In an age of franchises and blockbusters, it’s funny that a film like Moonlight feels so monolithic. It is a coming-of-age story that is both expansive and so personal– not only to the filmmakers and talent involved but personal to every occupied theater seat. It is a necessary and vibrant depiction of race and sexuality in America during a divisive time in this country, yet it does not feel political. It is a chorus of exciting new voices in American cinema, yet it is a quiet, patient feature. It is a film that feels like a landmark, for not only this moment but for years to come. So to speak, Moonlight is a blockbuster in its own way.
Moonlight follows a young African-American man named Chiron on his journey to find the definition of manhood. Framed as a triptych, the film sees a different actor play Chiron in three key moments of his youth. As a young kid, Chiron confides in a drug dealer whom he considers a father figure, while his mom’s own addiction rises. Years later, as a high school student, Chiron struggles to decipher his sexuality after developing feelings for the only classmate that shows him respect and friendship. Later, as a young adult, Chiron has established a tough persona as a dealer, yet finds himself struggling with his masculinity after reconnecting with a classmate.
One of the most apparent successes of Moonlight is the casting of Chiron in all three stages of his life. Despite not particularly resembling each other, the three young men cast evoke the same personality through more subtle details of speech and body language. But in a sense, it feels almost fitting that the three manifestations of Chiron feel so eerily similar, yet look distinctly separate. The power of director Barry Jenkins’ character study is that, through Chiron, he is not telling the story of one young black man growing up in America, but thousands. Chiron is a character that deals with some similar tribulations that often limit people of color in film, however, Moonlight shows his struggles with so much more than the average character as he is forced to deal with misgivings about his masculinity, sexuality, and family. In this way, the film transcends toward the annals of not just a great film, but an essential one.
Jenkins continues the conversation that he started in his first and only prior feature, Medicine for Melancholy. Charming as it was, his debut was conversational and frequently ham-fisted for a film that didn’t fall far from the early ‘mumblecore’ movement. In form, Moonlight could not be more different. Operatic in its scope, yet gentle in its expression, Moonlight is Jenkins’ butterfly. There is an intimacy to how Jenkins and cinematographer James Laxton follow their characters without interfering with their reactions to the environment. As filmmakers and dramatists, this guidance proves to be their greatest gift; it results in a film both refined and poetic, while staying raw and pure.
‘Moonlight’ is rated R for some sexuality, drug use, brief violence, and language throughout. 110 minutes. Opening at the ArcLight Hollywood and the Landmark on Friday, October 21st.
