Moonlight and the Oscar: Political Pandering or Intersectional Masterpiece?
Contains Spoilers..
Moonlight is not a perfect film. There, I’ve said it. It’s out in the open and something which establishes the tone of this piece. Yet the question remains: should Moonlight win Best Picture at the Academy Awards?
These initial comments may come off as calloused to mention so early, so I’ll temper it greatly: Barry Jenkin’s Moonlight is thematically an incredible film. Its excellence is not founded solely on representing the queer experience without relying on the tropes of gay culture, or its ability to be a black film not just about what it means to be black. Instead, it carefully studies identity’s episodic development in a stratified society with ostracized individuals tempted by the reassuring dominance of stabilizing expectations in the face of alterity. That’s just it though. For a film heralded as a landmark (for its three-part slam-dunk of representing race, class, and sexual divides) it fails in providing the type of story that progresses with fluency and relates events in an effortless fashion. It’s the kind of presentation expected from a great identity drama that at best can be nominated for Best Picture but perhaps not a winner for the top prize. Too often while watching the film and ruminating retrospectively I found myself thinking, “It’s definitely a great film, but is it Best Picture good?”
Something felt eerily left out of the film and not in a deliberate way. The purposeful minimalism seems to go too far, and Jenkin’s attempt at isolating his audience backfires a little bit, making challenging content a bit more inaccessible and unwieldy for the silver screen at times. In addition, the suspension of disbelief’s veil is lifted throughout the film in a way starkly contrasted to a film like La La Land where the viewer is thrown so deeply into the story and dreams of its characters, that the fiction and reality of scenes blend seamlessly, much like how that film infuses a modern fascination with professional fame and the inspirational journey to stardom vis à vis the golden age of ‘40s and ‘50s Hollywood. It’s easy to see La La Land as the privilege of white pursual juxtaposed with minority survivalism, but it shouldn’t matter if a privileged movie is (if it is) a more accomplished film. In Moonlight moments seem forced. A perfect example rests in Chiron’s après-sexual altercation with the liaison’s partner Kevin, literally the next day. The day after their amour, Kevin is forced by a gang of boys to beat up Chiron purely by happenstance. Rather than add more meat to the narrative, Jenkin’s chooses to limit here the expectations of the audience, keeping too fresh in our memory their carnal beach-love together with the rapid succession of violence. Either this or Jenkin’s story-telling simply could not envisage the awkward relationship of the two gay classmates afterward, (the awkward post-colital assessment of the other that discerns if the intercourse was love or lust) something apparently too challenging to depict on-screen. These moments are few and far between but unprepossessing enough to detract from an immersive experience.
Yet it cannot be emphasized enough that the deft hand of Jenkins camera work and the acting of his cast (although some of the younger characters acting, in its tough-guy aping feels a bit unbelievable) draws people into the characters and story, an end-to-end slathering of themes dealing with black, gay, and Marxist crises. Following in the tradition of the bildungsroman, our protagonist’s evolution through the three chapter’s titles (Little to Chiron, and Chiron to Black) denotes his achieved autonomy, but greets the labeled fate similar to Ellison’s Invisible Man, a private world of his closet homosexuality never reconciling with his public identity. Superficially, Chiron survives but his tense identity feels entangled in the stereotypes of black masculinity, the real tragedy being this preference of sustainable artifice over the uncaging of a repressed homosexuality. What little he has due to his fate as an African-American, is threatened to be lost by the emergent “coming out” that has the capacity to sever ties with his mother and financial stability in being a dealer. America’s treatment of both gay and black identity are already demonized and to permit both (sometimes opposing) forces to be expressed can push one from the demimonde into complete alienation. The episodic structure and controlled cinematography are done masterfully, speaking to the way in which characters are thrown together and then pulled taught without breaking entirely, a sexual or violent tension that keeps seemingly mundane conversations from ever slipping into dull filler. The opening scene swirls around the characters exposing the defenseless 360-degree view of their environment, dancing with the banal movements of the hustlers. However, the sparseness of the film’s tone seems ill-suited or unwieldy for a movie of this scope, a sort of clunkier, toned-down Tree of Life in its portrait of the spectacular real, but without the intense experimentation of perspectives and editing. Of course, the minimalism is purposeful, and we do share functioning moments of empathy, worry, and fear, backed by nothing but the sound of a sea breeze coming off the Atlantic.