Once in a while, a movie comes along that manages to use all the tools of filmmaking — cinematography, sound design, editing, you know what films are — to get inside a character’s head in a way where you understand exactly what they’re feeling at every single moment of its running time. My go-to example for this is Paul Thomas Anderson’s Punch-Drunk Love, and now I have another in Moonlight, an understated yet thoroughly moving piece which tells you everything you need to know about its protagonist with relatively few scenes and always seems to know the ideal shot for each moment. It loses a little steam in the third act, but the impeccable filmmaking, astounding performances, and keenly-felt script mean its status as the most acclaimed film of 2016 is not only understandable but completely welcome.
Adapted and directed by Barry Jenkins from an unperformed play by Tarell Alvin McCraney, Moonlight follows Chiron, a black youth from Miami, through three brief but important sections of his life as he deals with family issues, peer group pressures, and his burgeoning homosexuality. Chiron (as well as his best friend Kev) is played by three different actors in each section (child, teen, and adult), none of whom met each other and all of whom look fairly different — this could have created a disconnect but in fact ends up making each version distinct, and showing how people can change over time while still remaining the same person. All three actors are utterly fantastic, with Alex Hibbert as “Little” perfectly capturing the feelings when the ugliness of the world starts to take focus, and Trevante Rhodes presenting the grown-up Chiron’s bitterness and hurt with a heartbreaking authenticity.
The rest of the cast stays the same throughout, and none are less than superb. Naomie Harris of 28 Days Later and Skyfall/Spectre fame is almost unrecognisable as Chiron’s crack-addicted mother, with her performance and the writing for her character blending to give an unhackneyed portrayal of what could easily have been a well-worn stereotype. Luke Cage’s Mahershala Ali continues his recent winning streak by adding a tremendous amount of pathos to Juan, a sympathetic pusher who takes Chiron under his wing (is this the male version of the hooker with a heart of gold? the crack dealer who cares?), while Janelle Monae brings a natural warmth to her first ever film role as Teresa, Juan’s girlfriend and fellow carer for Chiron.
But this has far more going for it than just its stacked cast. Moonlight is one of the best examples of the dangers of repressed sexuality and tragedy of hiding your true self cinema has ever seen (see also the recent and completely underrated The Pass). The dialogue is kept to a minimum for much of the running time, but gives you just enough so Chiron’s point of view is always crystal clear in your head — the same can be said but the relatively small amount of plot covered in each section. The writing is natural and completely undramatised, with only one violent scene ringing ever-so-slightly false. So much of the movie is so subtly brutal that when a tender scene slips in it’s both welcome and especially affecting. The overt touching on themes such as toxic masculinity is relatively slight, yet they’re bubbling under the surface of every scene. When a social worker tells a beaten Chiron “if you were a man, there’d be four other knuckleheads sitting right next to you”, my heart almost split right in two, but it’s also satisfying to see him reject those labels and be his sensitive self — at least until he doesn’t. While the script is a classic exercise in effective minimalism, Moonlight also has a tremendous sense of place. Both Jenkins and McCraney grew up in Miami, and Jenkins clearly knows the area well — this movie feels utterly lived-in.
As touched upon in the opening paragraph, the technical elements of this film are never less than sublime. The cinematography for each section is distinct, both in colour and style — the first section is more kinetic, and it gets more subdued as it goes on. Despite this, each section does an excellent job of blending a wide variety of shooting styles while all feeling like part of a whole, and there are a great many truly beautiful shot compositions, as well as an effective use of long takes. The choice to shoot on Cinemascope was a smart one, giving the relatively down-to-earth shooting style a level of cinematic beauty that suits and even elevates this material. The sound work is sublime, knowing exactly when to hold back and let the visuals take over, or when to be almost overwhelming during more emotionally fraught moments — the use of muted dialogue works especially well, with the gorgeous, intense score creating some unique shots and scenes.
If Moonlight had continued on the level of its first two sections, it would have been a lock for my film of the year. Unfortunately, the adult section is both the longest and weakest, taking an already minimal movie and removing even more, unfortunately getting rid of a lot of the substance in the meantime. However, even then, the ending is absolutely perfect and cathartic, and the issues are more about what isn’t there than what is. I can see some thinking this film is too “small” to be truly great, but it’s undeniable that it’s one of the most well-made films of 2016 on every level and captures feelings of alienation, addiction, and emotional confinement about as well as any movie ever has. Not one to miss, and I hope it wins all the Oscars.
