"Moonlight"

SNL had a sketch a few weeks ago where Aziz Ansari was being interrogated because he didn't love "La La Land." It was a good bit of observational comedy about how seriously we treat these debates about cultural touchstones. But there was a kernel of ugly truth in there with all the levity. Aziz mentions "Moonlight," and his interrogators stop in their tracks to say, "Oh yeah, 'Moonlight,' so important," seconds before admitting that they haven't watched it because it'll be "a whole thing." 

"Moonlight" is important, and that shouldn't be overlooked, but it is first and foremost an excellent film. You can make a bad film with an important story, but it's still a bad film. You can make an acceptable film with an important story, and it often gets lauded as better than it is because of its importance. I don't mean to criticize that practice too strongly, because it's usually operating from a desire for social good, and it usually targets a wider audience than film critics or filmmakers. But "Moonlight" is a near perfect film (I say "near" as a habit of trepidation, not because I can find any specific fault with it). But again, perfection isn't itself a helpful adjective, because you can perfectly execute a standard film formula, and it will never transcend the trappings of what is expected. 

What I want is for people to see it. And in that respect, focusing on its import or describing it in terms of its brilliance don't work. Importance is why I didn't read "Crime and Punishment" until I was 26. Greatness is why I didn't watch "Casablanca", or "Citizen Cane,"  or "Taxi Driver" until I was an adult. And yes, I rank "Moonlight" alongside these seminal masterpieces. But focusing on significance places the work in a canonical, and through that an historical context that makes potential viewers feel that they have to prepare themselves for "a whole thing" before watching it. That watching it will be like taking cough syrup: important but ultimately unpleasant or unenjoyable. 

But when I finally read "Crime and Punishment," I devoured it in three days. Because it's so good. And what makes a good story but compelling characters, compelling questions, and the hovering of dire consequence? All of which "Moonlight" has in abundance.

I mean, I get it: watching a film about growing up as a gay black boy in a world where dealers are the role models sounds bleak. And in many ways it is dark, and hard. But I've rarely seen a film reward that difficulty with such a beautiful expression of hope and love and kindness. And to anyone holding off on watching it because they've heard someone tell them how much they cried, and somewhat understandably assume it's a depressing slog, I would like to set the record straight. It is ultimately not a sad movie, but a beautiful one, and the sadness it contains is essential to the beauty it expresses.

One of the things that is so remarkable about the film is how it defies expectations, not in the sense that it subverts tropes as a gimmick, or for effect. Rather, it insists on honesty, and it just so happens that the truth about the life it describes is not what films and the culture at large would have us believe. 

Mahershala Ali talked about why he wanted to be a part of the film, and he said that the character of Juan felt real to him, like people he knew: dealers who were in the game for survival, but were also kind, multifaceted human beings who valued family and honest connection. The scenes between him and Chiron are scenes of exquisite love and care, simple and real. The scenes between Juan and Paula, on the other hand, are battles that highlight the inescapable damage of the drug trade. Both of these things are true, and holding onto the whole truth is something the film does in a way rarely seen on screen.

There is an expectation we carry into the film as an audience, based on the premise, that sense that this is gonna get bad. That anticipation hovers over the film, and the character of Chiron. The threat of violence represented by the bully character of Terell isn't just violence, it's rejection. There is a tantalizing homoeroticism in the way his character is filmed, a teasing and mocking sense of encouragement. And it is clear that responding to that encouragement will result in violence for Chiron. 

So in that context, how is Chiron supposed to respond to Kevin? The scene between the two of them on the beach is as suspenseful as any psychological thriller. Tenderness and kindness and encouragement of Chiron's homosexuality are embedded in this validated suspicion. So when Kevin leans in, when they touch, everything up until the moment after they first kiss, the possibility of violence is tangible. But Chiron learns, and we as an audience learn in that moment that rejection isn't the only outcome. Tragedy isn't the whole story. 

I don't want to give too much away, not that I think the film can be spoiled, but it does operate on a process of discovery that I would be loathe to interrupt. I will say that these elements are carried throughout the whole of the film, and the ultimate arc is one of acceptance and validation, one so masterfully expressed that I dare you not to cry from relief. The world may be dark and bitter, but "Moonlight" reminds us that the light can still shine through.