“Who is you, man?” Dramatic film has long been fascinated
with issues of identity, but they’ve rarely been explored with the degree of
eloquence and heartbreaking beauty as in Barry Jenkins’ masterful “Moonlight,”
one of the essential American films of 2016. “Moonlight” is a film that is both
lyrical and deeply grounded in its character work, a balancing act that’s
breathtaking to behold. It is one of those rare pieces of filmmaking that stays
completely focused on its characters while also feeling like it’s dealing with
universal themes about identity, sexuality, family, and, most of all,
masculinity. And yet it’s never preachy or moralizing. It is a movie in which deep, complex themes are reflected through character first and foremost. Jenkins’ film is confident in every single aspect of the way that
a critic can use that word. Every performance, every shot choice, every piece
of music, every lived-in setting—it’s one of those rare movies that just doesn’t
take a wrong step, and climaxes in a scene not of CGI or twists but of dialogue
that is one of the best single scenes in years.
The protagonist of “Moonlight” reflects the conflicted and
fluid masculinity of young African-American men in the United States, even in
just the way he’s presented. The film is divided into three chapters—“Little,” “Chiron”
and “Black”—the three names used to refer to the same person that we follow
from childhood through adolescence to adulthood. He’s a boy and then a man who
has trouble figuring out his place in the world, which is also articulated by the character being played by three separate, all-remarkable actors.
The film starts with Chiron as a boy, referred to by his bullies as “Little” (Alex R. Hibbert). We meet this youngster
running, trying to hide in a boarded up apartment from the kids who want to
beat him up. Little is found there by Juan (Mahershala Ali, doing career-best
work), a local drug dealer. Juan takes the kid out to eat, even bringing him
back to his place, where he meets his partner Teresa (Janelle Monáe). Little
could use this makeshift family. His dad is gone and his mother Paula (Naomie
Harris) happens to be one of Juan’s best clients. Juan becomes something of a
father figure, but that might make this relationship sound more predictable
than it is. Juan sees something good in Chiron and wants to help this quiet
boy, even as he provides the product that’s ruining his home life.
The film jumps to Chiron as a teenager, dealing with more
intense bullying and questions about sexuality. These are the years in which
everyone claims to be sleeping around and a young man like Chiron (now played
by Ashton Sanders) struggles to find himself, especially now that all semblance
of a normal home life is gone. He literally has nothing, and it takes kindness
from his friend Kevin (played by Jharrel Jerome at this age) to bring him
comfort. But even that is turned in a time, place and age in which compassion
is sorely lacking, when young men believe that violence is the answer to what
will make them feel better or allow them to fit in.
Finally, we meet Chiron as a young adult, played with
remarkable subtlety by Trevante Rhodes. Kevin (now played by André Holland of “The
Knick”) reaches out to a very-different Chiron, and the film’s themes coalesce
in a surprisingly emotionally resonant way without monologues or heavy-handed
melodrama. In a sense, “Moonlight” is a coming-of-age story about a boy often
overlooked by society, that little kid not cool enough to hang with the bigger
ones and without the support of a family to keep him from simply disappearing
into the night.
The trio of performances that make up Chiron from
Hibbert/Sanders/Rhodes are perfectly calibrated by Jenkins, who directs them to feel not like imitations of each other but express growth. We can see
the sad eyes of Chiron as a boy reflected in Chiron as a man. “Moonlight” could
have easily felt episodic, especially with three actors playing the same
character, but it’s stunning how much it never falters in that regard. Jenkins’
work with his ensemble creates consistency from chapter to chapter, even as the
cast changes as often as it does. Jenkins also draws great turns from Harris and Ali, playing two of the most influential people in Chiron’s life.
Jenkins and his technical team shoot Miami in a way that we
don’t often see, using their setting brilliantly, especially the way that the
water and the beach around it can feel like a break from the troubles of the
real world. But “Moonlight” is a film about faces. Chiron’s eyes say so much that this
young man has not been taught how to express. He is young, black, gay, poor,
and largely friendless—the kind of person who feels like he could literally
vanish from being so unseen by the world. During one of the film’s many
memorable dialogue exchanges (written by Jenkins, adapted from a play by Tarell McCraney),
Chiron speaks of crying so much in his life that he feels like he could simply
turn to liquid and roll into the ocean.
While there’s memorable dialogue in “Moonlight,” it’s what’s
unsaid that really resonates. It’s the look of a morally complex father figure
when a child asks him why other kids call him a bad word. It’s a nervous glance
between two young men who know something is a little different about their
relationship but society has given them no words to express it. And it’s in the final
scenes of the film—in which Jenkins knows he’s laid the groundwork, trusts
his actors and allows the emotions of what’s unsaid to provide the dramatic
thrust—that “Moonlight” makes its greatest impact. Jenkins deeply understands that it
is human connection that forms us, that changes our trajectory and makes us who
we are.