Ferrell, for not being a total bastard and dumping your mate! Still, I would hesitate before elevating Ferrell above Rowling in terms of what he has actually done for marginalised people. The film seems generous and funny, but is it really more insightful than recent feminist films on sex, gender and identity? And while Ferrell demonstrates a willingness to listen and learn, is the praise he is getting really so merited?

I don’t mean to sound harsh (though I’m sure I do). The appeal of Will & Harper is obvious. Here are two friends who feel a great deal for one another, plus a message about acceptance and understanding which would appear to cut through all the crap of “the gender wars”. But just how much accepting and understanding does Ferrell have to do? 

I am certain that Steele’s announcement must have come as a shock to him. The trouble is, after that, his grasp of what the “issues” are and how to resolve them seems startlingly limited. It is great that the pair can support one another, but it would be ludicrous to pretend this offers some universal moral lesson about trans acceptance. On the contrary, it’s a solution to the problem that functions by taking half the human race out of the equation. 

At one point in the trailer, Ferrell goes into a bar and introduces Steele to some male customers, then corrects them when they call Steele “bro”. The men apologise. There is a double message in this. On the one hand, trans inclusion is all so simple — it’s about keeping an open mind, calling people what they want to be called, treating them as they wish to be treated. On the other hand, when these men engage in it — ordinary men, men who’ve not exactly spent their lives at the cutting edge of gender liberation — it’s supposed to be incredibly admirable and moving. If they can do it, feminists, what’s your excuse? (Or, as one tweeter put it, “be more like Will. Be less JK”). 

Only it is not particularly easy to “be more like Will” unless you are male like Will. One of the things this scene reminded me of is the way in which male friendships are often pandered to in ways which over-praise basic decency and recast the exclusion of women as some brilliant emotional adventure. Men’s much-discussed battles with toxic masculinity and struggles to express their feelings lead to situations in which men not being total arseholes to one another are treated as public services. We are meant to admire Ferrel and the men in the bar, bravely suppressing any anxiety over whether including Steele puts their masculinity in question. What this overlooks is the way in which male bonding still functions to reinscribe male power, regardless of what the males in question call themselves.

What this scene captures is the laddishness of male trans allyship, and the licence it grants

At one point, Ferrell asks Steele “if you’re a worse driver, now you’re a female driver”. The pair of them cackle and of course, it’s supposed to be heartwarming — they can still be lads together, casually mocking the birds! And it’s fine, because we are meant to consider Steele more oppressed than those of us who’ve spent our entire lives driving cars which aren’t designed with our bodies in mind (assuming we’ve never lived somewhere where it’s been illegal for us to drive at all). We are meant to think this isn’t a joke at our expense, even if the dynamics look exactly the same. It’s kind of a joke about the joke (Steele actually answers that it’s “the dumbest thing … but I am”). 

What this scene captures is the laddishness of male trans allyship, and the licence it grants. When men are shown being kind, empathetic and welcoming to trans-identified males, this can be mistaken for a rejection of masculine gender norms. After all, kindness, empathy and inclusion tend to be feminine-coded qualities. Isn’t it brave of the blokes to embrace them, too! However — and precisely because these are feminine-coded qualities — there is an enormous double standard in play. These men are not actually doing very much. Most of the practical work of trans inclusion — giving up words, spaces, safety, dignity — is outsourced to women, whereupon it is taken for granted. Witness, for example, the Australian pro-inclusion advert in which women sharing enclosed spaces with unfamiliar males and giving up spaces on sports teams is equated with … a man being willing to sit next a male person in a frilly shirt on public transport. And what sacrifices is Ferrell making? Promising never again to dress up in drag (apparently, this wasn’t ever offensive to boring old cis women, but it’s offensive now). 

Male trans inclusion is performance, and it is as far as one could get from a genuine rejection of gender norms. At its worst, it tends to be back-slapping, self-congratulatory, a chance to bond over stupid women and their stupid concerns such as toilets, changing rooms, sports participation, rape crisis support. Why can’t they be more like Will, emoting and having a lark with his lifelong friend? Or the chaps on The Last Leg, congratulating trans runner Valentina Petrillo for competing at the Paralympics rather than whinging about Petrillo stealing a female athlete’s place? It sometimes reminds me of the way in which many of the men I grew up with got to be “easy-going” compared to the women whose “nagging” over housework and childcare led to them being considered shrewish, obsessive and bitter. Don’t these silly women know it’s just the washing up? It’s not that important! Go on a road trip and chill the hell out! (The fact remained that it was the silly women who were expected to give up their economic independence and personal ambitions to ensure the “unimportant” work got done — and that it was not considered “unimportant” the moment they were deemed to have “missed a bit”). 

I don’t doubt that Will & Harper is a much more cheering, positive film than, say, Adult Human Female or Behind The Looking Glass. This is not because it is a more accurate portrayal of the gender wars, or because the makers are nicer, kinder people. It is because, as Janet Radcliffe Richards pointed out in 1980’s The Skeptical Feminist, men already have the upper hand in debates relating to gender and power; they can afford to #bekind while women can be written off as “strident, nagging, troublesome, humourless”. Many women, she noted “allow themselves to slip into collaboration with the opposition rather than appear in so unpleasant a light”. 

There has been no shortage of big-name female celebrities willing to appear in Ferrell’s film, or to praise it. It is not a film about women, though. It doesn’t have space for any serious engagement with what we are. 

It’s about authentic selfhood, bonding, bars, and Pringles. It’s a bro thing. You basic cis ladies just wouldn’t understand.