USA, 111 minutes
Director: Barry Jenkins
Writers: Barry Jenkins, Tarell Alvin McCraney
Photography: James Laxton
Music: Nicholas Britell
Editors: Joi McMillon, Nat Sanders
Cast: Mahershala Ali, Alex R. Hibbert, Janelle Monae, Naomie Harris, Ashton Sanders, Jharrel Jerome, Andre Holland, Trevante Rhodes
My first review of Moonlight, five years ago when it was more like new, actually hits all the main points about this very potent movie. I'm revisiting it now to cover my formal reviews of the 21st-century list of best pictures at They Shoot Pictures, Don't They?, where it has presently ascended to #22. I remember feeling annoyed by the surge of interest in it, which seemed to me merely a token of anti-MAGA sentiment in opposition to La La Land, which was white but not actually very Trumpy (for that see The Greatest Showman from the following year, a favorite of the former president which I haven't been able to look at yet).
I admit the Oscars mix-up that year did have a Trumpy twang, not least because the US election in 2016 was itself part of a series of improbable pop culture historical events in that period which made it feel like we had been ejected into some far more unpleasant dimensional timeline. It started with the Chicago Cubs winning the World Series after more than a century, coming from behind, then the abomination of the US election results, and then the plainly freaky and traumatic Super Bowl win by the New England Patriots over the Atlanta Falcons, and finally the Oscars goof. Everyone thought it was going to be La La Land, which was at the root of what happened. But it turned out to be Moonlight, thus somehow making a serious, sensitive Black film #2 even at being #1. But enough about freaks of history. Let's talk about this movie.
My first review of Moonlight, five years ago when it was more like new, actually hits all the main points about this very potent movie. I'm revisiting it now to cover my formal reviews of the 21st-century list of best pictures at They Shoot Pictures, Don't They?, where it has presently ascended to #22. I remember feeling annoyed by the surge of interest in it, which seemed to me merely a token of anti-MAGA sentiment in opposition to La La Land, which was white but not actually very Trumpy (for that see The Greatest Showman from the following year, a favorite of the former president which I haven't been able to look at yet).
I admit the Oscars mix-up that year did have a Trumpy twang, not least because the US election in 2016 was itself part of a series of improbable pop culture historical events in that period which made it feel like we had been ejected into some far more unpleasant dimensional timeline. It started with the Chicago Cubs winning the World Series after more than a century, coming from behind, then the abomination of the US election results, and then the plainly freaky and traumatic Super Bowl win by the New England Patriots over the Atlanta Falcons, and finally the Oscars goof. Everyone thought it was going to be La La Land, which was at the root of what happened. But it turned out to be Moonlight, thus somehow making a serious, sensitive Black film #2 even at being #1. But enough about freaks of history. Let's talk about this movie.
Having seen Moonlight three times now, one thing I can say for sure is that it only gets better every time. For many years now I have been an absolute sucker for narratives pushing themes of kindness and connection, and that is exactly the wheelhouse of this movie. It details scenes in the life of a young Black boy, Chiron, growing up gay in the hard streets of Miami. People around him, including his mother and bullying classmates, know he is gay before Chiron even knows what it means. Intersectionality is practically mathematical: multiply the fraction of a life you get in one cohort by the fraction of a life you get in another cohort and the result is an even smaller fraction of a life.
That is as given in Moonlight. This movie is so sad, it is always sad even when it is heartening. And it is definitely heartening in places, delivering solace. We feel all the fears for Chiron in his troubles, we know what he is up against, seeing him try to understand his lot. We know even better than he does—perhaps this movie's best and most poignant single point—what he is up against. But we also see, or think we see, a lifelong friend or more in Kevin. I talked in the other review about these three sets of basic leads: Kevin and Chiron (or "Little") in grade school, Kevin and Chiron in high school, and Kevin and Chiron (or "Black," using the nickname Kevin gave him in high school) when they are pushing 30 and living as rueful, surviving adults.
And they are indeed some of the best performances here: Ashton Sanders as Chiron in high school, Trevante Rhodes as the grown Black, and Andre Holland as the grown Kevin. But there are strong supporting performances here as well, notably Janelle Monae as Teresa, a neighborhood mother figure, and Naomie Harris as Chiron's crack-addicted, tormented mother. Other than Chiron and Kevin, Chiron's mother is the one constant across all three formal parts of this movie, and Harris shows a lot of range, moving from full-on raging addiction to the bittersweet recovery phase. Even at the end, Chiron still can't trust her.
The sex and sexuality are handled particularly well. It was fascinating to see Chiron coming to terms with what he is, which really takes until the third section, and then just barely. Everyone around him can see him better than he can see himself, but that's hardly unique to him. It's more like the human condition as we understand it.
The three-part structure of the narrative gives it a formal, theatrical feeling. We have to acquaint ourselves with Chiron and Kevin three times. Each part builds to its own slow burn. Here again the performances as well as the casting really stand out, as the shifting players are readily recognizable, even in physical mannerisms. The shift in players is a way to wrench us out of the previous sequence and into a new one. The pacing is brisk, though the shots and moments of silence can be long. Things keep happening. Things keep coming at Chiron.
Last note on the soundtrack. I love seeing the Barbara Lewis song "Hello Stranger" played up so big—it's a song that has got to me since I first heard it in 1965. But they kneecap it a little with extra-heavy foreshadowing. Kevin suddenly starts talking about hearing a song. What song? We don't remember any song from any previous encounter (some quite vivid) unless you're talking about ... "Chiron's Theme"? Slightly distracting, but still effective when the song starts playing on the jukebox. The rest of the score is pretty good too, with some hip-hop, some Mozart, and a lot of original orchestral music. Hey, don't miss this one, really. I think it might still be on the rise over at TSPDT.
That is as given in Moonlight. This movie is so sad, it is always sad even when it is heartening. And it is definitely heartening in places, delivering solace. We feel all the fears for Chiron in his troubles, we know what he is up against, seeing him try to understand his lot. We know even better than he does—perhaps this movie's best and most poignant single point—what he is up against. But we also see, or think we see, a lifelong friend or more in Kevin. I talked in the other review about these three sets of basic leads: Kevin and Chiron (or "Little") in grade school, Kevin and Chiron in high school, and Kevin and Chiron (or "Black," using the nickname Kevin gave him in high school) when they are pushing 30 and living as rueful, surviving adults.
And they are indeed some of the best performances here: Ashton Sanders as Chiron in high school, Trevante Rhodes as the grown Black, and Andre Holland as the grown Kevin. But there are strong supporting performances here as well, notably Janelle Monae as Teresa, a neighborhood mother figure, and Naomie Harris as Chiron's crack-addicted, tormented mother. Other than Chiron and Kevin, Chiron's mother is the one constant across all three formal parts of this movie, and Harris shows a lot of range, moving from full-on raging addiction to the bittersweet recovery phase. Even at the end, Chiron still can't trust her.
The sex and sexuality are handled particularly well. It was fascinating to see Chiron coming to terms with what he is, which really takes until the third section, and then just barely. Everyone around him can see him better than he can see himself, but that's hardly unique to him. It's more like the human condition as we understand it.
The three-part structure of the narrative gives it a formal, theatrical feeling. We have to acquaint ourselves with Chiron and Kevin three times. Each part builds to its own slow burn. Here again the performances as well as the casting really stand out, as the shifting players are readily recognizable, even in physical mannerisms. The shift in players is a way to wrench us out of the previous sequence and into a new one. The pacing is brisk, though the shots and moments of silence can be long. Things keep happening. Things keep coming at Chiron.
Last note on the soundtrack. I love seeing the Barbara Lewis song "Hello Stranger" played up so big—it's a song that has got to me since I first heard it in 1965. But they kneecap it a little with extra-heavy foreshadowing. Kevin suddenly starts talking about hearing a song. What song? We don't remember any song from any previous encounter (some quite vivid) unless you're talking about ... "Chiron's Theme"? Slightly distracting, but still effective when the song starts playing on the jukebox. The rest of the score is pretty good too, with some hip-hop, some Mozart, and a lot of original orchestral music. Hey, don't miss this one, really. I think it might still be on the rise over at TSPDT.
"Intersectionality is practically mathematical: multiply the fraction of a life you get in one cohort by the fraction of a life you get in another cohort and the result is an even smaller fraction of a life." Nice line.-Skip
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