âI'm me, man. I ain't trying to be nothing else.â
Moonlight chronicles the life of Chiron, from a withdrawn and quiet child through to a hard and resilient adult, as he struggles with family, sexuality, and identity.
Waves are a constant symbol throughout Moonlight. And, like the waves, the effect the film has on you is slow and quiet, difficult to notice until itâs pulled you all the way in. Thereâs a muteness to the piece, an odd stillness, with the main character usually just a step away from total silence in every scene. The breathing space the movie provides affords audiences time to reflect even while they watch. Black-outs after major scenes, lingering on the screen, mean viewers are never hurried to the next point of action but are instead almost forced to consider what theyâve just watched. Moonlight is an incredibly powerful film, but subtle in its strength.
So much of this power comes from the performances given by the entire cast. Special credit must be paid to Janelle MonĂĄe and Naomie Harris, the only two actors to feature in all three segments. Even though we are given only hints as to what happens to each during the time skips, itâs easy to see through their character portrayals the effect life has had on them. The way Alex Hibbert, Ashton Sanders, and Trevante Rhodes â who play the different stages of Chironâs life â build and craft around each otherâs performances makes the film seem as though it, like Boyhood, had tracked the same actor throughout his life. Features of the previous life stage can be traced in each new actor, while still providing a distinct and noticeably matured identity both times.
More than anything, Moonlight is a study of identity. Yet unlike traditional character study films, Moonlight does not focus on Chironâs true personality, but instead on how he grows and adapts to hide it. Little is a child who listens and observes, trying to understand how the world reacts to who he is, and only ever choosing to show vulnerability and trust in a select few people. Â By the time he reaches adulthood, now going by Black, heâs crafted an almost entirely new persona. The only thing linking him to his childhood self is his taciturnity. Itâs only through having witnessed his journey that the audience can understand his hidden depths.
Towards the end of the film, in a scene that aches with rarely-witnessed truth, the audience sees this constructed persona briefly fall. More intimate than any kiss, Black allows himself to be held, his head cradled close. Itâs a complete rejection of the masculine identity he had built, and something the film rejects from the start. As a teen, Chiron confides that he sometimes feels as though he cries so much heâs âjust gonna turn into dropsâ. And the film allows Chiron to cry â not just a single tear, but his whole body wracked with sobs â all the way through to adulthood. He embodies a tenderness and a vulnerability throughout, making him one of the most necessary characters in cinema.
Yet itâs not just through its character-work that Moonlight constructs something of importance and beauty. Scenes are imbued with rich, over-saturated colours, creating the sense of a dream just as you are on the precipice of waking. Others are starker and brighter, harsher on the eye, and harsher in the story. The soundtrack flows seamlessly between grand orchestral pieces and modern songs, some of which are reworked and slowed so as to fit in with the filmâs sense of reaching for something just too far away.
Itâs said that you must reread a book twice: first for the story, and then again to appreciate the artistic expression. Nowhere more so is this true than with Moonlight, with Barry Jenkinsâ artistic mastery demanding a repeat viewing to be fully valued. Delivering something overwhelmingly powerful with so delicate a touch, Moonlight is a true triumph of cinema.