4.5 stars. Rated R, for drug use, frequent profanity, sexuality and brief violence
By Derrick Bang
Some rare, special films — such
as this one — are made with a degree of raw intimacy that’s both compelling and
painful.
Director Barry Jenkins’ Moonlight is profoundly difficult to
watch at times, its depiction of contemporary inner city black life achingly
sad, with its focus on one young man’s struggle to surmount his upbringing, his
environment and the crushing realization that the world expects him to accomplish
absolutely nothing. Can it be true, in the modern United States, that one is
doomed from birth?
And yet Jenkins’ intriguing
storytelling method — co-scripted with Tarell Alvin McCraney — offers glimpses
of, if not hope, at least peace and acceptance. Although coming-of-age sagas
are a familiar cinema staple, this one takes an intriguing approach; it was
conceived as a drama school project in a class run by McCraney, a playwright
and 2013 MacArthur Genius Grant recipient.
Jenkins’ big-screen adaptation is
divided into three distinct chapters, reflecting seminal moments in the young
protagonist’s life, and with different actors — who resemble each other to an
uncanny degree — playing the character as he ages. The film’s atmosphere of
authenticity is no accident; both Jenkins and McCraney grew up in the South
Florida Liberty City housing project where much of this story unfolds.
The picture isn’t pretty, the
experience on par with 2009’s Precious,
and graced with similarly powerful performances.
There’s another, equally revealing
comparison. 1996’s Sling Blade
remains famous as the film that turned its star, director and writer — Billy
Bob Thornton — into a household name. That film got much of its power from
the narrative’s multiple punches. After its protagonist’s first soliloquy,
delivered early on, we thought, Damn, Billy Bob peaked too quickly; there’s no
way anything else will come close to
that scene’s dramatic intensity. And yet, later, Thornton did top it. And we marveled.
Jenkins achieves the same
intensity here.
We meet Chiron at age 9, played
by Alex Hibbert: a cowed, withdrawn child bullied by schoolmates because of his
small size. This earns him the pejorative nickname of “Little,” and classroom
torment isn’t even his major problem; at home, he’s alternately coddled and
demeaned by his mother, Teresa (Janelle Monáe), a crack addict whose parental
instincts flicker erratically, at best.
Little is “rescued” one day, in a
sense, by Juan (Mahershala Ali), an essentially compassionate man who —
unfortunately — happens to be the neighborhood drug dealer. But the boy doesn’t
know this, and their developing relationship is the first demonstration — with
several more to come — of Jenkins’ skill at building a sensitive character
dynamic under unlikely circumstances.
