«Moonlight», a poetry of images

Miami. A rough neighborhood, a black neighborhood. Chiron, the scrawny kid nicknamed Little, runs with all his might, with all his strength. He has to escape the other kids who want to beat him up. It’s the same old story every day. Juan (Mahershala Ali), the respected local «dealer,» gently approaches the kid. Moved by compassion and wanting to help him, he simply wants to know his first name and walk him home. The boy, no doubt surprised and naturally reserved, doesn’t react.

«You don’t say a word, but you sure do eat,» Juan remarks with a smile as he takes the boy home for a bite to eat. It’s his wife, Teresa (Janelle Monae)—gentle and motherly—who manages to instill confidence in Chiron. The couple quickly understands his difficult situation: no father, a fragile mother. She uses drugs and works as a prostitute. Her son simply doesn’t want to go home anymore.

And so, little by little, the young boy finds adoptive parents, without completely abandoning his mother, who demands that he stay with her—sometimes violently. Chiron’s life, though he finds support, does not become any less difficult. As a teenager, he remains the scapegoat at school. He’s different—too skinny and shy. They call him a «faggot» and keep beating him up after school; the impoverished neighborhood doesn’t make things any better. He is gay—truly gay—though he didn’t choose to be. Such is the torment in a society that doesn’t understand and won’t accept.

Despite the more or less credible legitimacy of the Oscars—for Best Picture, Best Adapted Screenplay, and Best Supporting Actor for Mahershala Ali—the new film by African American director Barry Jenkins was cause for concern. The work bearing this great prophecy might have come across as heavy-handed and superficial. Homosexuality and Black identity are usually defended with such clumsiness and furious ignorance. These so-called minorities constantly stir up emotions and provoke the worst: unwanted marginalization. What’s more, it’s always mediocre in its execution. Moonlight took on the challenge. And rose to it with grace. A compelling visual poetry.

«The film’s subject is not Blackness or homosexuality; it is the human being in all their nakedness, in all their complexity, in their ontological and social fragility, in their greatness and their smallness, in their kindness and their cruelty,» he analyzes Le Temps, a seasoned film critic. These remarks are, however, false—or at least partially so. While it is true that the film deals with human psychology in all its complexities and twists and turns, the subject matter focuses specifically on homosexuality and Black identity. The film is eminently social. To deny this is to reject difference, even though it is presented with a missionary zeal.

It’s no coincidence that all the characters are Black, and all the men are very masculine—with the exception of Chiron. He is simply not like the others, despite their shared social class and race. This uniqueness of the character remains intact throughout the three chapters of the film. I. Little, II. Chiron, III. Black. The evolution of the antihero while maintaining his distinctiveness. The human tragedy at hand lies in the rejection of an identity, of a character: in short, a lack of love for the depth of a person.

Among a multitude of artistic achievements in Moonlight, the actors’ performances are crucial. This is especially true for the three actors who portray Chiron in the three distinct phases of his life: his childhood marked by discrimination, his troubled adolescence, and his lost adulthood. Alex Hibbert, as the young Chiron, stands out as the undisputed lead. Even as the protagonist grows older, we are constantly drawn back to his childlike essence. His downcast gaze, skeletal limbs, pure face, and innocent body captivate the viewer, evoking a natural sense of affection. Everyone would want to adopt the mocked “Little.” He is a victim—and nothing but a victim—of a mother who is herself a victim of the appalling and racist American system of the 1980s.

Ashton Sanders, as the teenage Chiron, is moving in his search for answers and his resistance in the face of overwhelming hatred, his gaze as downcast and powerful as ever. A young man discovering himself and struggling to find his place, feeling different among his peers. His sexuality is awakening, and he feels bitterly out of place: how can he make sense of being in love with a boy who brags about his conquests with girls?

Finally, there’s Trevante Rhodes, the well-built adult nicknamed “Black.” He seems less impressive than his two predecessors. In reality, he’s simply given a smaller role. On the one hand, because the character’s backstory has now been established; on the other, because it leaves the door open for a sequel that’s uncertain—if not impossible.

Beyond the theories and fascinating complexities, what makes Moonlight What makes this such a great film is its cinematography, which is both lulled and jolted by perfectly chosen music. The lighting, as the film’s promotional poster reveals, washes over the viewer. They express themselves through their subtle silence, which screams of distress—from the sickening pink of the neon lights in his mother’s brothel to the soothing blue of a moonlit shoreline, coloring his dark skin. But also, the sunlight caressing the sea and the dark beige of an oppressive classroom accompany Chiron in the inner turmoil of his soul. All of this is achieved without any forced effects. Likewise, the highly active and unsettling camera movement is in the same vein. It, however, adds to the sense of suffering experienced by the victim of discrimination.

The music—from the most “black” rap to classical violin, at times smooth, at times sharp—evokes the image of a new style. While it is indeed the lighting that conveys emotions and music, it does not take on that burden—which remains the case, however, in most feature films, both old and new. The sounds tragically echo Little’s loneliness, scrape away at Chiron’s suffocation, and convey Black’s lost introspection.

Despite the praise, in the interest of honesty, we must point out a minor flaw in the film. The reason is surely commercial—or perhaps simply a matter of bad taste. Under the bluish moonlight, the young gay man experiences his first and only passionate kiss from a classmate, Kevin. No, the problem doesn’t stem from a possible lack of modesty—we usually see much more than this, and that isn’t necessarily a bad thing—but from a betrayal of the main character’s arduous life experience. The kiss stains the transparent fabric of the drama: it is a red lie against a white background. If Chiron is to be deprived of the taste of love, let him be deprived of it entirely! The mistake isn’t serious, but it drains precious moisture from the flow of a tear.

Moonlight It is made of body, heart, and blood. Blood that flows. And in doing so, it bears witness to an indescribable beauty: that of the search for oneself, and the perilous struggle to become who one is.

«And all you can hear is your heart beating.»

Write to the author: loris.musumeci@leregardlibre.com

Photo credit: avoir-alors.com and nofilmschool.com