Fast Film Reviews

The Manchester of the title is a coastal town along the North Shore of Massachusetts Bay, about 30 miles northeast from Boston. Lee Chandler (Casey Affleck) is a dejected man with a tragic past. A beleaguered soul, he is withdrawn, almost surly. He works as a handyman for a Boston apartment building complex. Early on, his grumpy interactions with building tenants are presented as a series of vignettes. It’s kind of amusing at first. We’ve come to expect humor in our cinematic tragedies so in the beginning these seem like comic relief. They aren’t. Lee possesses a thoroughly depressed spirit. In the opening scene, we see the past. He is an upbeat uncle, joking around with his young nephew (Ben O’Brien as young Patrick). They’re on a boat with Lee’s brother / Patrick’s father Joe (Kyle Chandler) off the coast of Massachusetts. Life is good. Flash forward to the present and things are a much different picture. How Lee became this way isn’t revealed until about halfway through. Our present story is set in motion when Lee receives a call that his brother Joe has died, forcing him to return to his hometown and confront demons he’d rather forget.

Lee Chandler is something of an enigma. He’s all pent up emotion. Uncommunicative, aloof, he has shut out the world. It’s easy to embrace someone who’s asking for help, but what about the individual who refuses to engage? Because he doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, Lee is isn’t a very likable guy.  Outwardly, he’s placid. Yet that doesn’t mean he isn’t tormented by a tornado of sadness. A maelstrom of pain surging inside that gives rise to violent outbursts. He talks with his fists, coming out swinging just because someone looks at him funny. One keeps expecting a tearful collapse that never arrives. The narrative is all about relationships minus the requisite sentimental displays of the main protagonist. It’s a “chick flick” for dudes. Casey Affleck gives a most uncharacteristic performance for this genre. The chronicle is all the more innovative because of it.

There’s a more conventional version of Manchester by the Sea. Its core of “family coping with loss” is a common story. This could’ve easily been a weepy tearjerker. It isn’t. Lonergan makes some uncommon choices in how to depict the tale that elevates it into something extraordinary. Casey Affleck is the core of the plot, but he’s supported by an amazing ensemble that also subverts our expectations. Actor Lucas Hedges is Patrick Chandler, Joe’s now teenage son and perhaps the second most important person in this account. Father Joe has made his brother Lee sole guardian of son Patrick in his will. I’ve seen these melancholy tales with kids before and I figured I had this Patrick character pegged even before we were introduced. His personality is nothing like I expected.  I could explain how but that would spoil the impact of his disposition. If this drama does have that predictable emotional breakdown, it belongs Michelle Williams as Randi, Lee’s ex-wife. Her impassioned plea is the movie’s one concession to a giving the audience a catharsis. It’s my favorite moment in a film full of many.

Director Kenneth Lonergan received an Oscar nomination in 2001 for his debut screenplay for the drama You Can Count on Me, which he also directed. The Academy bestowed another nomination on him for co-writing Gangs of New York for director Martin Scorsese. Then almost a decade of no output. He directed Margaret, starring Anna Paquin, as his second directorial feature in 2005, but the troubled production was mired in multiple lawsuits. It didn’t get released until 2011. As one of the most critically acclaimed pictures of the year, Manchester by the Sea must certainly be a validation, but it’s a reminder as well. Kenneth Lonergan is a unique talent.

Manchester by the Sea is highlighted by a brilliant script, also penned by the director. The narrative advances a progression of captivating conversations, as Lee deliberates on the past in flashbacks, as well as in the present day. The reflective piece is edited together like a shuffled deck of cards. The style mimics our own free association with the past as we converse with people in the present. These exchanges provide a deeper understanding of Lee Chandler. Sometimes it’s even more powerful by what it doesn’t say. The indefinable power of the silence in between what people actually express.

Music is an important component that changes with each segment. There’s an original score by Lesley Barber, but the soundtrack also features classical music. Handel, Poulenc, Albinoni, and Massenet are occasionally played loudly over scenes where dialogue would normally be heard. The technique is used frequently and periodically you feel the director’s hand guiding the viewer. Lonergan overtly pushes feelings that are already there. However, more often than not, the choice can be particularly compelling. A gathering of family and friends at the funeral home comes to mind. We imagine what the people are saying. We focus on their expressions in the absence of talk. The result makes the experience more dreamlike but also alien because the sophistication of the classical piece is so foreign to the blue collar aura of our central character.

Manchester by the Sea is like a mournful symphony gently guided under the masterful direction of its conductor. The adagio pace of the film unfolds as a contemplative composition. At 2 hours 17 minutes, it’s leisurely pace can tax the viewer’s patience, but the rewards are great. It’s a work marked by the modulation of sensitivity as we witness an evolution of poignant discussions. Happy, sad, angry – our undulating emotion crescendos with a heartbreaking conversation. The account ultimately continues on to the gentle sublime cadence.  This is a movie about self-discovery. As such, we learn more about our character as the chronicle develops. It’s that gradual reveal of the narrative that keeps the audience captivated. Lee isn’t noticeably that much different at the end than he was at the beginning. Yet our appreciation for this man has developed. It’s an ending that plays out like life. This saga isn’t finished but we understand so much more now than we did when we started. I was enriched by the ride.

11-29-16

It almost sounds like a poetic fabrication that the last name of Mildred and Richard was Loving.  The name also serves as the film’s title. The appellation would seem a bit too precious if it weren’t simply a fact. Adding to the irony of the situation is that “one of the most iconic ad campaigns of the past 50 years” is the tourism slogan: “Virginia is for Lovers.” It wasn’t always this way. It’s probably hard for a contemporary audience to fathom, but in 1958, 24 states, Virginia among them, had what were known as anti-miscegenation laws strictly prohibiting black–white intermarriage. Until the Loving’s case in 1967, it was illegal for interracial couples to marry in some states. (Side note: the last law officially outlawing interracial marriage was repealed in Alabama in 2000.)

On July 11, 1958, newlyweds Richard (Joel Edgerton) and Mildred Loving (Ruth Negga ) are in their bedroom asleep when armed police officers enter their house led by Sheriff Brooks (Marton Csokas). The two are forcibly removed from their home and thrown into jail. Their crime? They are of different races and have gotten married. 5 weeks prior the devoted couple had decided to wed upon learning that Mildred was pregnant, Thanks to something called Virginia’s Racial Integrity Act, the pair had journeyed to Washington, D.C. where they were able to get married without issue.

Back in Virginia they are brought before a judge and plead guilty. In exchange for their plea, they are sentenced to one year in prison, with the sentence being suspended for 25 years on condition that they leave the state. They comply and move to the District of Columbia to raise their children apart from their families who still live in Virginia. Frustrated by these restrictions, Mildred Loving writes a letter to Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy. This starts a chain of events that affirms their rights have been violated as set forth by the Fourteenth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution.

At its core, Loving is a production constructed around Loving v. Virginia, the landmark civil rights decision of the United States Supreme Court, which invalidated laws prohibiting interracial marriage. Yet Loving subverts expectations. Rather than presenting a courtroom drama in which arguments from both sides are presented, the chronicle is brilliantly fashioned around the life of Richard and Mildred Loving. This isn’t intended as a strident issue-based sermon. It’s a gentle portrait of two people deeply committed to one another.

Director Jeff Nichols’ biggest success up until now has been the coming-of-age tale Mud, a fable that got its official release in 2013. A civil rights piece like Loving might not seem like the most logical subject for the helmer of Take Shelter and Midnight Special, but it is his most obvious bid for mainstream recognition.   The subject turns out to be a nice fit.  It would have been very easy to allow the inherent soap opera of the happenings to descend into melodrama. Instead, writer/director Nichols allows the circumstances to speak for themselves. He sidesteps explicit commentary from the principal actors. This allows the weight of the composition to unfold honestly. Adam Stone’s gorgeous cinematography and David Wingo’s luscious score only underscore these truths.

At the core of Loving are two performances that are flawlessly executed. Joel Edgerton as Richard is not the civil crusader you might expect. He’s strong but quiet, almost stoic, a man who is ill-at-ease with the prospect of becoming famous. Yet his affection for his wife remains his strongest weapon. His late-in-the-film declaration brought tears to my eyes. In contrast, Ruth Negga as Mildred is the one who starts things in motion. She too is a reserved, almost mousy woman who appears to softly defer to her husband one moment but then takes charge of the situation the next. A phone call from Bernie Cohen (Nick Kroll), the ACLU lawyer assigned to their case, shows her at first hesitant and then decisive. Ruth is emboldened by the chance to better her family’s life. An ordinary woman driven to do extraordinary things. In fact, the duo shows such restraint that their lack of ferocity can be a bit surprising. These two are the least revolutionary types you could possibly imagine and yet their actions changed the fabric of the nation. That’s kind of inspiring. It gives hope to the masses because it means anyone can make a difference. The emotion is intimate and the humanity present within their circumstances becomes more palpable. Sometimes a revolution doesn’t start with a bang.

10-30-16

Coming-of-age tales are so often fraught with cliches that the very label is almost a disservice to films saddled with the description. The common details that unite one coming-of-age story with another are a bit ambiguous. They often concern a central figure who begins as a youth and reaches adulthood by the end. In that sense, Moonlight would appear to be another one of these sagas. Yet what Moonlight does is so dazzling in its construction that it becomes a revelation of truth. In presenting this memoir, legitimate drama is extracted from deceptively simple components that coalesce into a singular vision. This stunningly complex dissection of a life lived is breathtaking.

At the most basic level, this account is a character study about a man named Chiron (pronounced shy-RONE). We follow him through a triptych in which the lead is portrayed by three unique actors in his biography. In the first segment, Chiron is an 11-year-old, played by Alex Hibbert. He’s nicknamed “Little” because of his shy and meek nature. Bullied by the local kids, he is a somber individual affected by a challenging urban environment. He does not receive comfort from his emotionally cold mother (Naomie Harris in all three sections of the chronicle). However, he is befriended by a neighborhood crack dealer (Mahershala Ali in a charismatic performance) who nurtures the boy. Additionally, Little also relies on his friendship with best friend Kevin (Jaden Piner). In part two Chiron is now realized by actor Ashton Sanders. We follow Chiron as a teenager in high school. His close friendship with Kevin still persists. Yet everything in his life has become intensified and more complicated. This episode culminates in a life altering event. The final segment has Chiron now as an adult (played by Trevante Rhodes). Chiron currently goes by “Black”, a nickname Kevin gave to him when they were teens. His current situation is presented as it is now and we see how things have influenced his development.

Barry Jenkins is a thoughtful director. His debut was Medicine for Melancholy, a well-received, low-budget independent feature released way back in 2008. It has taken a whopping eight years for his follow-up feature. The wait has been worth it. Moonlight is his masterpiece. Like the protagonist of Moonlight, Jenkins also grew up poor in the Miami housing projects of Liberty City. It’s a region Jenkins knows well, but his adapted screenplay is actually based on someone else’s experience from the same area. In Moonlight Black Boys Look Blue is an unpublished play by Tarell Alvin McCraney. Although neither writer knew the other in their childhood, the two actually grew up just a few blocks from each other.  As any child who has ever been bullied knows, there is a pecking order on the playground. Children detect what they perceive as weakness in their peers. They often seize on these qualities and exploit them in various ways that can undermine a child’s life. Sensitivity is considered being “soft” and that is a most undesirable quality as determined by young male peers.

Director Barry Jenkins takes his time constructing a narrative, slowly giving details that subtly pop up later in his story. It’s a visual tableau utilizing color and contrast to create a distinct aesthetic for each of the three chapters. In this way, Jenkins imbues his rough, urban landscape with a gorgeous poetic sheen. The atmosphere has an increasingly dreamlike state. It’s a leisurely paced drama where silence speaks volumes. It’s a meditative reflection where moody rhythms percolate beneath the protagonist’s circumstances. Jenkins touches on poverty, race, gender, sexuality, masculinity and identity. None of this is overt, but rather develops organically as it would when fulfilling one’s own life. Jenkins inspires many questions: Who are we as a person? Are we the product of our environment? Can we rise above these obstacles? How do these events shape us into the adult we become? There are many more. Some appear to have answers. Others are open to interpretation. Chiron’s experiences will touch each viewer in different ways that will encourage reflection for days afterward. His struggle may not be yours. However, it still involves the combustible components that are part of every human endeavor. In this way, Jenkins imparts a movie that speaks for all humanity.

10-28-16