The Photograph: Nicely developed

The Photograph (2020) • View trailer 
Four stars. PG-13, for sensuality and brief profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 2.14.20

It has been so long between gentle, sensitively constructed relationship dramas, that it took a minor act of will to get back into their rhythm.

While trying to satisfy his curiosity regarding a famous photographer with humble
Louisiana roots, Michael (LaKeith Stanfield) encounters Mae (Issa Rae), currently
curating an exhibit of the woman's work.

Writer/director Stella Meghie’s thoughtful little film shares its charms without bombast. No car chases or explosions. No gun battles. No ironic catastrophes. No unexpected, life-altering freak accidents. No natural disasters or other indications of Mother Nature’s displeasure. (Well, OK; there is a hurricane. But it serves mostly as a backdrop that heightens the developing intensity between two characters.)

This is just an uncomplicated set of cleverly intertwined love stories between characters separated by time but linked by behavior.

How utterly refreshing.

Meghie has an unerring ear for naturalistic dialog — whether flirty or contemplative — all of which is delivered with persuasive sincerity by her well-sculpted characters. It’s always fun to watch such people fall in love; movies have excelled at that since the medium’s conception (but not so much lately, sad to say).

It’s equally engaging to fret over conflicted, angst-riddled individuals who put head above heart: to wonder whether they’ll see the light and take the offered shot at romance. Or, indeed, if instead we must acknowledge that some folks are destined for a path that doesn’t include the stability (confinement?) of conventional togetherness.

And whether they’ll come to regret such a decision.

Journalist Michael Block (LaKeith Stanfield), a rising star at a New York-based magazine, heads down to Louisiana for a feature piece on how coastal communities are recovering, post-Katrina and Deepwater Horizon oil spill. (Answer: Not well.) His local contact is crab fisherman Isaac Jefferson (Rob Morgan, nicely understated), a modest, easygoing fellow who never felt compelled to abandon the environment in which he grew up.

During an otherwise routine interview, Michael’s attention is drawn to a series of striking, black-and-white photographs, including one of the photographer herself: Christina Eames, a native daughter who broke Isaac’s heart a generation ago, when she left to seek fame and fortune in New York.

Back in the Big Apple, his curiosity piqued, Michael discovers that a retrospective of Eames’ work is being mounted at a nearby gallery. A desire to see more of her photographs brings him in contact with exhibit curator Mae Morton (Issa Rae), and the discovery that Eames did become famous.

But Mae is no random curator. As we’ve already seen, she’s the long-estranged daughter of Eames, who has just died. By mounting this retrospective, Mae hopes to assuage a lifetime of hurt and anger; adding more mystery to this desire, Eames’ bank safe deposit box includes a pair of letters, one of which is a lengthy narrative from mother to daughter.

Initially dismayed by this apparent attempt at post-mortem reconciliation, Mae shares this frustration with her father (Courtney B. Vance, wonderfully compassionate), who shrugs sympathetically and admits that, well, that’s just the way your mother was.

Meghie and editor Shannon Baker Davis subsequently cross-cut between these two narratives: twentysomething Christina (Chanté Adams) and Isaac (Y’lan Noel), attempting to build a life together in the 1980s; and Michael and Mae, undeniably attracted to each other in the modern day. The letter that Mae reads becomes the transitional element, as she periodically refers to its contents while mulling over her own fresh romantic entanglement.

Both stories unfold sweetly and softly. Adams is persuasively conflicted as young Christina, who clearly loves Isaac but feels restricted by this quiet coastal community, where nothing much happens. Noel is similarly credible as a humble man wholly content within that same environment, who does everything he can to make himself a “good catch” — including building Christina her own darkroom (a caring touch) — but who knows, deep down, that he’s destined to lose her.

Stanfield’s Michael similarly chafes at the “limitations” of a job he no longer finds challenging; he’s seduced by a potential opportunity at a London-based publication. (The parallel restlessness characterizing Christina and Michael is intentional.) At the same time, he’s undeniably drawn to Mae, and senses that she is similarly smitten.

Indeed. Despite the fallout resulting from her mother’s death, Mae can’t help being charmed by this sensitive guy who frequently — clumsily, disarmingly — preambles his intentions, as if seeking permission to act on them. Rae has a radiant smile that doesn’t merely light up her face; it illuminates entire rooms. But she also makes Mae slightly wary, even as she succumbs to Michael’s charms; she has a lot of “stuff” to process and, frankly, it’s an awkward time to fall in love (as if there’s ever a convenient moment).

Meghie and cinematographer Mark Schwartzbard further distinguish these two developing affairs via distinct visual palettes. Christina and Isaac spar in a steamy, sun-blasted environment of earth tones and grainy soft focus, akin to 1980s television camerawork; the result feels sultry, sweaty and provocatively sexy.

Michael and Mae, in notable contrast, maneuver through a more sophisticated realm of sharply defined cityscape with richer, vibrant shades of aristocratic primary colors.

The supporting players, even those in fleeting roles, are terrific. Chelsea Peretti blends exasperation with affection as Michael’s editor, fearing that she’s about to lose him. Jasmine Cephas Jones has a delectable air of mischief as Rachel, Mae’s curatorial assistant; Kelvin Harrison Jr. is similarly engaging as an eager intern who becomes Michael’s wingman.

Lil Rel Howery is a hoot as Michael’s motor-mouthed brother Kyle, who loves him but never would admit it; much of Kyle’s dialog clearly is improvised, and there’s no denying Howery’s lightning-quick comedy chops. Teyonah Parris is warmly maternal as Kyle’s wife Asia.

Two stand-out scenes take place with them. When the approaching hurricane drives the only recently hooked-up Michael and Mae to the safer ground of Kyle and Asia’s uptown digs, they regale Mae with a hilarious tale about Michael’s behavior at their wedding: a sequence so “true” that we feel part of the family. There’s also a marvelous moment between Mae and Kyle and Asia’s two young daughters (played winningly by Phoenix Noelle and Rylee Gabrielle King), capped by Meghie’s perfectly timed hold on a reaction shot.

The twin dramas are further anchored — and richly augmented — by Robert Glasper’s smooth jazz score: lazy, lonely and sensuous riffs and themes primarily on bass and piano, complemented by tasty combo touches.

Meghie assembles all these elements with the skill of a seasoned conductor. The pacing is a bit leisurely — perhaps a few too many pauses on pensive expressions — but that certainly doesn’t mar a satisfying saga that is, no question, a perfect date-night choice for this Valentines Day weekend.