Note: This review uses a word many people find objectionable, and rightly so. However, I do not use it to offend but to illustrate a point about the movie.
“Who is you?” one black man asks another near the end of “Moonlight,” a drama written and directed by Barry Jenkins and based on a story by Tarell Alvin McCraney.
It’s a good question, but Chiron isn’t ready to answer it. His silence is heartbreaking.
As if shown in reverse, “Moonlight” begins with an answer of sorts. “You can’t let people tell you who you are,” a grown man tells a young boy.
It’s a statement Chiron is too immature to understand. Not knowing what lies ahead, I hoped he would grasp this truth before the film was over.
Another painful certainty comes to light during “Moonlight” in a less direct way: When you can’t figure out who you are, you open yourself up to seeing yourself as others do.
“Moonlight” is deceptively linear. It’s divided into three parts, each of which deals with a different chapter in Chiron’s life.
The film opens with a young Chiron running from bullies. He locks himself in a house, where a drug dealer named Juan finds him.
Juan takes Chiron under his wings. Chiron, however, is a challenging apprentice. He’s unsure of himself, rarely speaks, and walks with his shoulders slumped and his head hanging, not from the weight of life but from a desire to curl into himself and disappear.
Chiron has no footing in the world. His father is nowhere to be seen, his drug-addicted mother is incapable of nurturing him and he’s unable to relate to the kids at school. His only friends are Juan and Kevin, a boy his age.
Around Kevin, Chiron comes somewhat to life. His friend tries to teach him to fight back when he’s attacked but makes no progress.
I struggled during these early scenes to connect with “Moonlight.” Jenkins directed the film with a loose, handheld style I found distracting and shot close to his actors, almost to the point of blocking out the surroundings.
But just as I was growing restless, “Moonlight” hit me between the eyes with a moment of raw, quiet power. During a meal at Juan’s, Chiron asks his mentor what the word “faggot” means. Juan says it’s a word people say to make gay people feel bad. When Chiron says, “Am I a faggot?” Juan does what he can to assure the boy there’s nothing wrong with being gay.
Chiron then asks Juan if he deals drugs. In a moment of stark honesty, Juan lowers his head, says yes and begins to cry. Actor Mahershala Ali, who appeared recently as a villain in the “Luke Cage” series on Netflix, played the moment perfectly.
“Moonlight” then jumps forward in time to follow Chiron as a teenager. Little has changed for him, with the exception of things being worse. Juan is gone, his mother rarely allows Chiron to come home and the kids at school are meaner than ever. Once again, Chiron’s only grounding in life is his friendship with Kevin and Juan’s ex-girlfriend, who feeds him and gives him a place to sleep when he can’t go home.
The heartbreak of Chiron’s journey is deepened during the second act. I’ll stop providing details here and simply say that by the beginning of the third chapter, which picks up several years later, I was not shocked to see that Chiron had transformed himself into Juan.
It’s a jarring transformation. But beneath the muscles and rigid posture and thumping hip hop soundtrack is the same doubtful human being with nothing but sand beneath his feet.
“Moonlight” concludes with Chiron seeking to reunite with Kevin, whom he hasn’t seen since high school. I could sense a desperate hope that he would find in his old friend and romantic interest a reason to be.
“Moonlight” is not a film about black people or being gay. Rather, McCraney and Jenkins have made a movie about the painful search for identity in a world that is generally indifferent. Without guidance or support, Chiron never becomes his own person. The last shot of the film makes this devastatingly clear.
“Moonlight” is a movie of great subtlety. It moves slowly, seemingly without purpose, offering what appear to be only moments of revelation. But each scene is a building block in Chiron’s life and the film’s story.
The writing for “Moonlight” was strong. McCraney has a way with dialogue that strips his characters of their ability to hide what lies within them. Even when Chiron is being evasive, he speaks volumes about the torments within him.
McCraney is also good at composing poetic lines that bring the reality of what his characters are experiencing into focus. I was moved nearly to the point of tears when a teen Chiron says, “Sometimes, I cry so much, I think I’ll turn into drops.”
My initial frustration with Jenkins’ direction eventually gave way to an understanding of his stylistic choices for “Moonlight.” His approach is jagged and rough around the edges, like his characters, but offers the audience an intimate viewing experience.
Moreover, Jenkins punctuates his generally loose style with shots of such remarkable clarity and intent, I felt grabbed by the film. The look on Kevin’s face when he realizes a grown-up Chiron has taken a seat in his diner is priceless, as is the way Jenkins shot that moment. Thinking back on 2016, that was one of my favorite images in a film this year.
The performances are outstanding as well. This can be attributed the skills of the three actors who play Chiron as well as the guidance of Jenkins, who ensured a remarkable consistency from one performance to the next.
“Moonlight” left me with a heavy heart. Its profile of Chiron is heartrending and offers only scant hope, but the film was beautifully crafted, thoughtfully made and offers a profoundly satisfying viewing experience. Nearly one day after seeing “Moonlight,” I have yet to shake the emotions it stirred.
Unlike its central character, “Moonlight” is a film of considerable confidence and purpose. By the end, I felt changed in a small way. I only wish I could say the same about Chiron. But with the eyes of my understanding opened a little wider, perhaps I’ll see him if our paths cross and be open to helping him find the ground under his feet.
Four stars