Review #1,166: 'Moonlight' (2016)

Nobody was more surprised at the Academy Awards on February 26th 2017 when Moonlight was announced as the winner of Best Picture than the cast and crew behind the film, especially since it followed a colossal balls-up that saw La La Land handed the award before the people behind-the-scenes realised that Warren Beatty was reading from the wrong envelope. It was one of the true underdogs in the line-up, and one that I suspect that most viewers at home hadn't even seen. Diversity has long been an issue in Hollywood, and the #OscarsSoWhite debacle of 2015 certainly drew attention to the problem. But anyone thinking that Moonlight, with its all-black cast and African-American writer and director, was handed the trophy as a sort of guilty apology to a minority that has struggled to find a voice in cinema, is simply wrong: Moonlight is one of most engaging and powerful films of the year, and certainly the most personal.

Based on the play In Moonlight Black Boys Look Blue by Tarell Alvin McCraney, Barry Jenkins' film chronicles the journey of Chiron from childhood to manhood in Liberty City, Miami. Living with his emotionally abusive, crack-addicted mother Paula (Naomie Harris), the young Chiron (known as 'Little'), is bullied by his schoolmates and is found hiding out in boarded-up apartment by Cuban-born drug dealer Juan (Mahershala Ali). The youngster is taken under the gangster's wing, and becomes a surrogate by offering him a place to hang out to escape his troubles. In one of the most moving scenes, Juan tells Chiron that there is no shame in being gay, and that he should never let anyone call him 'faggot'. A few years later and now a teenager, Chiron is still being bullied, but finds comfort in a friendship with the outgoing Kevin (Jharrel Jerome). It is with Kevin that Chiron has his first sexual encounter, and one that will trouble him for the years to come.

As a young adult and now fully immersed in the gangster lifestyle in Atlanta, Chiron is beefed-up and blinged-up, seemingly growing into his once-guardian Juan. Apparently living a life of isolation and emotional disconnect, a phone call from an old friend takes Chiron back to his hometown to discover who he truly is. The third and final segment is where the film is at its most emotionally exposed, and it's while watching these tender moments that it becomes apparent just how little we see gay black men portrayed on screen, and especially with such vulnerability. Not only does it champion both black and gay cinema, but it opens up a whole new world, fixing its eyes on a forgotten and ignored part of society, essentially one that is not dominated by characters that are white, male or heterosexual. These are numerous independent coming-of-age tales released around the same time each year, but never have I seen one with such a strong personal touch.

Clearly inspired by the work of Lynne Ramsay, Moonlight is social realism with a dreamy, otherworldly tint. While what we see on screen is incredibly naturalistic and believable, the fantastic soundtrack, combined with James Laxton's graceful cinematography, makes it feel like we're witnessing this world through somebody else's eyes. Alex R. Hibbert, Ashton Sanders and Trevante Rhodes all play Chiron at the three stages of his young life, and they are all incredible. A shy, near-mute child, a lonely and scared teenager, and then a lost, regretful adult, Chiron suffers inwardly, and the three actors do a staggering job of emoting the many subtle aspects of the character. It's shame that we get to spend such little time with Juan, but that is only due to the strength of Ali's performance - one that won him the Best Supporting Actor gong. It's a triumph for low-budget, ambitious film-making, and of course one for equality. But most importantly, Moonlight will resonate with anyone who has felt different, alone and ignored in this world.


Directed by: Barry Jenkins
Starring: Alex R. Hibbert, Ashton Sanders, Trevante Rhodes, Naomie Harris, Mahershala Ali
Country: USA

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie