Netflix’s 'Heartstopper' Tackles The Complexities of ‘Coming Out’ With Empathy

'Heartstopper' deals with sexual exploration with empathy and kindness.

Heartstopper is a coming-of-age series adapted from Alice Oseman’s graphic novel of the same name. It encounters young love with trepidation and warmth as the protagonists second guess their every move. The series is laced with the jittery anticipation of one's firsts – first love, first kiss and the first attempt to explore one’s sexuality – wherever it may be in the spectrum.

It doesn’t dive headfirst into the possibility of romance between the two main characters – Charlie (Joe Locke) and Nick (Kit Connor) – the hope of romance is built on friendship. And when sparks fly, it should ideally be an effective resolution to confess and embrace their love – if only it were that easy. In queer love stories, every move is taken with caution for fear of any adverse reaction.

Charlie, who is all too aware of how alienating ‘coming out’ can be, understands Nick's predicament as he comes to terms with his sexuality. But slowly and surely, love finds a way behind closed doors, secret meetups and the classic ruse of a platonic bromance as they attempt to fit into a largely heteronormative setting.

The spaces they create become a refuge – the art room that Charlie escaped to when he was bullied or the closed quarters of their bedrooms – beyond the prying eyes of homophobic bullies. And the bullies – in reality, could be anyone – a classmate who dismissively calls Charlie homophobic slurs as people gawk on or an ex-lover who incessantly corners him owing to his internalised homophobia.

So it’s unsurprising when the pair decides to measure out their time within the cocoon they create. And the majority of the show skirts around the security the secrecy provides. But, in the end, it’s Charlie who faces the brunt of the relentless bullying. Nick’s persona as the popular rugby player shields him from most of the homophobic assumptions that are generally hurled toward the supposedly weaker and smaller Charlie.

Yet Nick’s gendered performance as the testosterone-driven heterosexual boy slowly begins to drain him. What follows is his exploration of bisexuality with incessant googling and online quizzes. His initial reluctance to share the information snowballs into his need to share it with the ones he truly trusts.

It is with this quiet sophistication that the show represents the complexity of coming out as a steady exploration rather than an abrupt event of declaration. Love, Simon (2018) also dealt with similar themes where the threat of being outed loomed over him. The threat came to pass and he was forced to confront his sexuality despite not being ready to do so. As opposed to Call Me By Your Name (2017), Elio did not necessarily “come out” in the traditional sense, it was his father who openly but delicately discussed it.

The ability to 'come out' or not, on one's terms, without it morphing into a threat is rarely depicted in pop culture. And with good reason. But the immediate outcome of celebration followed by minimal resistance from society is also too good to be true. The character's agency is generally sidelined to headway to the theatrics of 'coming out' in most coming of age LGBTQIA+ films. It becomes a plot device, rather than a genuine need to examine the nuances of sexual exploration.

Heartstopper ensures that that may not always be the case. Charlie’s single-minded need to protect Nick from the homophobic slurs is heartwarming, to say the least. And Nick, in turn, sensitively safeguards his relationship with Charlie. The show is empathetic to the struggles of one’s sexual discovery – subverting problematic tropes to move beyond its romanticization. It’s a story that progresses by banking on mature characterization, rather than the age-old tropes to provide cheap thrills.