2/27/17
The Light Touch of Love in “Moonlight”

– A Review of the Best Cinematic Love Story This Year – 

By now you’ve heard about the royal fuck up at the 2017 Oscars: the presenters of the Best Picture award got the wrong envelope (the one pronouncing Emma Stone as Best Actress for La La Land), they announced La La Land as the winner in error, and it wasn’t until the producers of that film were midway through their acceptance speeches when the correction was made and the Moonlight cast and crew took their rightful spot on stage. Awkward!

Will this snafu give Moonlight even more of the attention it deserves, or will everyone simply remember the 89th Academy Awards as the one where La La Land lost so spectacularly? In the moment, it definitely stole some of Moonlight’s celebratory thunder, a crying shame after last year’s homogenous nominees and winners (see #OscarsSoWhite). But if there’s any justice in the world of cinema, the better love story will prevail in the collective memory of moviegoers as supreme.

[The rest of this review contains spoilers.]

In this coming-of-age film based on the play by Tarell Alvin McCraney, we follow a young African-American boy named Chiron growing up in Miami in three acts. First, as a quiet boy nicknamed “Little”(Alex Hibbert), he’s taken under the paternal wing of  local drug dealer Juan (Mahershala Ali, winning “Best Supporting Actor”) before either of them realizes the kid’s mom (Naomie Harris) is one of this guy’s best (read: worst) customers. Meanwhile, his buddy Kevin (Jaden Piner) gives him the support that neither his mom nor her dealer can, in the form of rough and tumble wrestling. Next, as a skinny, insecure teen who’s terrorized by the school bully (now played by Ashton Sanders), Chiron finds solace with Kevin (Jharrel Jerome) again, this time in a secret embrace one night on the beach — the first time Chiron’s been kissed, the first time he’s been touched. But their relationship seems karmically doomed when Kevin is soon forced by the bully to beat up Chiron for the perceived crime of being a “pussy,” a “faggot.” Finally, as a beefed-up adult in the same do-rag and with the same job as his fallen father-figure, Chiron (Trevante Rhodes) reconnects with Kevin (André Holland) who, now out of prison and with a kid of his own, is on the straight and narrow as a chef at a diner. As Kevin serves Chiron a lovingly prepared meal in one of the booths, the tension, the longing, between them is devastating. Will they or won’t they?

The brilliance of Moonlight is in its light touch. Nothing is spelled out. We’re never hit over the head. In fact, the introverted protagonist has very few total lines. The power is in what’s not spoken, what’s not shown. The love between the two kids can only be expressed in a culture that demands zero softness from boys and men by them breathlessly play-fighting each other. When his mother screams at him in a drug-addled state, all we hear is silence. We don’t witness or come to know the details of Juan’s demise, we can just sense the loss in teen Chiron’s big, sad eyes. His first erotic encounter is quiet and tender, shot with a respectful distance that honors their connection: even though they may feel shame about it afterwards, we, the viewers, don’t. And as the two sit across from each other ten years later in the diner booth, with long looks and deafening silences, we want to scream out their hearts’ desires on their behalf. If only they could drop the masks, be who they are, and say what they need to say!

Homophobia may not be well, but it’s still alive and kicking (see the Trump-approved roll outs of “Religious Freedom” bills designed to legalize discrimination). The conventional wisdom is that homophobia is more rampant among the African-American community, thanks in large part to traditional religious views. According to polls from a few years ago, black people were less likely than white people to report that homosexuality is “not wrong at all”  (25% versus 40%). But that gap is closing, and also complicated by the fact that black people have historically shown more support than white people for nondiscrimination initiatives for the LGBT community. And as of 2012, the difference between white and black peoples’ views on same-sex marriage was statistically insignificant (i.e. one point). [Stats from analysis by political scientist Greg Lewis for NPR’s CodeSwitch.]

Advanced age and certain religious views probably have more to do with persistent homophobia than race does these days. And that’s compounded by the fact that society — across all races — is still quite sexist, giving credence to very narrow definitions of masculinity and femininity, which deny the former uninhibited expressions of intimacy and vulnerability. In other words, it can still be quite difficult growing up gay in America, no matter what community you belong to. Of course, add systemic racism to the mix, and those difficulties are compounded. Which is why Moonlight is a much more significant, important love story than La La Land — rather than a romantic tragedy born of simple logistics (he goes on tour with the band, she goes to Paris for a role, oh poor babies!), Moonlight is nothing short of the triumph of love, understanding and acceptance over adversity, prejudice and fear.

In the penultimate scene of the movie, we see the adult Chiron’s head resting on Kevin’s shoulder, gently caressed by his reassuring hand. Once again, director Barry Jenkins should be praised for his restraint here. There’s no passionate kiss, no steamy sex — just a beautiful snapshot of pure, long-lost love being rekindled without judgment, only reverence. The last scene briefly shows Chiron as a child, standing on the edge of an endless ocean in the twilight, looking us directly in the eye for the first time, buoyed by the confidence of his recent mastery over the waves. They will not swallow him up; he will surely rise above them.

Our review of a much lamer love story:
Fifty Shades Blah-er