by Jasper Bernbaum/www.cinemacy.com
In an age of franchises and blockbusters, it’s funny that a film like “Moonlight” feels so monolithic. It is a coming-of-age story that is both expansive and yet so personal– not only to the filmmakers and talent involved but personal to everyone occupying a theater seat. It is a necessary and vibrant depiction of race and sexuality in America during a divisive time in this country, yet the film does not feel political, rather, like a chorus of exciting new voices in American cinema. A quiet, patient feature, this is a film that feels like a landmark, for not only this moment but will maintain relevance for years to come. In its own unique way, “Moonlight” is a blockbuster in its own right.
The story follows a young African-American man named Chiron on his journey to discover the definition of manhood. Framed as a triptych, the film portrays a different actor playing Chiron in three key moments of his youth. As a young kid, Chiron confides in a drug dealer whom he considers a father figure, while his mom’s own addiction escalates. Years later, as a high school student, Chiron struggles to understand his sexuality after developing feelings for the only classmate that shows him respect and friendship. Later, as a young adult, Chiron has established a tough persona as a dealer, yet finds himself struggling with his masculinity after reconnecting with the classmate.
One of the most apparent successes of “Moonlight” is the casting of Chiron in all three stages of his life. Despite not particularly resembling each other, each of the three young men cast evoke the same personality through more subtle details of speech and body language. But in a sense, it feels almost fitting that the three manifestations of Chiron feel so eerily similar, yet look distinctly separate. The power of director Barry Jenkins’ character study is that, through Chiron, he is not telling the story of one young black man growing up in America, but thousands. Chiron is a character who deals with some similar tribulations that often limit people of color in film, however, in “Moonlight” these struggles are depicted with much more angst as the character is forced to deal with misgivings about his masculinity, sexuality, and family. The powerful portrayal of these universal themes of struggle are the makings of not just a great film, but an essential one.
Jenkins continues the conversation that he started in his first and only prior feature, “Medicine for Melancholy.” Charming as it was, his debut was conversational and frequently ham-fisted for a film that didn’t fall far from the early ‘mumblecore’ movement. In form, “Moonlight” could not be more different. Operatic in its scope, yet gentle in its expression, “Moonlight” is Jenkins’ butterfly. There is an intimacy to how Jenkins and cinematographer James Laxton follow their characters without interfering with their reactions to the environment. As filmmakers and dramatists, this guidance proves to be their greatest gift; it results in a film both refined and poetic, while staying raw and pure.
“Moonlight” is rated R for some sexuality, drug use, brief violence, and language throughout. 110 minutes. Now playing at the Landmark.
