The first review on this blog that I found myself struggling
with was my review of Moonlight.
It was a challenge for many reasons, but my biggest hurdles were praising it without
coming off as simpering or cloying, and exploring the themes of a story of a
black gay man, something I’m woefully unequipped to speak about with any kind
of authority. If Beale Street Could Talk
puts me in a similar predicament, but now I think I have a better understanding
of why it’s hard to put his movies into words. Barry Jenkins may have a keen
eye for the black experience, but the stories he portrays are universal,
conveyed not so much as a moving narrative, but as a tone poem, letting the
images speak for themselves as the emotional intensity washes over you like
waves on the beach.
Based on the 1974 novel of the same name by James Baldwin,
we follow Tish (Keke Layne) and Fonny (Stephan James), a young couple living in
Harlem. Having known each other since childhood and not knowing anyone but each
other (in the biblical sense), they have their whole lives ahead of them. Tish,
innocent to the point of naïve, becomes pregnant at 19, something that’s
unexpected but not unwanted, and is more than ready to begin her new life with
Fonny, who wants to start a career as a sculptor. Their optimism is put to the test when Fonny is wrongfully arrested and
incarcerated for the rape of a woman he never met. Fonny gets the good news from
behind bars. Determined to make sure her child has the family it deserves, Tish
and her mother (Regina King) do everything in their power to prove his innocence
and set him free.
Much like Moonlight,
Beale Street doesn’t so much build as it slowly unfolds. Where the former divides
the tale of Chiron’s life into three well-defined chapters, the latter jumps
back and forth through time, yo-yoing between the highlights of Tish and Fonny’s
budding romance from the first time they made love to them buying their first
apartment to the night their child was conceived, and the frustration and
anxiety of the present where Tish and her mother are banging their heads against
the wall trying to figure out how to fight a system that’s stacked against
them. This non-linear chronology only adds to the tragedy. We see the couple setting
themselves up for a life we know they deserve but will never receive. A
surprise visit from one of Fonny’s friend (Brian Tyree Henry) foreshadows the
darkness he’s about to face. We never see any of his time in jail, but the
effect on him is apparent, and at one point, Tish wonders to herself if the man
she’s fighting to free will be the same man they threw in.
The reality that Baldwin wrote about in 1974 is one that
still rings true in 2018. Much like BlacKkKlansman,
it uses the past to make a point about the present. A monologue detailing how
the policeman who framed Fonny did it despite it not being physically possible
for him to be there at the time says a lot. The incident that made him a target
being Fonny fending off a white man who was hitting on Tish says more. The
image of Fonny trapped behind a subway gate resembling prison bars says
everything. It’s a powerful condemnation, but the emotion it awakens isn’t anger,
but sadness.
It’s not just the justice system that’s against them. The
couple are beset on all sides with dissent, but they’re protected every inch of
the way by Tish’s fiercely devoted family. The first wave of opposition comes
from Fonny’s Bible thumping mother (Aunjanue Ellis) and his condescending
sisters. She only shows up once, but her presence was so imposing that for a
minute I thought she was going to be the movie’s main villain. The rest of the
cast does tremendous work as well. Kiki Layne carries the brunt of the
emotional weight, narrating our tale where her innocence slowly morphs into world-weariness
without ever losing her hopefulness. Regina King brings dedication and
steadfastness to a mother whose love for her in-law is just as strong as the love
for her daughter, made evident during a mission to Puerto Rico in a last-ditch
effort to confront the woman he was accused of raping. And although their screen
time is limited, we get powerful performances from Brian Tyree Henry, Aunjanue
Ellis, Colman Domingo, Pedro Pascal and Dave Franco.
Special notice has to go to composer Nicholas Britell and
cinematographer James Laxton, both of whom worked with Barry Jenkins before on Moonlight and bring the same consummate touches
to this film. The achingly gorgeous strings and soft piano of the score work
effectively for both its romantic and heartbreaking moments. The phrase “every
frame a painting” gets thrown around a lot, but it really applies to Laxton’s
beautiful camerawork and color composition. You could pause the movie at any
moment, and whatever frame it lands on would look stunning hanging from your dining
room wall. Where Moonlight was awash
in cool, calming blues, Jenkins’ vision of Harlem has a more varied color pallet:
a glowing mixture of reds, greens, blues and yellows. In a film chock full of
powerful images, the ones that speak the loudest are the intimate close-ups of
the actors’ faces, staring at back at us with magnetic intensity, wordlessly
communicating the spectrum of human emotion.
Bottom line, If Beale
Street Could Talk is a compassionate portrait of love in the face of discrimination
and hardship. In a year where black cinema was throwing its fists in the air,
sometimes while gripping Molotovs, Beale
Street offsets the bitter reality of our racist culture with love,
compassion, and community. One of the year’s best, don’t miss it.
9/10
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