My girlfriend and I recently watched Good Bad Things, a film that hit closer to home than most. Directed by Shane Stanger, it explores love, disability, and masculinity through the story of Danny, an entrepreneur with muscular dystrophy. The movie follows his journey as he navigates friendship, online dating, and self-acceptance. It doesn't reduce Danny to his disability or lean on the typical "tragic hero" trope. Instead, it offers a nuanced portrayal of a man living a full, complex life that includes doubt, triumph, and intimacy.
For me, the film resonated on many levels. Like Danny, I live with a neuromuscular condition, and I related to his emotional struggles around vulnerability and rejection. Good Bad Things authentically captures the fear and complexity of disclosing a disability in relationships. It doesn't sugarcoat Danny's experiences, but it also doesn't define him solely by his condition. Watching his relationship with Madi, a photographer, unfold made me reflect on my own journey with Grit. Like them, we explore themes of vulnerability and beauty through our artistic projects, often navigating the interplay of intimacy and disability.
One thing that stood out is how Good Bad Things portrays masculinity. Danny isn't the typical "tough guy" protagonist; instead, the film shows his emotional vulnerability as a strength. This reframing of masculinity is refreshing, especially when it comes to living with a disability. The film pushes back against traditional notions of manhood, emphasizing that expressing emotions and relying on others is not a weakness, but part of being human.
The dynamic between Danny and his best friend, Jason, also felt true to life. Their relationship-rooted in mutual support and equality-reminded me of how Grit and I navigate our partnership, both personally and professionally. It avoids turning the able-bodied character into a "savior," which is a common pitfall in stories like this. Instead, both characters support each other in a balanced and authentic way.
What I found most powerful was how Danny's relationship with Madi became a turning point for him. She helps him see his body in a new light, not as an obstacle but as something deserving of love and connection. This process of re-seeing yourself through the eyes of someone who truly accepts you is deeply familiar to me. Grit and I have created a similar space in our relationship, where we challenge and support each other in embracing the parts of ourselves that we might otherwise struggle to accept.
The film also tackles an issue that's close to my heart: representation. It's rare to see a disabled protagonist in such a multidimensional role, especially in a romantic context. Danny's journey isn't about overcoming his disability, but about living fully with it-something that mirrors my own experience. Films like Good Bad Things and Touch Me Not-which Grit and I have explored together-challenge mainstream narratives around disability. They show that disabled bodies are capable of love, desire, and intimacy, reclaiming agency in a world that often marginalizes us.
Ultimately, Good Bad Things serves as a reflection of my own life, both in terms of accepting my body and redefining masculinity and intimacy on my own terms. It's a reminder that our stories, in all their complexity, deserve to be told authentically. People with disabilities deserve happy endings too.
