★ ★ ★ ★ ☆
Moonlight begins
with a statement by song: Boris Gardiner’s Every
N****r is a Star. The star in this movie’s galaxy is Chiron (Alex
Hibbert/Ashton Sanders/Trevante Rhodes), a young black man struggling with his
sexuality. Based on a drama school project by playwright Tarell Alvin McCraney,
the film takes the form of three distinct acts that track Chiron’s journey from
childhood, through adolescence and into adulthood. These segments in turn are
constructed of vignettes so delicate and tender you daren’t breathe, lest they
shatter.
Flat-out racism and refusal to engage with diverse
narratives aside, I cannot understand the mind-set of critics and audiences who
declare nothing to connect with here. Whether it’s the question of how we
choose to identify versus the labels placed on us by others, how masculinity
takes many different forms, the interlinking between sexuality and expression,
or even subtle notes on depression and anxiety,Moonlight offers so much to discuss with barely a word spoken. Mahershala
Ali (long may he reign) provides the major mouthpiece as Juan; a drug dealer
who dispenses wisdom to a young Chiron (nicknamed Little). It’s through Juan’s
calm intonation and the prolonged silences of pain by each incarnation of
Chiron (incidentally, all three leads are perfect) that gives the film such a
profound voice despite a deference to showing, not telling.
Every single moment of exquisite heartache is elevated by James
Laxton’s cinematography. The colours meld and blur and burn, a kaleidoscope of
cool blues and searing purple that are incredible even when removed from the
context of a film that gifts us so many indelible images. Director Barry
Jenkins has shown me things that cinema has never offered before: a romantic
jukebox denouement reserved for two men, a complete lack of white speaking
parts, and the sight of a muscled black man crying that isn’t played for
comedic effect, even remotely.
This complete contrast with any film I’ve ever seen before is
probably my favourite thing about a film full of astonishing elements. I have a
terrible habit of referring to other films an awful lot, but Moonlight is so different that I have almost no frame of reference, and I can’t
understate how exciting that is. The one allusion I could find was a comparison
with this year’s A Monster Calls,
which I said empowered every lonely child to “admit their quietest truth at
thunderous volume”. Moonlight is the
flipside; expressing the loudest components of self-expression and character as
a mere whisper.
I’m not about to say I had a ball with it, because that
wouldn’t be entirely true: I think one could argue that some of the narrative
might fall into place a little too neatly. I’m tempted to say that’s not
necessarily a bad thing – given how the minorities represented are so rarely
given any kind of narrative justice – but I am aware that saying so might come
across as patronising.
While its general themes are infinitely successful, its
specificity is still occasionally difficult for someone so far from its frame
of reference…but I don’t consider that an issue. For those who do understand these experiences, who have had their background, sexuality and
racial identity used as the basis for prejudice, Moonlight is going to be unspeakably important. The specific periphery of Jenkins’ film is what makes it
so special, what makes it feel like a story where, for the briefest instant,
the outside world may as well not exist; a welcome escape indeed.
