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Mahershala Ali is a mentor with mixed impact in Barry Jenkins tender Moonlight |
In three acts, we see the life of Chiron, from a young
child, to a confused teenager to a muscular, adult drug dealer. Played by a
different actor at each age, each self-contained half-an-hour-or-so act sees
him struggle with understanding who he is, and deal with the impact that different
people have on shaping the man he is, from his mother Paula (Naomi Harris), a
woman embracing a destructive drug addiction, to his mentor as a young boy, the
thoughtful drug dealer Juan (Mahershala Ali) and his caring girlfriend Teresa
(Janelle Monáe).
Perhaps the core influence however is childhood friend Kevin, the love of
Chiron’s life. Because Chiron is struggling with the fact he is gay, in a
community where macho masculinity is all important.
Jenkins’ thoughtful and beautifully made film is a wonderful
coming-of-age story, that explores deeply emotional territory with sensitivity
and care. Jenkins invests the entire story with a beautiful sense of poetry and
an echoing, longing sense of sadness. The entire film is constructed of paths
not taken, of lost opportunities and painful misunderstandings. It asks
profound questions around the people who inspire us, the impact our parents can
have, the damaging impact of trying to conform with the world, and the struggle
we can take to understand ourselves.
Because the main theme that runs through each act is Chiron’s
struggle to come to terms with his homosexuality. As a young boy it’s something
he’s beginning to be aware of – and the distance it brings, knowing he’s
different from his fellow kids. It’s there in the cruel treatment he receives
from his mother. As a young boy, there is the potential that his life could go
another way – something that his mentor figure, drug dealer Juan, detects
(perhaps, the film subtly implies, because it echoes lost opportunities and
ignored feelings in Juan’s own life).
The middle act shows how these chances can be truly lost, how our
teenage experiences can shake us. Because Chiron is different in a way that
will never gain true acceptance in such a macho environment, where Chiron has
it enforced to him time and time again that his sexuality is a weakness,
something that dirties him and makes him less than others. Jenkins’ film offers
a beautiful view of how a teenager can be made to feel ashamed of themselves
and the person they are – to the extent that his reaction after his first sexual
experience with his childhood friend Kevin is to apologise. Chiron hasn’t been
given the emotional confidence or language to be comfortable with who he is –
Juan is the only person who has ever told him that there is nothing wrong with
being gay. Chiron instead has to cope with isolation, guilt and shame –
emotions that Jenkins’ beautifully structured middle-chapters show, push him
more and more towards anger and rage.
It’s perhaps not surprising that Chiron as a young adult has
turned himself as much as possible into what his community believes “a man
should be”. It’s striking how similar he looks to Juan – from his dress and
jewelry, to his muscular manner and his profession. The skinny boy of the first
two chapters has become a muscle-bound, intimidating young man. What hasn’t
changed is his emotional distance, his isolation. In fact, what has been
magnified is his desire to be loved, to feel a connection. A connection that he
arguably hasn’t felt for over a decade.
The film can speak to anyone who has had problems fitting in, who
feels different from others. Jenkins fits it beautifully into a community he
was familiar with, a Black community (there isn’t a single white person
anywhere in the film) that values qualities of masculinity and aggression that run
counter to Chiron’s own personality, but which he is forced to conform with.
This is such a compromised community that the person who understands Chiron
most – the drug dealer Juan – is also a big part of the problem, supplying the
drugs that are affecting his mother’s life and a leading part of the violent,
macho world Chiron lives in.
This mentor relationship is the beating heart of the much of the
film – helped by Mahershala Ali’s wonderfully judged (Oscar-winning)
performance as Juan. Juan is a man of contrasts, thoughtful and tender,
understanding of the internal struggles of a young man (has he dealt with them
himself), but also moving in a violent and destructive world, a leading part of
the criminal community that dominates Chiron’s world. He offers enough of a
lost opportunity for Chiron to have reshaped his life – while also propping up
the world that will crush him.
Juan is certainly a big part of destroying Chiron’s mother
Paula. Naomi Harris is superbly damaged, raw and uncontrolled as an addict we
see disintegrate over the first two chapters until she settles into the fragile
older woman plagued with guilt in the final act. This is a mother who offers no
love and support to her son, who denigrates him for his differences and builds
a world around him that has no love or understanding in it. Her collapse is as
much a criticism of the horrors and compromises of this community as it is a terrible
warning story.
Jenkins’ film looks phenomenal, with a style that marries
poetry and realism. It can feature young boys playing in the park with
aggressive naturalness, underscored with Mozart. There is a beautiful running
theme of water, cropping up at key moments of Chiron’s life: from the swimming
lesson Juan gives him, to the cold water he cleans his face in after a teenage
beating, to the adult Chiron largely drinking only water (perhaps to make sure
he never slips and reveals too much of himself). It’s a gentle touch –
reflected as well in the cool blues that frequently cover the screen, like the
wash of water.
The actors portraying Chiron and Kevin are wonderful. The
final act revolves around a beautifully played scene between Trevante Rhodes
and André
Holland as their adult versions, a low-key, but deeply emotional, conversation
that sees them carefully skirt round a host of emotions that can never be
expressed, partly as neither character as the emotional hinterland to use them.
Jenkin’s film won a deserved Oscar as Best Picture. It deserves it
for showing us two worlds we see so little in film: both the working-class Black
community, but also the life of a young gay man in modern America. It’s
wonderfully judged, low-key, personal and with a slight story carries great
emotional force. It gives you far more to think about and consider than you
might at first expect, and makes for an eye-opening and deeply involving film.
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