Moonlight

Barry Jenkin’s coming-of-age drama Moonlight may struggle to win over audiences that feed-off the latest high-concept blockbuster, but this composed and affecting three-part story brings a sorely-needed intimacy and contemplation back to the cinema.

Growing up in a world that he doesn’t understand and that doesn’t understand him, Chiron (Alex Hibbert), nicknamed “Little”, struggles to come to terms with his Mum’s drug-addiction, his troubles at school, and his sexuality. Docile in physical size and personality, Chiron’s only companions are his school friend Kevin (Jaden Piner), a kind-spirited drug-dealer he befriends, Juan (Mahershala Ali), and Juan’s affectionate girlfriend, Teresa (Janelle Monáe). These relations help define Chiron as he slowly tries to breaks free of his skin as a teenager (played by Ashton Sanders) and as an adult (played by Trevante Rhodes), in each act he’s very much a minor evolution of his former self, at his core he’s still “Little”.

Moonlight stems from a small drama school project by American playwright Tarell Alvin McCraney, In Moonlight Black Boys Look Blue, and Barry Jenkin’s manages to sustain the collected, deeply personal and reflective elements of the piece which ultimately define the film itself. As I said before, this will not appeal to the low attention-span audiences that only attend the modern blockbuster, but they’re not the sort of people who would willingly see Moonlight.

The more refined three-chapter structure of Jenkin’s script perhaps addresses the concerns of the few detractors to Richard Linklater’s Boyhood and its (in-effect) 12-part story - but whilst it might be the most comparable contemporary film to Moonlight, they are not one in the same. Where Boyhood aimed to be smooth in transition, Moonlight makes a point to divide Chiron’s deeply-personal odyssey into three distinct short-stories. These contained periods each define and build upon the whole of the man, and as the film cuts to black you feel not as if you’ve followed a boy growing up, but more as if you’ve been privileged to witness the determinate moments in the building of a character.

Neither strategy is better or worse, they’re both simply designed to serve the needs of their story. Boyhood’s Mason has an arguably normal (for a white family) set of circumstances growing up that the free-roaming structure celebrates. Chiron’s life is anything but normal in comparison to Mason, and the challenges he faces are immense, hence each new chapter is a reactionary reflection of the last and an indictment of representational issues in the film making community.

Each of these three periods emerges through the extraordinary performances of the Chiron actors. Hibbert’s “Little” is uncertain, shy and confused. Sanders’ Chiron is dejected, independent and desperately reaching out for an understanding. Rhodes’ “Black” is informed, sentimental and as equally uncertain as his young self. One character, three actors, three dominant portrayals. Then in support you have a similar situation with Kevin, one of Naomie Harris’s best performances, and Mahershala Ali s the knavish yet fostering Juan.

Much like its structure, Moonlight is at its most poignant and honest across a few moments where the dialogue drops and Nicholas Britell’s score comes in, teaming up with James Laxton’s breathtaking cinematography to beckon the audience into the most intimate moments of Chiron’s episodic pilgrimage of self. It’s the superb acting, writing and structure that build Chiron into a tour de force of empathy, but it’s these scattered moments of directorial finesse that allow us to truly understand him.