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The Walt Disney Company is, above all else, a corporation; it is driven by profit, using social trends as a map with conservative caution on the brakes. The company is slow to implement positive new change in its projects, and once it finally does, those changes become a marketing ploy to appeal to audiences. The greatest example of this in the modern age is the presence (or, more accurately, absence) of LGBTQ+ characters in Disney’s films.
This trend began in 2017 with Beauty and the Beast (Bill Condon), but Disney would continue to tout the company’s first gay character on numerous occasions, all of which refer to pitifully irrelevant and ambiguous modicums of LGBTQ+ representation. Usually fleeting and shallow, these moments are brief enough to be easily edited out and so insignificant to the story that the company can evade bold statements that run the risk of tainting Disney’s family-friendly brand.
Despite Disney’s trigger-happy tendency of proclaiming a new first gay character ever other year, the company has curiously swept its actual first queer romance under the rug. Pixar’s Luca (2021; Enrico Casarosa) features not only two queer characters but a queer story as well and is the rightful “first” of Disney’s foray into LGBTQ+ representation. Further, queer identity is embedded into the story both literally and metaphorically and exists within the narrative on multiple levels, creating a queer film not just with visibility but substance.
Disney may choose to promote displays of queerness, but Luca allows queerness to function in its roots. The film’s story, character development, and themes are built on queerness as it exists in the story as well as how it exists in our world — and there is no censoring that.
“Unspoken Yet Undeniable” — The Love Story At The Heart Of ‘Luca’ (2021)
At its core, the film is about the relationship between the two main characters, Luca and Alberto, and it is this relationship that represents Disney’s first gay love story. This love story is unconventional for a variety of reasons, not least of which is the fact that the movie refuses to confirm it as explicitly romantic. Still, Luca does everything short of outright saying so to indicate that the young sea monsters are in love.
While some may argue this is an unfair cop-out, in reality, the gay subtext is a sign of trust. There are no angsty confessions or tender kisses against a dreamy sunset because the film does not need them; Luca trusts its audience to not only see but also feel the love between the two boys, which is what all of Disney’s past attempts at LGBTQ+ representation lack.
“Luca & Alberto” — A Romance Hidden In Plain Sight
There are countless moments throughout that highlight the romantic tension between Luca and Alberto (and, indeed, one could have a jolly good time identifying them all), but what is most interesting and relevant here is how the movie genuinely treats their relationship like a coming-of-age romance.
For example, within the first ten minutes, the film establishes Luca’s desire to break the surface and explore what lies beyond it. In a daydream, Luca approaches the surface of the ocean and carefully pokes his head above. The water, however, refuses to break, preventing Luca from fully emerging. Through the water, Luca sees a blurry image of a fishing boat, which the audience will later recognize as Alberto, confidently gazing into the distance. With his fists on his hips, he is facing away from Luca.
Before Luca (or the audience) has met Alberto, he is immediately tied to Luca’s aspiration of going beyond the confines of the sea. This trope is familiar to many romance stories but especially to any fans of Disney’s Tangled (2010; Nathan Greno and Byron Howard). At the film’s climax, as Rapunzel’s love interest Flynn Rider lies dying in his lover’s arms, he dramatically whispers,
“You were my new dream.”
Casarosa, Enrico. Luca. 2021.
Young heroines discovering love stories tucked within their adventurous aspirations is a tale as old as time in the Disney canon, and Luca merely follows suit.
How Luca (2021) Mirrors The Little Mermaid (1989) To Signal Queer Romance
This mirroring of classic Disney fairy tales is another strategy used to indicate romance, and a more obvious example, perhaps, is The Little Mermaid (1989; John Musker and Ron Clements).
Luca, like Ariel, is bound to the sea with overprotective parents and an insatiable curiousity. While the sea monster may be more timid compared to the mermaid’s adventurous nerve, he, too, becomes enraptured by the human world, adopting Ariel’s fondness for human artifacts that make their way down to the seafloor.
And just as Prince Eric is the final catalyst for Ariel to walk among the humans, so, too, is Alberto to Luca. Indeed, Luca is quite fond of visual callbacks to iconic Disney romances, even including a fork mishap as a quaint nod to Ariel. And this is not the only example, either.
“Visualizing Love/Loss” — Luca’s Tower Scene As A Queer Romantic Breakup
Returning to Tangled treats viewers with a reference to Flynn Rider climbing Rapunzel’s stone tower as Luca climbs Alberto’s tower (without the help of magical hair, no less!) to apologize to him. Not only is this moment a nod to iconic Disney films, but it is also a firm and practical marker of a love story.
Beyond the heartwarming reference to a beloved Disney romance, this tower-climbing scene is indicative of another strategy Luca uses to denote love: visually framing emotional story beats with the weight and severity of a romance. When Luca emerges onto the first floor of Alberto’s tower, the scene is dark, and the camera pans slowly over Alberto’s ruined possessions — he has trashed the tower in his anger, heartbreak, and despair over Luca’s betrayal.
He has even ripped his drawing of Luca and himself down the middle, separating their two figures. The lead-up to this moment is what can best be described as the break-up scene. After Alberto crashes their bike into the sea, the building tension between the two erupts, and they argue about, among other things, Luca’s desire to go to school. They continue this argument via Giulia upon her arrival, and it culminates in Alberto revealing his identity as a sea monster, to which Giulia responds with fear.
Rather than reveal his own identity, Luca feigns ignorance — mimicing Giulia’s fear toward Alberto — ultimately drawing the attention of bullies who immediately begin visciously attacking Alberto. As harpoons whiz by, Alberto’s voice cracks, and his eyes glisten with tears at the realization of Luca’s betrayal before he numbly retreats to the water and turns his back on Luca. Alongside Giulia’s shock, we end with Luca’s horrified expression at what he has just done.
While important, this scene is not about the big reveal to Giulia or the violence of the bullies. The focus is on the emotional break in Luca and Alberto’s relationship. This is a breach of trust which leaves both characters not angry, as might occur between two friends, but heartbroken. This is a major emotional and plot beat in the story, and the film treats it with the same gravity as betrayal in any other Disney romance.
Again, one needn’t look hard to find more examples of these visual depictions of romance (look no further than the last five minutes); Luca and Alberto’s romance is depicted in even more subtle yet provocative ways.
“Actions Speak Louder Than Words” — How Themes & Character Development Build A Romance
Luca‘s central themes and character arcs are inextricably tied to the relationship between Luca and Alberto, signifying a weight and emotional depth usually, or at least often, reserved for romance.
Freedom lies at the core of the film and its characters, and the complexities of what it truly means are explored through the characters. “Vespa is Freedom” is written on a poster in Alberto’s tower, and it inspires the boys to crave both that freedom and the motorcycle that can supposedly deliver it. The Vespa, then, becomes a symbol of freedom.
As the boys quickly set themselves to building their own Vespa, their idea of freedom is immediately tied to each other: their freedom is something they seek together, and they cannot have it without the other. As they discuss venturing into the nearby human town of Portorosso, Alberto imagines the possibility of finding a Vespa for the both of them and the freedom they could achieve:
“You and me? We can do anything… No one to tell us what to do, just you and me out there. Free!”
Casarosa, Enrico. Luca. 2021.
The freedom that the Vespa symbolizes is tied to Luca and Alberto as a unit, but they must learn to let go of this dependency to attain the independence they need. This development is demonstrated early on in Alberto’s solo attempts to ride their makeshift Vespa. Eventually, Alberto assures Luca that it will only work if they ride it together “or the whole thing falls apart.” Alberto’s vision of freedom requires not only Luca but also that Luca be following behind him—more on this later.
After Alberto has convinced Luca to ride behind him, their Vespa does indeed stay together, but as they fly off their ramp toward the water, a boulder in their path requires Luca to make a decision, which is reflective of the tensions to come. As Luca lets go of his hold on Alberto, he pushes away and allows the bike to fall apart, saving both of them from the boulder.
The central theme of freedom is developed through Luca and Alberto’s affection for each other, putting their unique relationship at the center of what the film wants to say; further indicative of a bond beyond friendship are Luca and Alberto’s individual character arcs and how they play off of each other.
Without going into too much depth, Luca and Alberto’s differing backgrounds set them on separate courses toward understanding freedom. With overbearing parents and a confining home environment, Luca struggles with meekness and an inability to trust in himself and his capacity for independence. On the other hand, having been abandoned by his father and given too much independence, Alberto has abandonment issues that are channeled through his overprotectiveness and jealousy, as well as his insistence on taking charge.
“Letting Go With Love” — Luca’s Ending & The Power Of Queer-Coded Character Growth
Each character’s shortcomings exacerbate the other’s, and these shortcomings create friction in Luca and Alberto’s relationship as reflected in the way they ride the Vespa together. In the climax, as Luca and Alberto race downhill together in the Portorosso Cup competition, Luca is in front, taking charge, and Alberto is riding behind, reflecting the growth that each character has undergone on account of the other.
The final scene in which Luca and Giulia board a train for Genova while Alberto stays in Portorosso, delivers the final signifier of development. When Luca realizes that Alberto is staying behind, Luca asks:
“But how am I gonna know you’re okay?”
Casarosa, Enrico. Luca. 2021.
They embrace, teary-eyed, and Alberto replies:
“You got me off the island Luca. I’m okay.”
Casarosa, Enrico. Luca. 2021.
Alberto runs alongside the train as it pulls away, only releasing Luca’s hand at the last moment. Only once Alberto is out of sight does Luca turn away from Portorosso, towards his new life beyond the horizon.
Not only is this final scene dripping in all the tells of a romantic goodbye, but it also is the last stage of these characters’ arcs where they are conscious of how they have changed. Alberto finally learns to let go (literally), and Luca is able to embrace his independence — without Alberto or Giulia — and face his future. These character arcs are only able to exist because of Luca and Alberto’s unique relationship, which is further framed with romantic affection.
Alongside the explicit romantic framing and the directive decisions the movie makes in depicting Luca and Alberto’s relationship, the themes and character development most important to the film are staked in this relationship, giving it an additional weight that is unusual for traditional friendship in media.
However, even if audiences do not view the relationship as romantic, Luca still succeeds in its mission. The label of a formal relationship or romance is less important than the love that the audience can feel between the two characters, regardless of whether they find it romantic or platonic.
“Fluidity On The Spectrum” — Gender, Sexuality, & Transformation
The film’s denial of an official marking of Luca and Alberto’s relationship extends to its framing of gender and sexuality as fluid concepts that themselves resist arbitrary construction, definition, and permanence. This idea is at the heart of queer theory, which challenges the stable and identifiable categorizations that heteronormativity imposes.1
This dissolution of strict binaries and limits is most emphasized in the film by the ability of sea monsters to transform into humans when dry, which is precisely what ostracizes Luca from his family. Both Luca and Alberto are cast as outsiders in the human and sea monster worlds because of their ability and willingness to transform — to transcend boundaries.
For example, within the first ten minutes of the movie, a conversation between Luca and his family sets the tone and expectations surrounding transformation. When his grandmother admits to having been to the human town before, Luca asks excitedly,
“You’ve been to the surface and — and done the change?”
Casarosa, Enrico. Luca. 2021.
His mother quickly interjects and ends the discussion, firmly iterating that the surface and transformation are forbidden. Importantly, it is not just the surface that is demonized but also “the change.” This is highlighted shortly after when Luca emerges onto the beach and panics as he turns into a human. Alberto asks if it is his first time, and Luca replies:
“Of course it is! I’m a good kid!”
Casarosa, Enrico. Luca. 2021.
The film even evokes a metaphor for conversion camps when Luca’s parents discover he is going to the surface in secret. His mother decides that, in order to keep Luca safe, he is to live with his Uncle Ugo in “the Deep” for the rest of the summer, where he will be completely isolated and, critically, prevented from undergoing the change on the surface.
When Luca protests, his mother doubles down, justifying her decision with what she thinks is love and care:
“I know you, and I know what’s best for you.”
Casarosa, Enrico. Luca. 2021.
In this moment, the film creates a scene that is all too familiar to many newly out queer kids, further tying this transformation to queer identity.
Of course, by the end of the film, Luca’s family comes around to the idea of transformation and engaging with humans, as the penultimate scene is one of community in which sea monsters and humans eat together. Beyond social togetherness, however, the film touts the sea monsters’ ability to transform as an opportunity to expand one’s horizons.
Indeed, when Luca first transforms, he is immediately captivated by new scenery — landscapes he would never have known had he kept himself sequestered in the ocean as most sea monsters do.
Luca’s Final Transformation & The Quiet Power of Queer Wholeness
Luca’s curiosity grows throughout the film, especially as he learns more about astronomy and the universe from Giulia. The choice of subject here should be noted. While any academic subject would have served the purpose of the theme, the idea that Luca’s decision to embrace transformation allowed him to pursue a wider understanding of the universe and his place in it is almost on-the-nose in terms of queer theory.
As queer theory rejects stability and points to the beauty of an unknowable future,2 Luca’s fascination with infinity and what lies beyond knowledge encourages expansion and amorphism. Lastly, on the point of fluidity is another lesson Luca learns, albeit smaller than his dominant character arc.
As Luca becomes more comfortable on land in human form and begins to form aspirations like becoming a student at Giulia’s school, he displays a subtle near rejection of his sea monster identity. Of course, he must hide his sea monster nature from humans for his own safety for most of the film. However, his betrayal of Alberto sets a different tone, one that is at least reminiscent of self-hatred. During the climax, Luca reveals his sea monster identity to save Alberto, mirroring the “coming out” experience that many queer3 people grapple with.
This action is both a sacrifice and a release: Luca sacrifices the secret he had hoped would allow him to pursue his curiosity and releases his belief in the separation of his identities. The final shot on the train of the film reinforces this release of separation and represents Luca’s newly acquired peace with it. Once Alberto is out of view and the train emerges from the tunnel, the rain turns Luca back into his sea monster form.
He turns away from Portorosso, wiping his tears as he gazes out onto the island where he first met Alberto, and smiles. As he turns away from Portorosso, Luca hangs off the side of the train and opens himself to his unknowable yet exciting future — and he does so as a sea monster.
Certainly, the idea of having to hide one’s identity for access to opportunity is one with which many marginalized communities empathize, but the film suggests a deeper meaning surrounding fluidity and transcendence by showing Luca learning to embrace himself not with two separate sides—sea monster and human — but as one being who is both at the same time.
This rejection of rigidity in identity distinguishes Luca as truly queer as opposed to simply containing a gay-coded friendship. However, this is not the only theme surrounding queerness that is explored, as the film takes a more direct approach to representing queer identity as well.
“Silenzio, Bruno!” — Overcoming Shame & Internalized Homophobia
While the sea monsters have their own prejudice toward humans, they are subjected to villainization, mysticism, disgust, and violence in Portorosso.
This system of othering is undoubtedly allegorical for the experience of the marginalized in the real world, and it is particularly resonant for the LGBTQ+ community. Just as colonialism has historically turned racialized bodies into myth for European consumption, an idea described as exoticism,4 sea monsters are similarly mysticized, as many inhabitants of Portorosso proclaim they are not even real (such as in the opening scene of the film).
Giulia herself is skeptical of their existence until Alberto reveals the truth. Luca’s parents are even shocked by a movie poster in Portorosso that depicts a sea monster from the deep in fantastical horror. Indeed, horror is the chief reaction of humans to seeing sea monsters and their transformation. No face is left untwisted by revulsion and fear when Luca or Alberto transforms. The point is driven home by the local bully, Ercole, the antagonist of the film:
“Everyone is horrified and disgusted by you because you are monsters.”
Casarosa, Enrico. Luca. 2021.
The use of the word “monsters” is a constant in the film and emphasizes the villainization of sea monsters by humans (indeed, Luca and Alberto’s kind are referred to exclusively as sea monsters).
This villainization drives the violence that humans enact on sea monsters without question, a core piece of Portorosso’s culture. This violence is the defining feature of human-sea monster relations throughout most of the film and is what bars Luca from the surface by his family.
Harpoons are the immediate response of humans to discovering sea monsters by both antagonists (like Ercole) and protagonists (like Massimo, Giulia’s father) alike. Hiding their identities, for sea monsters, is thus a necessity for survival. The idea of hiding either literally in the ocean or metaphorically in the closet becomes another minor theme in the film.
Just as the film ultimately argues against constricting notions of identity, it also happily denounces this self-suppression by showcasing a newfound sense of community achieved between sea monsters and humans by the end. The film even makes a point to reference the LGBTQ+ community.
After Massimo has come to Luca and Alberto’s defense against the townspeople who want to capture them, Portorosso shifts in its perception of sea monsters, coming to accept them. Sensing the shift, two human women who had been seen throughout the film lower their umbrellas in the rain to reveal themselves as sea monsters, much to the shock of, appropriately, a nearby priest.
There is no shortage of explicit references to the LGBTQ+ experience in Luca, and they all serve to strengthen the allegory of the sea monster experience as the gay experience, mostly through language. For example, Alberto teaches Luca, “Silzenzio, Bruno!” in response to the voice of self-doubt in Luca’s head. Of course, this lesson can extend well beyond the gay experience, but it is particularly reminiscent of triumphing over internalized homophobia, something Luca is only able to do because of Alberto.
The film is populated with plenty of similar examples, but perhaps the most powerful and unmistakable one comes from Luca’s grandmother at the end. Luca’s mother asks whether she should be worried about allowing Luca to befriend humans, to which the grandmother responds:
“Some people, they’ll never accept him. But some will. And he seems to know how to find the good ones.”
Casarosa, Enrico. Luca. 2021.
This idea of acceptance is another theme, and the film emphasizes its universality while acknowledging its pertinence to the LGBTQ+ community in particular.
“Depth Versus Display” — What Luca Gets Right & Disney Keeps Getting Wrong
Luca is the first Disney film to feature — not glimpse, hint at, or sideline — a gay relationship despite not subscribing to traditional markers of romance. While it may not show two boys kissing, Luca does show two boys loving each other, which, in Disney’s current catalogue, is bolder and more important.
The film is about more than the display of a relationship; the themes rooted in queerness — freedom, fluidity, and acceptance — are what give Luca its depth and emotional resonance, especially for queer audiences. But because it is not something Disney can get progressive points for, the company is indifferent.
Anything beyond a surface-level depiction of LGBTQ+ characters on-screen requires a level of care that Disney has thus far proven either incapable of or unwilling to give to queerness. As long as these corporate sensibilities are prioritized, Disney will continue to label hollow scraps of representation as the first gay Disney character we have all been waiting for, meanwhile sidelining or otherwise burying the occasional gems like Luca.
At the end of the day, whether one reads Luca and Alberto’s relationship as platonic or romantic is less relevant to the film’s staying power; indeed, there is a strong case for both perspectives. What is more important is the ambitious emotional scope of the friendship and its centrality to the film — qualities that can be admired from any angle viewers take.
While its subtlety and subtext may evade the notice of many audiences, Luca is worth a closer look. As the media landscape continues to learn what makes an effective piece of queer representation in film — especially in family-friendly content — Pixar proposes an exceptional example of what is possible when we prioritize resonance alongside visibility.
Luca is not a perfect film, nor is it perfect queer representation — if such a thing can even exist. However, it deserves audience’s attention for its tender depiction of a gay relationship and commitment to queer ideas and struggles.
It is the representation that the queer community deserves and desperately needs more of.
Footnotes
- Jagose, Annamarie. Queer Theory. University of Melbourne Press, 1996. ↩︎
- Jagose, Annamarie. Queer Theory. University of Melbourne Press, 1996. ↩︎
- Poletti, J. Mario Meili: on queer wholeness – I blog God. – Medium. I Blog God, 2020, May 11. ↩︎
- Jenkins, Eugenia Zuroski. “Introduction: Exoticism, Cosmopolitanism, and Ficion’s Aesthetics of Diversity.” Eighteenth-Century Fiction, vol. 25, no. 1, 2012, pp. 1-7. ↩︎
Considering how Disney regarded queer works at the time (having just swept Strange World under the rug, trying to quietly cancel The Owl House, and ACTUALLY cancelling Nimona), just leaving Luca be with its ambiguous queerness was a relatively bold move for them.