Director: Barry Jenkins
Runtime: 110 minutes
The events that would otherwise consume a standard coming-of-age tale - deaths, brushes with the law, drug addiction - all happen off screen in Barry Jenkins' Moonlight. Jenkins' adaptation of Terrell McCraney's play "In Moonlight Black Boys Look Blue" is narratively uneventful on the surface. And yet, for all of the radical events and cultural shifts that happen offscreen or in the background, what's most arresting is the apparent simplicity of the three-act story. Like its central character, Moonlight often hesitates to speak, yet the roiling emotions under the surface nevertheless make themselves known and beautifully felt.
Set over three defining periods in the life of Chiron (Alex Hibbert/Ashton Sanders/Trevante Rhodes), Moonlight uses its intimate specificity to construct a mesmerizingly textured essay on identity, masculinity, sexuality, and self worth. Chiron's youth is littered with elements that could easily come off as cliche (an abusive mother, bullies, drug dealers, gangs), but are so precisely inserted into the story that they all feel vital to defining who Chiron is and who he'll become. Jenkins refuses to turn up the volume of his story and his protagonist's state of mind. Instead, he acts much like Chiron's father figure Juan (House of Cards' Mahershala Ali), providing gentle guidance without ever intruding.
Chiron's story unfolds over such a short period of time (each section comprises only a few days), yet it registers deeply. It is both a slice of life, and an intimately epic portrait of young adulthood and hidden desires. Though its setting (not to mention ethnic makeup) could not be more different, Moonlight in many ways resembles last year's Carol. It is a film of stolen glances, barely perceptible reactions, and simple gestures that come loaded with volumes of feeling that defy articulation. In the middle section, featuring the one instance of sexual exploration, Jenkins' conveys the confused, heated passion of a first kiss not by jamming the camera in the actors' faces, but by focusing on teenage Chiron's hand clenching the sand underneath it. If at first it seems a bit distant, give it time - the final third has the hushed tension of the best tales of "forbidden" romance.
And despite the similarities shared with Haynes' masterful film, Jenkins' direction puts its own firm stamp on the thematic material. Mixing fluid long takes (the opening shot practically involves the camera making figure eights around the actors) with jumbled, earthy handheld work, cinematographer James Laxton gorgeously captures the Miami setting in all its washed out pastels and pulsing neons. Whether showing the vivid motion of young boys playing, or the solemn stillness of an uncomfortable conversation, Jenkins and Laxtons images are a beautiful mix of post-card prettiness and rapturous mundanity.
The hushed tones of the sound work are equally critical, effortlessly putting us in Chiron's stiflingly introverted headspace. Chiron's seeming lack of place in the world is magnified by the distancing effect of the muted sounds that make their way in from the world at large. The minute sonic details of the real world are, instead, supplanted by a small soundtrack and Nicholas Britell's achingly beautiful string score.
Yet even though there are moments where the stylistic flourishes threaten to overstep, Jenkins keeps his performers front and center, perfectly positioned within his artful abstractions. The three actors who play both Chiron and on/off friend Kevin (Jaden Piner/Jharrel Jerome/The Knick's Andre Holland) are all wondrous in their own ways. But while the youngest actors often play second fiddle to the adults like Chiron's mom (Naomie Harris), Juan, and Theresa (singer Janelle Monae), their development never loses focus. In truth, they are a bit blank, in the way young kids are; they're still waiting to discover themselves while being shaped by those around them.
Moonlight is, in many ways, open-ended, yet it's also a masterclass of how to fragment a narrative and have each section perfectly build on what preceded it. It's not a fast process, but as boyhood becomes adolescence, and adolescence becomes manhood, the characters only become richer. When Chiron and Kevin reunite as adults in a Miami diner, Jenkins' film reaches full bloom, and it's magnificent to watch. Rhodes and Holland are spectacular together, and I wouldn't have minded watching their segment continue on for another two hours. But just as soon as Moonlight reaches another moment of dramatic intensity, he lets it slip back into the steady flow of time. In watching these characters transform, we see how they evolve as people, with entire lives stretching out both behind them and off into the distant future. I can only thank Mr. Jenkins and his actors for allowing me to have even a few disparate chapters of their stories.
Grade: A
Director: Antoine Fuqua
Runtime: 125 minutes
Coming just one week after Trainwreck, Antoine Fuqua's Southpaw serves as a grim reminder of what happens a formulaic plot meets formulaic execution. Whereas the Apatow-Schumer collaboration created a typical rom-com executed with with humor and heart, Fuqua's work with Sons of Anarchy creator/writer Kurt Sutter is emotionally stunted. You've seen this story of an athlete seeking redemption, and you've seen it done so much better that this latest iteration isn't worth your time.
Not even Jake Gyllenhaal, coming off of a winning streak that peaked with Nightcrawler, can do much to elevate the material. From a physical standpoint, the role is every bit as transformative as the one the actor played in Dan Gilroy's thriller, albeit on the opposite end of the spectrum. Gyllenhaal gain between 20 and 30 pounds of muscle to play boxer Billy Hope. Yet the external transformation is the most impressive aspect of Gyllenhaal's work. Of all of his recent projects, Southpaw gives Gyllenhaal the most traditionally Leading Man role, and the actor sells every minute.
But underneath the muscles and the screaming and cursing, Southpaw's protagonist rings hollow. The blame shouldn't be laid at Gyllenhaal's feet, but rather at Sutter and Fuqua, who have hardly fleshed out the character beyond the most obvious and blunt surface details. With such a textbook protagonist, it's even more difficult to care about the mechanical storytelling. A man is on top of his respective profession, then tragedy sends him into free fall. What is he to do in his hour of woe? Why, revisit his roots, get help from an elderly black mentor (Forest Whitaker), and work his way toward a boxing match that could serve as his redemption. Southpaw is Raging Bull filtered through the aesthetic of 8 Mile, but without the raw intensity of either.
Fuqua has never been a particularly nuanced director, and Mr. Sutter doesn't do much to help. As the architect behind one of TV's most suffocatingly MACHO prestige dramas, Mr. Sutter is an ideal fit on paper. But vapid bluntness multiplied by faux-gritty vapid bluntness only leads to...well, you get the idea. It's not enough to offer audiences a Damaged Male Protagonist and expect a connection, and it hasn't been that way for a while (and as for the way the film uses its female characters...yikes).
All of this reinforces the notion that Southpaw is, from a pop culture standpoint, a bit of an unintentional relic. Even from a technical standpoint, it's a surprisingly flat piece of work. Fuqua's images are a mix of the glossy and the grimy, and both sides are equally artless. The fight scenes effectively communicate the brute force of taking a punch to the face, but they never heighten the story's drama. Every story beat is so obvious that's no room to be engaged in the moment. A story of blood, sweat, and tears shouldn't feel so rote, yet here we are.
Grade: C-
Director: Justin Chadwick
Runtime: 146 minutes
Despite its soaring shots of South Africa and a narrative that spans decades, the "epic" biopic Mandela: Long Walk to Freedom feels like it belongs on a small screen in a classroom. Specifically, one presided over by a teacher suffering through a hangover, and too tired to deal with teaching those damn kids. Despite handsome production values and Important subject matter, this sporadically compelling portrait of Nelson and Winnie Mandela is ultimately a history lesson disguised as a genuinely compelling prestige drama.
As biopics go, Justin Chadwick's film is appropriately titled. Nelson Mandela's journey was a long one, and Long Walk to Freedom is a long movie. Unfortunately, the two and a half hour runtime is exhausting, rather than exhilarating. Nelson Mandela's story is incredible, but as written by William Nicholson, it plays more like a history lesson that only momentarily comes alive as a drama. Stars Idris Elba and Naomie Harris are committed to their roles, but their roles mostly leave them with little to do other than emote bombastically.
To the film's credit, however, it does effectively communicate the level of violence faced by blacks under apartheid without becoming exploitative. Following depictions of the Civil Rights Movement (The Butler) and the horrors of slavery (12 Years a Slave), Mandela is the next in a line of films that actually take on issues relating to black people, which is certainly commendable. It's too bad, then, that unlike those other films (or the present-day Fruitvale Station), that Chadwick's film feels didactic, rather than wholly dramatic. Though arguably less episodic than The Butler, William Nicholson's screenplay lacks the necessary character examination needed to sustain a film for two and a half hours.
With Mandela's childhood glossed over in bad Terrence Malick-lite montages, we're dropped into the story with him as a young man in college. It's one of the few times the film actually skips over a significant portion of Mandela's life, although in this case more omissions would have been welcome. Mandela is swept up in the anti-apartheid movement so swiftly that his motivation (aside from the obvious desire for equality) as a character feels empty. We know he's going to join the struggle, and the film doesn't try to delve any deeper into the man's decision to risk being such an outspoken activist.
At least the side of the film focusing on Winnie Mandela gives a look at the source of her more militaristic mode of activism (albeit superficially). Yet as Mandela's complicated and equally galvanizing wife, Harris sometimes overreaches with her performance. A painfully tight close up of her face in a jail cell is made worse by the actress' tear-soaked mugging.
There's so much important, fascinating history covered in Mandela, but in this particular package it's difficult to get caught up in much of it. As a portrait of turbulent recent history it has some value, but as drama it only grabs you for only a few moments in its lumbering runtime. Like so many decades-spanning biopic films, less would have resulted in so much more.
Grade: C
Director: Sam Mendes
Runtime: 143 minutes
One of the main complaints against the Daniel Craig 007 films is that, well, they don't really feel like 007 films. Starting in the early/mid 2000s, grittiness has become the defining trait of most action films (especially those involving superheroes). Christopher Nolan's Dark Knight trilogy best exemplifies this. The operatic darkness Nolan brought to the world of Bruce Wayne and the Joker made for a satisfying contrast to the campy Batman films of years past. Yet unlike Batman, 007 has always been a character built on charisma and suave sexuality. And yet Casino Royale and Quantum of Solace both turned Bond into a more restrained, Jason Bourne-type action hero. Even the villains were tame, with the most outlandish character trait being a bleeding eye. What makes Skyfall, Craig's third outing as 007, stand out is that it takes still takes the dark and gritty approach to Bond, yet mixes in elements that seem to put the secret agent on path to being something resembling his former self.
Opening with a superbly executed chase in Istanbul, Skyfall is perhaps the most intimate Bond film yet. A secret from M's (Judi Dench) past has come out from hiding, launching a vicious cyber battle against MI6 and its agents. After MI6's headquarters are badly damaged, Bond and his cohorts find themselves using limited means. When Bond first meets Q (Ben Whishaw), he is only given a DNA-encoded gun, and a radio transmitter. Casino Royale may have been the stylistic reboot of the Bond films, but Skyfall truly takes 007 back to basics. Even the locations are scaled down. Bond's globetrotting is all contained in the film's first half, with the only significant trip after Istanbul being Shanghai/Macau. Once back on the British mainland, the film settles in and gets cozier and cozier, eventually leading Bond to the remote Scottish Highlands.
It's an interesting story choice, and it pays off by giving the film a sense of focus, despite its 2 hr 20 min duration. Complimenting this is Sam Mendes' direction. The closest thing to an "art house" director to ever helm a Bond film, the choice pays off in spades. More than any Bond film in recent (or distant) memory, Skyfall is built on a sustained atmosphere, rather than on broad humor and over-the-top action. Aside from the opening and closing battles, the film's action feels relatively contained, save for a bit in the London Underground that is left hanging in thin air.
In large part, the credit also belongs to cinematographer Roger Deakins, who has created the best looking Bond film ever, by a considerable margin. The master DP's work here, from the foggy Scottish hills to the neon and steel of Shanghai is lush, textured, and varied. A sequence set in a room full of glass doors and panels is a masterwork of playing with light, lines, and reflections. It's a sumptuous film, and the visual pleasures help smooth out the occasional odd or underwhelming moment (a scene involving a hungry Komodo dragon is particularly shrug-inducing).
The cast are also on their game as well. Craig seems to be having a little more fun as Bond, especially now that his turmoil regarding Vesper Lynd's death has been resolved. Judi Dench, who winds up being the film's true "Bond girl," turns in strong work as well, as she tries to keep up a steely front while her past wreaks havoc on her world. The scene stealer, however, is a lip-smackingly evil Javier Bardem as Silva. His introduction, a lengthy back-and-forth with Bond in a cavernous room, is a nifty mix of Bond villains old and new. Menacing, but also somewhat flirty and campy, Bardem is Skyfall's spark, even if his later material is somewhat generic and prevents him from becoming iconic. By tying the villain's motives directly to major characters of the Bond universe, Silva lends Skyfall an old-fashioned glossy appeal. Coupled with some references to characters and objects from the previous Bonds, and you have a film that mixes modern gritty action stylings with some good old retro fun.
And even though the film ventures into some dark places, its conclusion gives rise to the hope that emotionally lighter days may be in Bond's future. Though less expansive than some previous films in the franchise, Skyfall's smaller focus is handled in such a way that it still feels epic. The cast is strong, the direction is elegant, and the atmosphere, mostly through the visuals, is all first rate. Even when a particular scene ends on an iffy note, the film immediately recovers with some new intriguing sequence of beautiful visual composition. In a sense, Skyfall is the most complete Bond film to date. It represents a marriage of Bond's past and present, and combines the two to pave the way for more complex, but also more fun, films to come.
Grade: B/B+
