After a triumphant splash in Juno, lovely, appealing Elliot Page got Oscar nominated, was on his way to a promising career as an important film star with range and talent, and then suddenly disappeared for 17 years. What happened? Where did he go? Now we know. 

Close to You is my first exposure to Page since his emergence as a wistful, sensitive and dedicated man named Elliot. His absence from the screen is entirely understandable for a variety of obvious reasons, and Elliot has expressed a serious need to reach out to the vast number of friends, fans and prospective employers who wondered about his transition. To make sure you get the point, he has found a perfect vehicle in Close to You, emerging from bed in the opening scene naked, with a place for every feature, every feature in its place—flat-chested, no Adam’s apple, a clean-shaved chin with evidence of a five o’clock shadow, and a muscular torso that has been to the gym (but still a mystery about what goes where below the waist). I guess you could call it a brave, bold performance, but when you think about it you realize Page has no other choice if he wants to be both honest and a working artist with a viable future. He also wrote the screenplay with director Dominic Savage, so I think it’s safe to say the film includes excerpts from his personal experience.

 In Close to You, he plays Sam, a man living in Toronto, adjusting to his transition with a new job and a new life. Sam hasn’t seen his family for four years, but now he bites the bullet and takes a long-dreaded trip back home for his father’s birthday. On the train, he runs into Katherine, an old high school friend, and feelings from their unresolved past refresh old memories of deeply troubled times when they experienced a lesbian relationship that traumatized them both. Katherine is married with children, but still drawn to Sam. In the weekend that follows, there are more chance encounters, and the superficial circumstances that bring them together force them to interact in intensely personal ways that open old wounds and open new doors. Part of the problem with Close to You is Hillary Baack, who plays Katherine. Miscast and inexperienced, she is not up to Page’s standards and mumbles so incoherently that whole scenes clumsily pass by without clarity.

At home, Sam is impacted even more. Every concern about how his parents and his siblings will react—plus the unsolicited comments and questions he receives about his transition—mirrors the ignorance, discomfort and terror in the eyes of the people who say they love him best but understand him least. The film is an emotionally observant drama about coming home as yourself, only for everyone to treat you like a stranger. “I’m happy,” Sam explains, “I’m living my life; I just need space. You weren’t worrying about me when I was not OK.” But as the domestic anxieties and challenges build, Sam must face the painful knowledge that coping is not his responsibility, and things have never really changed in a toxic environment that never felt fully welcoming in the first place. 

Things build to a violent explosion, Sam leaves with high expectations reduced to unresolved despair, and nothing ends the way you think it will, with everyone making nice and saying, “I forgive you.” But in a weak, vacillating postscript, raw honesty wanes when Katherine arrives in Toronto, gives in to her true feelings, and ends up in bed with Sam before she exits forever, with a smile on her face and tears in her eyes. Despite Page’s lack of uncertainty about how to play a tender scene with maximum feeling, I didn’t believe this soapy resolve, and I found their nude sex scene not only a confusing way to end Close to You, but also just a little bit creepy.