If Beale Street Could Talk (2018)

Director Barry Jenkins's first feature since Moonlight is based on a 1974 novel by James Baldwin. It's a period piece, set in '70s New York, but one of the saddest sides of it is that the story wouldn't have to be much different today. Fonny Hunt (Stephan James) is 22 and an aspiring sculptor and Tish Rivers (KiKi Layne) is his 19-year-old girlfriend. They have known each other all their lives. Just as Fonny and Tish are about to take a loft downtown—they've had to look long and hard to find a landlord who will rent to African Americans—Fonny gets caught in a trumped-up charge of rape. In the wrong place at the wrong time, plus there's a cop out to get him. The physical evidence (not to mention the resolute character evidence of Tish's family, who believe in him) makes him an unlikely suspect. But the racist corruption runs deep in this rigged system and the de facto burden of proof is on Fonny. He's going away to prison unless something extraordinary can happen and this is not a movie where extraordinary things like that happen. What is powerful and special here is how recognizable Fonny and Tish are as a young couple in love setting out to make their way. They are young and naïve enough to see a bright future, though it is quickly derailed. Jenkins's ease with setting up and executing tender scenes is as remarkable as ever. And If Beale Street Could Talk touches on many different aspects of African American life. When Tish announces she is pregnant, for example, Fonny's mother, a devout blood-of-Jesus Christian, reacts very badly, in an intense scene that unfolds in a handful of unexpected directions—great ensemble work in a tight physical space. In another scene, a friend Fonny hasn't seen in some time, Daniel (Brian Tyree Henry), tells Fonny over beers that he recently got out of jail, and the way he talks about the experience is haunting. Of course there are confrontations with racist cops too, who of course conform to stereotypes that are not hard to believe—we know much better now than in 1974 how these things go. Jenkins often plays to the extremes for effect—the love of Fonny and Tish can be preposterously sweet and the relentless specter of racism so bitterly galling. Nicholas Britell's score often reminded me of Chinatown—moody bruised Ellington-like swells inevitably signaling political corruption somehow. These extremes are part of what makes If Beale Street Could Talk work so well. But mostly it's the affecting way the characters are shown standing up to love even in the greatest distress. It's a good one.