Moonlight: One Giant Leap for Film
My mother would sing me an ancient lullaby when as a baby boy I was too aggravated to fall asleep on my own. Its translated title is “Come, Moon-Uncle.” Written in the 1400s by the saintly Tallapaka Annamacharya and kept alive for some 600 years by mothers who must have sensed its usefulness, its intricate lyrics smoothed out over time to more easily pass through their weary lips, the song was desperately presented to me, night after night (Annamacharya).
Come, Moon-Uncle. Come, oh moon.
Climb the mountain and come. Bring ten million flowers and come.
Get on a cart and come. Bring marigolds and come.
Come on a boat. Bring a comb of honey.
Come in a palanquin. Bring milk and curd.
Come running. Bring a jackfruit.
Heed my words and keep them in the middle of my yard.
Bring all these things and give them to my boy.
And night after night, I’d lower into a sound sleep, soothed by the promise of the moon’s gifts.
Moonlight, written and directed by Barry Jenkins, and based on a play by Tarell Alvin McCraney, tells the story of Chiron, a black boy growing up in the late 1990s in the harsh landscape of Miami, as he develops complex relationships with his own masculinity, his community, and those around him. Following its release in late 2016, it won three Oscars, including Best Motion Picture of the Year, one Golden Globe, four BAFTAs, and one Screen Actors Guild award, among many others (Moonlight: Awards). Though its myriad accolades can attest to it being one of the greatest films of all time, an amateur film connoisseur — oxymoronic, yes, but we all contain multitudes — can explain why that is so. I watched this movie in December of 2020 and as of March 2021, not a day has passed that it has not influenced me. Never before have I seen the stories of individuals who are so often trivialized in media told with such care and detail. Considering that the tale of Moonlight is one very seldom portrayed in the mainstream — a closeted black man finding his identity within a dark and dangerous place — it is incredibly appreciable how skillful its presentation is. The film exceeds expectations in its writing, its structure, its visuals, and even its score.
The biggest reason for Moonlight’s historical importance, which is a major contributor to it being one of the greatest movies ever made, is the representation it champions. It tells a focally intersectional story — racial, sexual, and financial marginalisation are all inexorable elements of the film. But, as a review from the New Yorker puts it, “the subject of ‘Moonlight’ isn’t blackness or gayness; it’s one man whose many qualities include being black and being gay” (Brody). And despite the commendable risk that Jenkins took in telling such a specific story, the film does not by any means alienate viewers who have not lived Chiron’s experience. Far from it, in fact — its deep-seated intersectionality actually allows more people to relate to at least one aspect of the story. Though you may not understand what it’s like to grow up with a parent who is an addict, or to be assaulted by homophobic bullies, it is enough to understand the feelings of hopelessness; fear; distrust; and sadness. In an interview with the two adult leads, Trevante Rhodes and Andre Holland, the interviewer comments on the film, “There is a universality of it. It’s about being the other, as much as it is being black or gay.” To this, both Rhodes and Holland nod in unison, and Holland replies, “Absolutely. And we all know what that is, don’t we?” (DP/30: The Oral History of Hollywood).
I saw myself in Chiron as I saw his struggles in interacting with his sexuality, his community, and his mother. It still somehow feels faintly strange to remind myself conceptually that Chiron is a fictional character, because he so strongly captures the essence of his real-life inspirations. Tarell McCraney, the playwright of In Moonlight Black Boys Look Blue, explained the origins of some of the film’s characters: “The paths these young men take in the film may not be our own, but we know men just like that…Their stories are very biographical, and braided in” (Variety). The depth of the writing makes these characters relatable, and the characters’ relatability is what makes them real. Moonlight amplifies the voices of communities that have been historically underrepresented in film, and does so in a way that is accessible to all. Because of the quality of the story, these characters become vehicles by which the viewer may immerse themselves in the film.
Because real people are similar to one another. Real people face incredibly specific circumstances, but can still see themselves in those around them, be they close relatives or distant strangers. And this rings very true for the experience of watching Moonlight. It is 111 gripping minutes of what truly feels like a real story, and a real important one at that (Moonlight (2016 film)). The all-black cast makes magic of the script, and the pacing sucks you right in.
The film is split into three distinct chapters, each taking place at a different time in Chiron’s life. The time jumps come with significant changes in Chiron’s appearance, but also with changes in his name. In the first chapter, Chiron is a small child, and is given the nickname Little because of his stature. The second chapter joins Chiron as a high school student, identifying himself by his given name, and the third shows us his adulthood. In the third chapter, Chiron refers to himself as Black, a nickname given to him by a friend in the second chapter. The disjointed, triptych structure is exacerbated by Jenkins’ decision to cast a completely different actor for each part, rather than employing makeup and computer graphics to change a single actor’s appearance. This choice is effective in displaying just how much change a person can undergo throughout their life as a product of their environment — in an interview, Jenkins explained his thought process as he was developing this idea for the film: “It’s the same character, but he’s become a different person, so we’ll cast different people” (Variety). The three actors cast to play Little, Chiron, and Black — Alex Hibbert, Ashton Sanders, and Trevante Rhodes respectively — do not necessarily look alike physically (Moonlight (2016 film)). In fact, the film presents a jarring visual contrast between the muscular Rhodes, and Hibbert and Sanders, who are both slim. But the character’s continuity is believably maintained by each actor’s beautiful portrayal of Chiron’s inherent fragility. The audience is able to understand how Black feels he has to physically fortify himself to be able to withstand all the abuse he has been put through, and to prove his worth as a man.
We are given a thorough look at Chiron by virtue of seeing him at different stages in his life — he is carefully made three-dimensional with an emphasis on his reactions to his environment, rather than through direct exposition. Similarly, the discontinuous narrative structure also allows for secondary character development to be much more implicit, and therefore less time-consuming. In the first act, we meet Juan, a significant character who subverts the traditional characterization of a drug dealer and becomes a caring father figure to Little. Though Juan is instrumental in the first act, he is absent from the second and third, suggesting a death that is not stated directly, but is felt through the interactions Chiron has with Juan’s girlfriend Theresa, and the emptiness of her house. This is economical for the story, and also allows the reader to process the loss however they see fit, rather than being told to mourn by the film.
The use of framing as a rhetorical device is seldom explored in film as a way to not only tell a story efficiently, but also to evoke a theme that the movie attempts to communicate. Moonlight is told disjointedly to show us the messiness of reality — how the unpredictability of our surroundings means that conflicts in our lives don’t always get addressed quickly. It affirms in us, the viewers, that some of our most defining experiences may take many years to blossom, our life lessons trails of puzzle pieces scattered down a winding road. By taking a narrative approach that is at once striking via visual juxtaposition and subliminally connotative via the intentions behind the structural choices, it subverts the status quo of modern film on yet another front.
Despite telling a story that is incredibly painful at times, I found myself enraptured by the beauty of the shot composition in Moonlight; namely, the way that colours graced the frame in each scene. The film does not, as one may have come to expect from social dramas, dress in muted colours, utilizing grays and navys to capture the seriousness of the tone. Rather, it presents the viewer with beautiful saturated palettes — vibrant blues and pinks and warm yellows and lush greens, colours full of life. In contrast to the hyper-realistic approach taken in writing the characters and story of Moonlight, the visuals were intentionally crafted to be a heightened experience, bordering on psychedelic at times. This choice was made to convey a sense of respect for the complexity of the movie’s setting: Miami, Florida. In an interview with IndieWire, Jenkins said, “Tarell [McCraney] calls Miami a ‘beautiful nightmare’ and I think what we’ve done is paint this nightmare in beautiful tones.” The movie truly does succeed in creating beautiful backdrops for scenes, ultimately imbuing the setting with the same depth its characters get.
One of the most important colours in Moonlight is blue. There are very few scenes in which the colour blue, or the lack thereof, does not convey meaning; it appears in the film’s wardrobe, location, lighting, set design and more. But why blue? Don’t tell me it represents sadness, you are thinking. No; instead of enforcing a conscious association that many of us have learned — blue signifies sadness — Moonlight recontextualizes another popular association of the colour in a bold act of subversion. Many have interpreted the use of blue as an expression of accepting one’s own identity; it appears in shots where the characters are tapping into their truest selves, if only for a moment, before their surroundings demand the mask go back on (Sasso). I agree with this take, and also feel that the colour blue is used to evoke the idea of masculinity in the viewer, so that it can then be redefined. In a society where gay men are often dispossessed of their masculinity in the public eye, the choice of including blue in scenes of vulnerability and laughter appears as a comforting act of rebellion.
Near the beginning of the film, Juan takes Little to the beach and teaches him to swim. The gravity of the scene cannot be understated — the lapping of the waves, over the sharp violins of the score, under the blueness of the ocean. Little lays on his back, half-submerged, and Juan talks softly to him: “Right there. You in the middle of the world” (Jenkins). Chiron is, for once, centered in himself. In this vast blue scape, he is able to relax and accept himself. Thus, the colour blue becomes a definitive example of self-respect, of truth. After that scene, Juan and Chiron are sitting together by the shore, and Juan quotes a lady who spoke to him in his childhood, as he was running down the road at night:
This old lady, she stopped me. She said,
“Runnin’ around, catchin’ up all that light.
In moonlight, black boys look blue.
You blue.” (Jenkins)
The colour blue continues to frame moments of acceptance in Chiron’s world from his childhood onwards — his first sexual encounter, the moment he stands up to his bully, and his ritual of rinsing his face in cold water every morning, among others. What Juan says to Little on the beach carries heavy implications for the rest of the film. In many moments, we see Chiron ‘looking blue’; where, in those moments, is the moonlight? I encourage you to explore this question for yourself, to find the moonlight. Look for it, listen for it.
The film’s visuals are perfectly complemented by Nicholas Britell’s classical score, mainly featuring pianos and frail string sections. His musical decisions were influenced by Jenkins’ request for an orchestral score, and the fact that to him, Moonlight’s screenplay “felt like a piece of poetry” (Cooper). Britell experimented with the emotional impact of his orchestration by ‘chopping-and-screwing’ some of his arrangements. This technique, originating from Southern hip-hop and pioneered by DJ Screw, entails the slowing down of a track so that its pitch then gets lower, giving the vocals a deepened effect (Cooper). Executing this technique on an orchestral piece with no vocals or drums creates an uncanny effect. In the first chapter, “Little’s Theme” plays when Juan is driving Little home after finding him cowering in an abandoned drug house. In the second chapter, “Chiron’s Theme” plays when Chiron’s friend Kevin is pressured into striking Chiron and knocking him to the ground (Jenkins). “Chiron’s Theme” is actually the same track as “Little’s Theme,” only slowed so that its pitch is decreased by nearly 2 octaves, and transposed to a different key. The effect is eerie; the pianos and violins that in Chapter 1 were soothing and homely now begin to rumble unintelligibly, creating an unplaceable sense of wrongness. The technique is employed again in Chapter 3, with “Black’s Theme,” wherein the music is pitched down in such a way that it would be impossible for the cellos to actually play, but one that lends the scene a heightened emotional presence (Cooper).
There are a few moments wherein the original score is replaced by diegetic music — that is, music that exists in the world of the film. In the opening shot of Moonlight, Juan is driving to the corner of the block where one of his drug-dealing employees is posted. As he parks his car, “Every [N-word] Is A Star,” by Boris Gardiner, released in 1973, plays from the stereo (Genius). This serves not only as a way to establish Juan’s seniority as a character, but also foreshadows the guidance he will give to Little — the important lesson of self-sustenance he will impart by teaching Little how to swim.
A few more instances of diegetic music appear in the third chapter to expand on Black’s disposition. One of the most visually striking scenes in the film is scored by Goodie Mob’s 1995 track, “Cell Therapy,” which features a looping piano riff and deep-voiced, aggressive rap verses from the group members (Goodie Mob). This song accentuates the visual contrast between Chiron in the second chapter and Black in the third. While Chiron was lanky and unimposing, Black is muscular, and in all senses, conventionally masculine. This is exemplified by his facial hair, the slick car he drives, and the smoothness with which he turns the wheel. This version of Chiron is nothing like the one we’ve gotten to know — the audience is made to wonder how he could have changed this much from adolescence to adulthood. It later is implied that his drastic change in appearance was in an effort to guard himself from the scrutinizing gaze he faced in his youth — a way to mask his true self and his sensitivity. In chapter three, all of the music Black plays in his car is either inherently ‘masculine’ or it is chopped and screwed. But when Black meets Kevin for the first time since high school at the diner in which Kevin is now a chef, Kevin plays, on the jukebox, the song that reminded him of Black. That song is “Hello Stranger,” by Barbara Lewis, released in 1963 (Barbara Lewis). This immediately contrasts with Black’s personality in that it is a much older song; all of Black’s music is contemporary for the late ’90s, even at one point surpassing the timeline with a chopped-and-screwed version of the 2015 track, “Classic Man,” by Jidenna (Jenkins). The tone of “Hello Stranger” is much more intimate and inviting, evoking a tender moment that Chiron and Kevin shared on the moonlit beach back in high school — the first time since Juan that Chiron had ever exposed his true self to another. In that scene, the combination of the warmth of the visuals and the beauty of the song create an indescribable atmosphere.
It goes without saying that I hereby recommend Moonlight to anyone who wishes to see a beautiful, important story told brilliantly. The film excels by contemporary standards in its writing, pacing, colour palettes, and musical score, creating an effect that latches onto the viewer and sticks in their memory for long after their first viewing. These nights, as a high schooler, when I’m too affected to fall asleep on my own, I put on “Little’s Theme” and imagine waves washing over one another. I imagine the sounds they make at night when nobody is around. I picture my Moon-Uncle on the surface of the ocean, warped but radiant. And in the leaden instants before sleep takes over, I’m pleased that he’s arrived.
Sources:
“Annamacharya.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 27 Mar. 2021, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Annamacharya.
“Boris Gardiner — Every Nigger Is a Star.” Genius, Genius, genius.com/Boris-gardiner-every-nigger-is-a-star-lyrics.
Brody, Richard. “The Unbearable Intimacy of ‘Moonlight.’” The New Yorker, Condé Nast, 28 Oct. 2016, www.newyorker.com/culture/richard-brody/the-unbearable-intimacy-of-moonlight.
Cooper, Michael. “Hear How ‘Moonlight’ Got Its Sound: Violins, Chopped and Screwed.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 21 Feb. 2017, www.nytimes.com/2017/02/21/arts/music/moonlight-movie-score-music-oscars.html.
DP/30: The Oral History of Hollywood. “DP/30: Moonlight, Andre Holland, Trevante Rhodes.” YouTube, YouTube, 4 Dec. 2016, www.youtube.com/watch?v=99RzN9umkaQ.
Gilbert, Sophie. “The Symbolism of Water in Barry Jenkins’s ‘Moonlight’.” The Atlantic, Atlantic Media Company, 28 Dec. 2016, www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2016/12/the-power-of-water-in-moonlight/511547/.
Goodie Mob. “Cell Therapy.” YouTube, YouTube, 5 Oct. 2015, www.youtube.com/watch?v=51yaC3BO0tE.
Jenkins, Barry, director. Moonlight. A24, 2016.
“Jidenna (Ft. Roman GianArthur) — Classic Man.” Genius, Genius, genius.com/Jidenna-classic-man-lyrics.
Josephs, Brian. “Moonlight Is a Stunning Deconstruction of Black Masculinity.” Spin, 21 Oct. 2016, www.spin.com/featured/barry-jenkins-moonlight-review/.
Lewis, Barbara. “Hello Stranger.” YouTube, YouTube, 30 Apr. 2020, www.youtube.com/watch?v=9RfU9ldQSmg.
“Moonlight (2016 Film).” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 24 Mar. 2021, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moonlight_(2016_film).
“Moonlight: Awards.” IMDb, IMDb.com, www.imdb.com/title/tt4975722/awards.
O’Falt, Chris. “‘Moonlight’ Glow: Creating the Bold Color and Contrast of Barry Jenkins’ Emotional Landscape.” IndieWire, IndieWire, 26 Oct. 2016, www.indiewire.com/2016/10/moonlight-cinematography-color-barry-jenkins-james-laxton-alex-bickel-1201740402/.
Sasso, Adam T. “‘Moonlight’: A Story Told With Color.” ReelRundown, 12 Apr. 2017, reelrundown.com/movies/Moonlight-A-Story-Told-With-Color.
This Beautiful Fraud. “Moonlight — How Barry Jenkins Writes.” YouTube, 23 Apr. 2020, youtu.be/s7N5TsXHkHw.
Variety. “Barry Jenkins, André Holland, Mahershala Ali, Naomie Harris and More on ‘Moonlight’ at TIFF.” YouTube, YouTube, 23 Sept. 2016, www.youtube.com/watch?v=svF-bsn-U7A.
