At first glance, ‘I’m Not Gay’ (2020) might seem like a title meant to grab attention, provocative, even. But underneath that boldness lies a subtle, layered film that explores the nuances of identity, repression, and masculinity. It’s a quietly powerful character study that challenges how we perceive others and, more importantly, how we confront our own truths when no one’s looking.
Plot Summary
The movie centres on Jake Donovan (Lucas Hedges), a college athlete from a conservative Midwest town where masculinity is rigid, emotions are hidden, and identity feels like it’s handed down rather than chosen. Jake appears to fit the mould: confident, straight, tough. But everything shifts when he befriends Adam (Justice Smith), an art student with a gentle spirit and an unapologetic authenticity that both intrigues and unsettles Jake.
What starts as late-night talks and shared secrets gradually morphs into something unspoken — a connection neither of them is ready to define. As rumours spread and external pressures mount from teammates, family, and community, Jake’s repeated insistence of “I’m not gay” becomes a shield, a way to cling to his constructed identity. But inside, his world is quietly unravelling. The real conflict isn’t just societal—it’s internal, a battle with fear, desire, and self-denial.
Artistic Approach
Directed by Eliza Hittman (*Beach Rats*), “I’m Not Gay” captures that tense silence of repression with intimate cinematography and a visual language that speaks volumes. The camera lingers on subtle gestures — a hesitant touch, a prolonged glance, the weight of unspoken words filling the space.
There’s a raw honesty to how scenes unfold — no melodramatic moments, just quiet internal struggles spilling over. The muted colour palette, soft lighting, and ambient sounds create an almost tactile sense of emotional discomfort. The score by Rob Simonsen delicately weaves piano and atmospheric textures, emphasising the emotional layers without overpowering the subtle storytelling.
Performances
Lucas Hedges delivers a deeply affecting performance. He’s not just playing a guy questioning his sexuality; he embodies the fear of losing himself, the denial wrapped around vulnerability. Every look, every hesitation, feels authentic — a layered portrayal of someone caught between who they are and who they’re supposed to be.
Justice Smith’s Adam is a quiet force — calm, genuine, fully realised. His presence serves as a mirror for Jake, pushing him to confront what he’s been avoiding. Their chemistry crackles with complexity, blending fear, tenderness, and confusion in a way that feels real and raw.
Supporting roles deepen the story — Cherry Jones as Jake’s emotionally distant mother adds a layer of generational tension and cultural context, underscoring the silent pressures that shape Jake’s world.
Emotional Depth
This film isn’t about easy answers or neat resolutions. It plunges into the discomfort — the kind that comes with feeling like you don’t fit into any box, craving connection but fearing the cost. It’s less about coming out and more about coming to terms with oneself in silence.
*I’m Not Gay* asks: what happens when we spend our lives trying to prove something, only to realise we’ve been trying to prove it to ourselves all along? Jake’s journey is painfully authentic, resonating with anyone who’s ever struggled with fear, denial, or the longing to be understood without judgment.
The final scene, a quiet moment of truth between two characters in a dimly lit room, speaks volumes in its silence, more than any dramatic confession ever could.
Tone and Rhythm
The film’s pace is slow and contemplative, mirroring the natural process of emotional change. It’s a deliberate, restrained storytelling choice — feelings don’t shift overnight, and repression isn’t broken in a single scene. Instead, the movie reflects the gradual, often painful, peeling away of armour, revealing the quiet bravery of facing oneself.
Final Thoughts
*I’m Not Gay* (2020) is a courageous, honest portrait of identity and repression. It’s less about labels and more about the universal human desire to be loved for who we are, not who we’re told to be. It lingers long after the credits, in unspoken words, lingering glances, and the hearts of those still trying to understand their truth.
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