moon

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Journal of Homosexuality

ISSN: 0091-8369 (Print) 1540-3602 (Online) Journal homepage: http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/wjhm20

MOONLIGHT, Directed by Barry Jenkins

Kameron J. Copeland

To cite this article: Kameron J. Copeland (2018) MOONLIGHT, Directed by Barry Jenkins, Journal of Homosexuality, 65:5, 687-689, DOI: 10.1080/00918369.2017.1333815

To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/00918369.2017.1333815

Accepted author version posted online: 08 Jun 2017. Published online: 07 Jul 2017.

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FILM REVIEW

Moonlight, Directed by Barry Jenkins. New York, NY: A24. 2016, 111 min.

In 2013, Brian Stewart, a student at the historically Black Morgan State University, received widespread media coverage when he was rejected from his university’s chapter of Kappa Alpha Psi fraternity because of his queerness. The mainstream media narratives explained that despite his achievements of maintaining a high GPA and serving as an intern in the White House, Stewart was still declined membership. Although the situa- tion revived an age-old conversation on homophobia in Black fraternities, it failed to introduce an often-overlooked discussion on the trials of growing up young, Black, poor, and queer. Although Stewart was a highly successful student leader, it has also been noted that he desired to join the fraternity of his mentor and pastor, who served as a role model during his upbringing as an economically disadvantaged Black queer youth in Baltimore. Unlike Stewart’s media narrative, the critically acclaimed film Moonlight delved into a deep exploration of the trials associated with growing up as a poor Black queer man in an urban environment. In the midst of a time when powerful Black queer men who grew up poor, such as Black Lives Matter activist DeRay McKesson and honors student Brian Stewart, have transitioned into mainstream American public discourse, Moonlight dissects the difficulties undergone by young Black queer men who have faced several hardships associated with the intersections of race, class, and sexuality.

Presented in three acts that explore a young Black man’s transition through child- hood, adolescence, and early adult life, Moonlight takes on the groundbreaking task of examining the manner in which Black men are forced into a system of Black masculinity emphasizing a brutal sense of toughness and emotional suppression. The first part of the film, titled “Little,” features a young, skinny Chiron, who is bullied and tormented by his peers because of his social awkwardness, as he lives in a poor, all-Black area of Miami. As Chiron resides in a meager apartment with his mother who is either working or abusing drugs, he is befriended by a local drug dealer who serves as a fatherly figure. Additionally, he builds a companionship with Kevin, a classmate who seems to possess a special fondness for Chiron, despite constantly policing his own cool pose. He tells Chiron to “show these niggas you ain’t soft” when he faces bullies, as the two wrestle in an open field to test each other’s strength. As Chiron’s reserved, passive demeanor causes him to easily attract bullies, the drug dealer and his girlfriend Teresa take the quiet child under their wings and help him cope through providing an outlet for him to express himself. They serve as essential coping outlets that free Chiron from the judgment of his schoolmates and the carelessness of his mother. The drug dealer serves in the same capacity as Stewart’s college-educated pastoral mentor and serves as a key outlet that neutralizes the impact of anti-queer undertones on Chiron’s self-concept. When Chiron asks if he is a “faggot,” the drug dealer empathizes with him and says, “You could be gay but never let nobody call you a faggot.” In a symbolic baptismal scene, the drug dealer tells Chiron, “At some point, you’ve got to decide for yourself who you’re gonna be—you can’t let nobody make that decision for you.”

While Teresa and her boyfriend serve as forces that affirm Chiron’s identity as a Black queer man at a young age, he still faces severe backlash from his schoolmates, who continue to bully him as he enters high school in the second part, titled “Black.” He builds on his relationship with Kevin, as he transparently transcends the barriers of

JOURNAL OF HOMOSEXUALITY 2018, VOL. 65, NO. 5, 687–689 https://doi.org/10.1080/00918369.2017.1333815

© 2017 Taylor & Francis

hegemonic masculinity and tells him, “I cry so much sometimes it feels like I’m about to turn into droplets” during an intimate night scene on the shore of a beach. Upon engaging in a brief sexual encounter, Kevin takes him to his mother’s home that is now located in the projects, as she has become an unemployed drug addict. Unlike many films featuring intimate sexual relationships between Black men, Kevin does not tell Chiron that he must keep their relationship a secret. Despite the fact that Kevin is bisexual, he does not fall into the clichéd caricature of a deceptive Black man on the “down low.” Nevertheless, he eventually deceives Chiron in order to maintain his cool pose, when a mischievous bully dares him to play “knockout” with Chiron serving as the victim. This causes him to brutally punch Chiron in the cafeteria, which leads to a large group of young men brutally assaulting him. When a traumatized, wounded Chiron enters the principal’s office, she degrades him through saying, “If you were a man, there would be four other knuckleheads sitting right next to you.” She normalizes violent, destructive behavior as an essential tenet to maintaining an acceptable Black masculinity through blaming Chiron’s passiveness for his own demise.

While the drug dealer has died between the first two acts, Teresa is still around to offer support for Chiron, as she provides “all love and all pride” in her house after he has been traumatized for being himself and facing brutal deception from Kevin. He even- tually enters a classroom and violently smashes a chair into the back of the student who dared Kevin to attack him. In a sequence similar to a scene featuring two poor preteen Black boys being escorted out of their homes to a police car in John Singleton’s Boyz n the Hood (1991), a helpless Chiron is escorted out of the school building to a police unit. This segues into the final act that features a new Chiron who now lives in Atlanta and sells drugs. He has now gained several pounds of muscle, carries a gun, and reveals a gold grille over his teeth when he opens his mouth. His mother is in rehabilitation in the same city. When Chiron gets a call from Kevin, he travels back to Miami, where they spend time at a restaurant where Kevin serves as a cook. It is revealed that Kevin has children, although he is no longer in any relationship, which seemingly relieves Chiron. Upon eating dinner at the restaurant, Kevin criticizes Chiron’s new “front” and apol- ogizes for not being there for him during their tough high school days. After Kevin completes his night shift at the restaurant, they travel to Kevin’s house, where Chiron eventually confesses, “You’re the only man that’s ever touched me—you’re the only one. I haven’t really touched anyone since.” The film ends with Chiron and Kevin embracing in a manner resembling the sensual aura of director Ryan Coogler and actor Michael B. Jordan’s controversial pose of nonsexual intimacy featured in a Vanity Fair photograph (van Lamsweerde & Matadin, 2016).

Moonlight has emerged at an interesting time of vast social change. It has been released in the midst of a dynamic era in which the mainstream media is finally beginning to recognize the diverse narratives of Black queer men who are equipped with human struggles and needs for supportive outlets, as seen in television series such as Fox’s Empire (2015) and the CW’s The L.A. Complex (2012). In its avoidance of clichéd dehumanizing representations of Black male sexuality, Moonlight humanizes Black queer men through confronting day-to-day issues such as poverty, addiction, and childhood struggles. Whereas intense discussions of DeRay McKesson’s childhood with rehabili- tated drug addict parents in urban Baltimore or Brian Stewart’s impoverished upbringing are overall absent in media discourse, Moonlight brings these topics to the forefront, which adds a sense of multidimensionality to representations of Black queerness. The film also pays tribute to 1990s New Black Realism films that sought to explore and redefine Black masculinity and racial identity. Unlike the hypermasculine undertones of New Black Realism, Moonlight does not present hypermasculinity as a plausible solution.

688 FILM REVIEW

Whereas Black men have been urged to normalize themselves through embracing a hegemonic masculinity and anti-Black notions, Moonlight presents the failure to create a culturally affirming environment for the traumatized Black male as dangerous. This unique approach serves to normalize Black male sexuality and traditionally stigmatized Black masculinities.

During a time when Black male bodies have been exploited by the media and devalued by law enforcement officials, causing the Black queer community to rise up as highly visible leaders in the contemporary movement for Black lives, Moonlight serves as an essential definitive gem that presents a new form of Black pride characterized by the promotion of self-acceptance and affirmation. The three-part story following the same character portrayed by different actors presents a relatable, emotionally captivating story paired alongside a dynamic nostalgic music score that makes the entire film a memorable, culturally significant experience. This radical tale of self-discovery beauti- fully resonates with the contemporary urgent push for Black men to abandon toxic mainstream masculinities and embark on wholesome journeys toward affirmation and unity. In contemporary educational settings, Moonlight provides an intense exploration of Black masculinity in the context of the intersection of race, class, gender, and sexuality. As a result, the semiautobiographical film is useful for social scientists explor- ing the processes of coping and self-discovery among Black men who have been traumatized for possessing stigmatized masculinities to provide implications for practi- tioners across fields addressing the psychological wellbeing of Black men.

Reference Daniels, L. (Creator), Griffin, H. (Producer), & Sforza, S. (Producer). (2015). Empire. Chicago, IL: 20th

Century Fox Television. Gero, M. (Creator), & Williams, S. (Producer). (2012). The L.A. complex. Los Angeles, CA: Epitome

Pictures Inc. Nicolaides, S. (Producer), & Singleton, J. (Director). (1991). Boyz n the hood [Motion picture]. USA:

Columbia Pictures. van Lamsweerde, I., & Matadin, V. (2016, March 2). Michael B. Jordan and Ryan Coogler [Photograph

found in Michael B. Jordan, Grimes, and St. Vincent describe what it means to be a style disrupter, Vanity Fair]. (Originally photographed 2016). Retrieved from http://www.vanityfair.com/style/2016/ 03/michael-b-jordan-grimes-st-vincent-style-disrupters

Kameron J. Copeland, BFA, MA, MA Valdosta, Georgia

[email protected]

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