The Poetic and Sublime 'Moonlight' - Entrepreneur Generations

Moonlight is currently playing at The Charles in Baltimore.

I've only written five blog entries this school year, but it's not writer's block. I have several entries floating around in my head; I've just had a busy 1st quarter.

But there's nothing like great art to inspire me to sit down and write. And Barry Jenkins' beautiful film Moonlight has done it for me.

It's a film I've been waiting for since I saw its transcendent trailer month ago, and then began reading the nearly-universal acclaim since it was screened by critics. The story also grabbed me: I can identify with the topic of the film, which seemed to be about a man struggling with his identity and sexuality. Whenever I wanted some goosebumps or a lump in my throat, I would re-watch the trailer; I was that pumped to see it.

The film opened at The Charles this past Friday, and I've seen it twice already. This wasn't planned; I organized a large group outing to see the movie on Election Eve, since teachers don't work the next day, but ended up seeing it unexpectedly on Saturday night as well.

Seeing Moonlight twice was a revelation. The first time I saw it, I was anxious through much of it, waiting for something to happen and nervous about my expectations. There's a motif of water in the movie -- important moments happen at the beach or in the water, there is an important bath scene, and even important sink scenes. At one point, the protagonist says he feels like crying so much that he might just turn into liquid and roll into the sea. The pace of the movie is like this, a methodically dripping water, with occasional splashes when the tension becomes too much and there needs an outlet. It was tough to sit through the first time I watched it; it's a challenging film that doesn't follow many of the typical rhythms of movies.

Moonlight is based on the unpublished Tarell Alvin McCraney play In Moonlight Black Boys Look Blue; McCraney is a young black playwright, only 36 years old, and won the MacArthur genius grant in 2013. Collaborating with him is 37-year old director Barry Jenkins. I highlight their ages because both grew up in Miami at the same time, just blocks apart, and it's clear throughout the film how specific and personal it is.

The film tells the story of Chiron, a quiet little boy growing up in Miami. It's told in three acts, with each of the three acts consisting of a couple days in Chiron's life. The first act, when Chiron is around 9 or 10 years old, centers on Chiron's relationship with his crack-addicted mother, as well as the crack dealer -- Juan, played by Mahershala Ali -- who acts as a father figure to Chiron. Janelle Monae, as Juan's girlfriend, provides more support to Chiron, but it's clear in this act that Chiron is damaged, perhaps beyond repair, by his emotionally abusive mother.

There are amazing scenes in this first act. Ali, who plays Remy in House of Cards, commands the screen with a charismatic and powerful performance, and Naomie Harris's mother character has a hugely compelling scene with him. Harris's performance here vacillates between accusation and sneering sarcasm, and you just can't take your eyes off her.

But the best moment of that first act is when young Chiron -- who, as played by young Alex Hibbert, is all pained eyes and long silences -- asks Juan what a "faggot" is. Ali's answer, and Monae's perfect accompaniment, make that scene one to treasure in this film full of them. Chiron then asks Juan two more questions, and the result is a poignant punch in the gut to both Juan and the audience.

The second act occurs when Chiron is in high school, bullied by his peers, who suspect he is gay, and let him know it. Ashton Sanders, the teenage actor playing Chiron now, has a lanky frame but walks as if he is coiled up, hunched over to protect himself. Sometimes, he wears his backpack on the front of his body, another form of protection. Jenkins uses these shots of Chiron walking throughout all three acts, but in this middle act, the character is perhaps at his most outwardly vulnerable, his least comfortable. His walking reflects that. It's only after spending the night at Teresa's -- once again played by a revelatory Janelle Monae, who does so much with a dozen lines in this film -- that Chiron walks with some confidence, as he's just been treated like a human (in a drugged haze, his mom had kicked him out of the house for a night, saying she's "expecting company"). After leaving Teresa's the camera shoots him walking with his chest out for about 20 feet, until he walks past his mom's apartment, and she comes out, and steals the spending money Teresa has given him. Chiron recoils again, putting the backpack on the front of his body before heading to school.

Chiron walks with an easy pride one other time during this act, and it occurs after the film's climactic scene. Kevin, a character who we initially meet in Act I, a classmate who is nice to Chiron, reappears here, now played by Jharrel Jerome. Kevin is once again the one peer character who treats Chiron as a person, and the two eventually share a transcendent moment of intimacy on the beach. Sanders and Jerome have real chemistry, and that moment on the beach comes off as poetic and magical as a first kiss and manual sex can be. When Kevin drops Chiron off later that night, he walks away with an innocence and confidence that we don't see again in the movie; the glances back suggest hope for the future, though that hope is quickly extinguished with an incident at school the next day.That leads to another long walk shot by Jenkins, but a different walk than we've seen at other points in the film; Chiron is tortured and angry, and ready to fight back.

Act III sees Chiron rebuilt as a drug dealer in his mid- to late-twenties. A far cry from the scrawny Chiron from Act II, this Chiron is muscular, with washboard abs and a weightlifter's body. He explains later that after a stint in juvenile detention, he meets a guy who puts him on a street corner, and he's worked himself to who we see presented in this third day: a kingpin of sorts, who wears gold chains around his neck and gold fronts on his top and bottom teeth, and drives with a king's crown on his dashboard. We see him acting as a mentor of sorts to a young corner boy, and we feel some echoes of Juan's earlier mentorship of a young Chiron 20 years before.

But this Chiron is not content. He suffers from nightmares about his mother and, perhaps, from memories of his earlier beating; Jenkins films him dipping his head in ice water, and putting his head in a freezer. His repentant mom calls him frequently, asking for a visit, but it's another phone call which sends Chiron reeling. It's Kevin, who Chiron had spent the night of passion with on the beach ten years before.

What follows is a scene between mother and son, which is quite powerful; there's a beautiful little moment, when Chiron lights a cigarette for his frail mom and then reaches over to wipe a tear off her face, that I loved. But it's the final meeting between Chiron and Kevin that we have been waiting for the entire movie. The two actors -- Chiron is now played by Trevante Rhodes, and Kevin by Andre Holland -- have tremendous chemistry, and there is a long scene in a diner that is full of tension, humor, longing, and unrequited desire.

Rhodes is a tremendous actor, so much so that if any actor from this film should get nominated for an Oscar, it's him. With heavy-lidded gazes and defensive posturing, Rhodes is able to convey all the longing and pain in the world. And matching him is Holland, who though is noticeably older as an actor (36 to 26) than Rhodes, still is able to bring out the reticent Chiron with a wounded magnetism.

The first time I watched the film, when the screen shot to black at the end, I was thinking to myself, "Please don't be over. Please don't be over. Please don't be over." The resolution wasn't enough for me. But, the second time, without the anxiety present about what was going to happen to Chiron, I was able to appreciate the subtlety of the ending, and that terrific last scene.

I also was disappointed the first time I watched the movie that some characters are dropped without much explanation, but, during the second viewing, it sort of hit me just how committed to realism the film is. This literally is six or seven days in a person's life -- basically two days for each of the acts. We don't get to see the arcs of all the characters, and that's okay. And as much as I loved the Janelle Monae character of Teresa, it makes sense that Chiron would hold her at arm's length; he held everyone at arm's length, including the Ali character of Juan, who has powerful moments with him early in the film but later disappears. Chiron was all protection and self-preservation, and the one time he lets himself out there, he gets pummeled. Literally.

Moonlight is difficult to watch: powerful and heart-breaking. Its power comes witnessing a character we have rarely, if ever, seen portrayed on film before, whose queerness and blackness are both integral his navigation of the world. The character tries for years to compartmentalize and hide behind everything he could, from backpacks and hunching over to hulking muscles, gold fronts and fancy cars, but the question we hear multiple times in the film -- "Who is you?" -- comes hurdling to its answer by Moonlight's conclusion. It's not answered with language, just as most of the best answers in this film and in life aren't necessarily answered with words: it's in the unsaid, the touch or the eye contact.

Jenkins is an amazing director who trusts his actors to convey everything they need to with silences and looks as much as words and his audience to get it. The look of the film is stunning, with high contrasts, rich colors and a dream-like quality. But it's not dream-like as in fantastical; this is a cold world, and the shifts to Chiron's brief nightmare scenes are barely noticeable. I loved his long, circling shots, which show perspectives of multiple characters before focusing on one or the other. And the film's infrequent use of of music, or even a score, makes it so that when it is used, it feels especially purposeful; there are no cheap emotions earned.

McCraney's script is full of those things that English teachers love: motifs that appear throughout, like the aforementioned water and walking to others (seriously, whole essays could be written about Jenkins' shots of Chiron walking, or McCraney's use of water in his script). Additionally, I loved how Ali's character hold up Chiron in the sea, his eyes to the sky, which is a look echoed later, in the scene between the two teenaged boys on the beach; Jenkins shoots them from above. Later in the film, though, Chiron's head is cast downward, into a sink full of ice water; the juxtaposition is striking and purposeful. Likewise, Kevin gives Chiron an important car ride in Act II; we see a reversal in Act III, with Chiron giving Kevin the car ride this time.

Moonlight is a film of tortured identity, longing, and growth. It's achingly beautiful and authentic, tender without being treacly: not one to miss.

from Epiphany in Baltimore http://ift.tt/2eQeYoI The Poetic and Sublime 'Moonlight' - Entrepreneur Generations

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