Belle (2013)

Charles Stanhope, Third Earl of Harrington, and a Servant (1782)

 

Dido Elizabeth Belle and Lady Elizabeth Murray, 1779

Director Amma Asante

Screenwriter Misan Sagay

Actress Gugu Mbatha-Raw

Asante on the set with Gugu Mbatha-Raw and James Norton

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BELLE                       A-                                                                                                         Great Britain  (103 mi)  2013  ‘Scope  d: Amma Asante

I do not know that I find myself anywhere.                                                                                   —Dido Elizabeth Belle (Gugu Mbatha-Raw)

In honor of Letterboxd writer Nwoye, otherwise known as cleansing my soul of addiction, cleansing my soul of addiction 's profile • Letterboxd, a Chicagoan born in Ghana who passed away in September 2021 from cancer, having thoroughly trashed Barry Jenkins and his recent TV epic 2021 #2 Film of the Year The Undergound Railroad- made for TV, offering his own scathing comments, “beautifying and trivializing Black history and the suffering of Black people for a disingenuous, entitled audience of predatory revisionist (white) liberals,” Review by cleansing my soul of addiction ... - Letterboxd, curiously recommending this film instead, directed by Ghanaian-British director Amma Asante:

2013’s Belle is the only recent work I have seen in which (transatlantic) slavery is appropriately incorporated into narrative constructs, and it will continue to stand the test of time as an incredible modernist treatise that refrains from aggrandizing today’s Black struggle and equating the day-to-day injustices we face as Black Americans to those endured by our ancestors—actual chattel slaves given no rights to exist at all.  If you really care and you want to watch something that pays respect to these scenarios and analyses slavery/liberation/Black life with some integrity and educated historical context, watch Belle.

A British costume drama with historical authenticity, an eloquent counterpoint to the graphically sadistic experience of 12 Years a Slave (2013), yet revealing what that film did not, as the history of slavery belongs to Britain as well as America.  In the period this film takes place there were about 15,000 black people living in Britain, mainly in London, yet less than a third of that population was free.  Written and directed by two black women, the work is directed by Amma Asante and written by Misan Sagay, a Nigerian-British screenwriter who was also a former emergency room doctor, but grew up during a time when the only blacks onscreen were either servants or gangsters, something she wanted to redress.  The inspiration behind the film is a 1779 painting of Dido Elizabeth Belle alongside her white cousin Lady Elizabeth Murray (1,000 × 858 pixels), who grew up with her on the lavish estate at Kenwood House under the care of Lord and Lady Mansfield, commissioned at the time by Lord Mansfield, then Lord Chief Justice of England.  Sagay happened to see the painting, attributed to Scottish artist David Martin, hanging at the Scone Palace in Perthshire, Scotland, and drew inspiration, as it’s one of the first European portrait paintings that subversively portrays a black subject on relatively equal terms with a white aristocrat, shown at the very end of the film, standing in stark contrast to J.M.W. Turner’s Slave Ship (2,152 × 1,616 pixels), a significant departure from the more prevalent historical images of horror, mourning, and despair.  There is also an equally subversive 1650 Velázquez portrait of his enslaved black assistant, Juan de Pareja, who was a skilled artist in his own right, Reframing History: Juan de Pareja.  One of the only reasons that we know about Dido Belle today is attributed to this painting.  There are other British paintings from that time period depicting black subjects, but nearly always peripherally in subservient roles.  Sagay’s comments when she first glimpsed the painting:

I was struck immediately when I saw the painting. It was this black woman staring directly out of the painting. She was vivacious. She was alive. She was painted in movement and yet the picture underneath the caption simply said, “The Lady Elizabeth Murray.” Nothing else. I was intrigued by who this black woman was. Years later, when I went back and the caption had been updated to, “Lady Elizabeth Murray and Dido, the Housekeeper’s Daughter,” I just didn’t buy it. I didn’t think that she was the housekeeper’s daughter. I felt that there was a story here and so that’s what captivated me. It was her herself and her presence and yet her silence. She didn’t even have a name.

Very little is actually known about the life of Dido Belle, who was born into slavery in the British West Indies and was the illegitimate mixed-race daughter of Sir John Lindsay, a white British naval officer, and Maria Belle, an enslaved African woman, found living in poverty by her father and entrusted to the care of his uncle, Lord Mansfield, originally William Murray, a crucial character in the story and in the history behind the film.  As a Scotsman, Murray had to work hard to become the most powerful judge in Britain.  Due to such scarce historical detail, Sagay was able to take artistic liberties in creating a fictionalized work that inserts Belle into a tumultuous discussion about the Zong massacre, Zong slave ship trial - HISTORY, where a central running thread of the film is an argument over the benefit or harm of the transatlantic slave trade, where an imminent ruling is expected by the court, specifically the Chief Justice, which could have historical ramifications, yet dressed in the romanticism and class system of a Jane Austen novel, where the primary family concern is marrying off young women to distinguished gentlemen who will maintain the prestigious family position of privilege.  Economics is the primary concern, not happiness or love, viewing the coming-out of young women into society much as they would a financial transaction, as women in marriage were viewed at the time as the exclusive property of men.  In the same way, the slave trade was viewed not only as the economic foundation of England, but as a means of expanding the British colonial empire, with little thought given to the heinous barbarity of the practice, as blacks were simply viewed as an inferior species.  In a society where rank, wealth, and family honor are everything, an unanswered question lurking beneath the lush exteriors of the film is just how wealth was amassed to live in such luxurious surroundings, complete with ornate clothing and jewelry, implying British colonial wealth was largely obtained through plantation holdings in the territories that ran on slave labor, suggesting the transatlantic slave trade is at the heart of the aristocratic nobility (used ironically) and the entire British costume drama genre, as those are the underlying circumstances creating such colossal inequities in wealth.  In 2006, The Church of England apologized for benefitting from the slave trade, Church apologises for benefiting from slave trade | UK news, following similar apologies by the late Pope John Paul II for the historic transgressions of the Roman Catholic church, including its anti-Semitism and the Inquisition, Pope says sorry for sins of church | World news - The Guardian.  Something of an indictment of British imperialism, though funded by the British Film Institute, an early theme develops when Lindsay drops off Belle under the care of his uncle, informing him “What’s right can never be impossible.”  Accordingly, Belle (Gugu Mbatha-Raw) has to find her place in the aristocratic world of white privilege, raised together with her cousin Lady Elizabeth Murray (Sara Gadon), who, after the death of her mother, was also entrusted into the care of her father’s uncle, Lord Mansfield (Tom Wilkinson) and Lady Mansfield (Emily Watson).  While raised as equals, like sisters, outsiders held a more skeptical position, viewing Belle with racist derision and hostile contempt, seen more or less as a white charity case, but never one to take seriously.  An intersection of contrasting identities, black and white, slave and lady, exotic and English, Belle, in her own words, seems to have “no place to claim,” suggesting an impossibility of belonging, becoming a personal study of class, race, and gender oppression juxtaposed into a fictionalized moment in history.  This film was the coming-out party for British actress Gugu Mbatha-Raw, winning the British Independent Film Award (BIFA) in 2014 for Best Actress, seen a year later in Gina Prince-Bythewood’s Beyond the Lights (2014), winning an Emerging Artist Award during the Chicago Film Festival’s 18th Annual Black Perspectives Tribute in 2014, also seen in Peter Landesman’s Concussion (2015) and Edward Norton’s Motherless Brooklyn (2019), yet none of those others deal with the complexities of this film.  However, perhaps due to the way the film was advertised, like a Masterpiece Theater presentation, it generated little research or academic study, overshadowed by the Academy Award winning acclaim for 12 Years a Slave and largely misunderstood at the time of release, as many critics just couldn’t fathom there could actually be depth in this format, yet it subversively generates sophisticated attitudes and ideas through a mainstream film, with a story that is a social critique, tackling controversial issues of slavery and rampant oppression through a historical costume drama.

British heritage is deeply intertwined with histories of colonization, slavery, and empire, yet there is a sense of amnesia when it comes to people of color, who are left out of any sense of belonging within an existing social fabric.  There are efforts of revisionist history, casting black actors in roles traditionally given to whites in an attempt to tell missing narratives of blacks during colonial history, like Andrea Arnold’s Wuthering Heights (Arnold) (2011), where Heathcliff is played by a black actor, yet this feels more like a painterly essay, as so much is non-verbal.  This film takes risks by utilizing a genre, the period costume drama, where black protagonists are nonexistent, offering a female perspective on being black in a white environment that elevates the feelings of the central character, placing viewers in her shoes, becoming a story about a voiceless character who develops a voice.  It wasn’t until the 1990’s that research about the painting restored Belle’s rightful identity, while historical accounts reveal some idea of how Belle was provided for when living at the Kenwood House under the care of Lord and Lady Mansfield, as she received a quarterly allowance that was less than her white cousin Elizabeth, yet more than what the servants received, while also too high in rank to dine with the servants and too low to dine with her own family when they have visitors.  These class customs are thoroughly confounding, with Belle reminding a visiting son of a clergyman that he is allowed to sit at the table before a lady of the house.  Indignant that this is a curt reminder of “his place,” she quickly reassures him, “No, it is a reminder of mine,” leaving her emotionally flustered.  Coming from a world that sees color before anything else, she finds herself living in a state of perpetually being in between, embodying living between two worlds, creating an endless psychological struggle.  The extravagance of the Kenwood House (shot largely on the grounds of the West Wycombe Estate in Buckinghamshire) is beyond impressive, a palatial grand manor nestled into a picturesque pastoral landscape, sumptuously filmed in ‘Scope by cinematographer Ben Smithard, one of the first UK films using the new 4k digital cameras, where the image is immaculate, recalling the opulent décors of Kubrick’s BARRY LYNDON (1975), with refined production design by Simon Bowles and richly-colorful costumes by Anushia Nieradzik, while the sweeping musical score is written by British composer Rachel Portman, with Belle having her own leitmotif, Dido Elizabeth Belle - Belle Soundtrack - YouTube (1:53).  As Belle arrives as a young girl, walking along the lush hallways lined with sculptures and paintings, she can’t help but notice the paintings depicting blacks as the property of white masters, such as Charles Stanhope, Third Earl of Harrington, and a Servant (1782) (4,246 × 6,967 pixels) or Lady Elizabeth Keppel and a Servant (1762) (476 × 700 pixels), both by Sir Joshua Reynolds, with growing questions about her own role, suggesting the power of art in helping shape one’s personal identity.  These paintings have a way of reassuring whites of the benevolence of slavery, and help determine attitudes about the conditions of black lives, as they can be purchased, owned, or exchanged.  “Just like in life, we are no better in paintings,” she acknowledges at one point, as the art collection as a whole implicates the creation and maintenance of British slavery.  Yet somehow, Belle exists as a character conceived within a painting, much like Peter Webber’s GIRL WITH A PEARL EARRING (1999), when a Vermeer painting comes to life, yet throughout the history of artistic representation, black women are rarely depicted as symbols of beauty, particularly in European or British art.  One need only recall the horrendous treatment of Sarah Baartman, paraded through the streets of Europe like a zoo animal, as depicted in Abdellatif Kechiche’s Black Venus (Vénus noire) (2010).  While something of a coming-of age film where Belle slowly elevates her own consciousness, it is in direct conflict with the times, so much of her journey is conducted in secrecy, outside of prying eyes.  What ignites her curiosity are the seemingly secret discussions surrounding the Zong affair, which is publicly written about, yet carefully concealed from Belle, supposedly protecting her from scandalous rumors and racist diatribe, yet in doing so it also hides her from the realities of people of color, so when a pastor’s son, John Davinier (Sam Reid), visits the home as an apprentice studying law under Lord Mansfield, his passionate abolitionist ideals and personal convictions draw the attention of Belle, who is herself curious and bright, yet woefully underinformed on the entire Zong affair, where she can’t help but sympathize with the mass killing of more than 140 enslaved Africans, thrown overboard supposedly to protect the ship’s crew, claiming a dwindling supply of water.

One of the curious aspects of the film is Belle’s reticence to have a portrait painting with Elizabeth, fearing she would appear like all the other paintings around the house in a subservient role, exhibiting a concern how she would be viewed in posterity.  Nonetheless, it is arranged for both to sit for an artist, despite her growing reservations.  Belle slowly learns that Lord Mansfield is the Chief Judge ruling on the Zong case, with the ship owners claiming insurance for damaged goods, or cargo lost in the form of slaves aboard a slave ship.  There is some question about the health of the slaves, as they were diseased from living in such tight quarters, undercutting their potential value at auction, actually worth more dead than alive, with rumors swirling about regarding what actually happened, John Explains the Zong Ship Case to Dido YouTube (2:30).  When it is discovered that Belle has been having open discussions with John, he is banished from the household and told never to see her again, but he is her only contact with news about the case, working tirelessly to provide evidence, so she continues to meet with him in secret.  Meanwhile, Belle’s father dies overseas, leaving her the sum of £2,000 a year, making her an heiress.  Elizabeth, by contrast, inherits nothing from her father, with a son from his new wife being named the sole heir.  As females in English high society, traditionally they would have to marry a gentleman who would equal their status or elevate it in order to continue their privileged way of life.  Sadly, with privilege and oppression intersecting, Lady Mansfield makes it clear that Belle is not to marry, believing no gentleman would marry her due to her race, while lower ranking men might only do so for her wealth, bringing ultimate shame and misfortune to the family, so she is asked to take the place of the perpetually despondent Aunt Mary (Penelope Wilton), a forlorn spinster whose mother prevented her from ever marrying, taking over the role of house manager, condemned to be hidden and shut away for the rest of her life, a fate she defiantly resists, another reminder of her low social and domestic position, continuing to be defined (or enslaved) by a patriarchal system that refuses to see her worth.  So arrangements are made for only Elizabeth to have her coming-out to society, meeting two brothers, James and Oliver Ashford (Tom Felton, aka Draco Malfoy in the Harry Potter series, and James Norton), though Oliver immediately finds Belle intriguing, particularly after hearing her play a remarkable piano piece, Handel’s Suite No.9, Anatoly Vedernikov plays Handel Suite No 9 in G Minor YouTube (11:55), her talent towering over Elizabeth.  Miranda Richardson plays the scheming Lady Ashford, who along with James, the firstborn, feel repulsed by Belle’s race, yet may be willing to sacrifice their bigotry if they can get their hands on her money, with James courting Elizabeth until he realizes she has no money, dropping her flat afterwards, a recurring syndrome with other suitors as well that continually perplexes her.  It’s actually Belle that attracts attention, becoming engaged with Oliver, but she soon realizes the error of her ways, used only for money, becoming glaringly apparent when James brazenly makes racist and misogynistic insults before manhandling her in public at a picnic on the banks of a river, with Elizabeth, Lady Ashford, and many others present, showing no restraint or remorse, claiming she would only bring disgrace to the family, yet when she angrily cuts off the engagement, Lady Ashford haughtily declares she should be so lucky to marry into her family. This must be viewed as a time when female black slaves were routinely raped and defiled by white attackers, as there were very few white women in the West Indies, viewed by the men as perfectly acceptable behavior, while in Britain, white heritage gave them the right, believing blacks were naturally inferior and debauched.  Belle even has a mirror scene where she begins to pinch and pull her skin with self-hatred, rubbing the heal of her palm across her face and forehead, certainly an uncommon experience in any movie genre, but very fitting here to reflect her own harrowing issues with identity, having to deal with one indignity after another.  The history of violence against women is long and arduous, yet when Belle attempts to warn Elizabeth, she fumes with jealously, refusing to believe a gentleman like James would place his hands on her.  Only afterwards does Elizabeth come to understand her lower social standing, as it’s all about monetary inheritance, and she has none.  Belle is then openly surprised that she and Elizabeth are viewed on equal terms in the final portrait, giving her some claim to finally having a place, yet this sense continually eludes her.     

At a key moment in the film, Lord Mansfield asks Belle what book she is reading, it turns out to be The Dying Negro: A Poetical Epistle, written by Thomas Day, a British abolitionist, that she says “speaks of a slave who agrees to marry an English lady; a voice for people, people like my mother, who do not have one.”  Inquiring whether she finds herself in such writing, Belle can only answer, “I do not know that I find myself anywhere.”  Reference to this poem published in 1773 adds weight and depth to the film.  Living inside a gargantuan estate, a symbol of white, patriarchal power and authority, where it’s easy to see how easily one can be erased from history, one senses that Belle questions her own subjective existence within that overpowering dominion.  Officially known as Gregson v. Gilbert (1783), while also mixing in rulings from Somerset v. Stewart (1772), everything that happens in the film points to a final resolution of the Zong case, much like Spencer Tracy in INHERIT THE WIND (1960) or Gregory Peck in To Kill a Mockingbird (1962), two films instilling generational values from historic court rulings, with bits and pieces of intensely private consultation between Belle and John that borders on romanticism, where an exchange of common ideas substitutes for matters of the heart.  When Lord Mansfield finally renders his decision in open court, Belle is like a giddy little kid, running to the upper balcony, just like Scout peering out at her father in Mockingbird, watching the final verdict being rendered.  One look around the courtroom reveals a noticeable lack of black presence.  Belle stole the most damning evidence from her uncle’s office, incriminating evidence that may have changed the course of history, which could be viewed as an act of rebellious insurrection in support of those that lost their lives, a document in Mansfield’s own handwriting, revealing that the Zong slave ship sailed past eight ports where they could have taken on provisions before jettisoning their human cargo, suggesting their rationale of water deprivation was a fraudulent cover-up for their murderous crime.  The lost lives she attempts to save recall the faint memory of her mother, as the details of her life are lost to Belle, becoming part of a collective consciousness of unnamed black lives, all viewed by a larger white society as humanly insignificant.  The central question running through the entire film questions the morality of putting a monetary price on human life.  While this is strictly a fictional version, as a woman of color, the verdict has enormous implications surrounding her growing self-awareness and her own idea of freedom, going through a transformative metamorphosis where she is finally in charge of her own life.  And while her experience cannot be compared to that of a chained slave whose sole purpose, as viewed by a white majority, can be traced to an object sold in a market place, what it does instead is elevate Belle’s existential worth to an equal footing to that of a white man, John Davinier, whose moral convictions initially drew her to him, yet he’s idealized as a paragon of virtue, believing in a human cause that does not abandon the unempowered or voiceless, declaring “Laws that allow us to diminish the humanity of anybody are not laws.  They are the frameworks for crime.”  Unlike the Ashfords, their developing intimacy is always honest and respectful, much to the surprise of Lord Mansfield, who initially believed Davinier’s lower status would only disgrace his niece, where in this case the courtroom outcome helps prefigure the social conditions necessary for a happy marital union.  The decision snowballed into the outlaw of the slave trade in England, which was abolished throughout the entire British empire in 1807.  Coming from the most disadvantaged background imaginable, Belle had to overcome obstacles to leave her mark in the world, challenging us to rethink what we know about Britain’s past, perhaps drawing inspiration from women like her.  Situated somewhere between the women’s filmmaking of Julie Dash’s Daughters of the Dust (1991) and Jane Campion’s The Piano (1993), this film reexamines national history and memory through race and colonialism, creating a place where the personal, the political, and the historical are inextricably linked, perhaps showing a way to review the past, literally cracking open a door in rewriting a greater and more inclusive examination of history, opening up new spaces to explore.      

Postscript

Paula Byrne wrote a slim companion book to the film in 2014 entitled Belle: The Slave Daughter and the Lord Chief Justice, containing a slight yet factual account of Belle’s life, where so little is authoritatively known, providing more historical detail, while also focusing on other people of color from the time period, much more about Lord Mansfield, and the court cases that helped advance the British abolition movement.    

Medicine for Melancholy

Writer/director Barry Jenkins

MEDICINE FOR MELANCHOLY                         A-                                                              USA  (90 mi)  2008  d: Barry Jenkins   

San Francisco is now developing programs to correct blighted and congested conditions and to deal with an accumulation of housing that is continuously aging and deteriorating faster than it is being rehabilitated or replaced.  The study area contains an estimated 1008 residential structures, many of which are in various degrees of deterioration and are in need of rebuilding or replacement.  More than 50 percent of the structures are past middle age with an estimated average age of sixty-seven years.  It is this condition which results in neighborhood blight and calls for both major public improvement and private rehabilitation and reconstruction.

—Leonard S. Mosias from the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency, Residential Rehabilitation Survey Western Edition Area 2, July 1962 (poster on the wall with giant lettering LIES placed over it)

This American indie film written and directed by a first time black filmmaker bears an astounding similarity in style and tone to Cassavetes’ first film Shadows (1959), made nearly half a century ago simultaneous to the era of the French New Wave, probably considered by now as ancient history.  However the intelligent, free-wheeling, improvisational style and the stellar black and white (with occasional sepia tones) photography by James Laxton reflect the luminous beauty of San Francisco, suggesting a rush of energy that befits any modern age.  But in the intimate manner of Richard Linklater’s Before Sunrise (1995) and Before Sunset  (2004), the centerpiece of the film has to be the extraordinarily naturalistic performances of the two leads, Micah (Wyatt Cenac) and Jo (Tracey Heggins), two young black adults in their 20’s who awkwardly meet the morning after a one-night stand at a party.  Initially having little, if anything, to say to each another, there’s a clever development where they slowly warm to one another, yet much of this is defined by long wordless stretches.  For instance, in a visit to the Museum of the African Dispora (MOAD), they tour the museum over a 5-minute period of screen time without speaking a single word, pausing several times, allowing the exhibit to seamlessly blend into the film, emphasized by long takes and the slow pace of the shots, suggesting we are all connected in ways that are part of an unspeakable past.  As they wander through the city, they also pass by a housing rights committee meeting taking place in a storefront, where the actual housing activists play themselves, reminding voters that politicians, including a longstanding mayor, never speak the words rent control, yet they’re all connected to a brutal history of “Negro removal,” the actual effect of urban renewal, while they’re continuing to push poor people out of the city at an alarming rate, making room for a more upscale class to move in.  Lost in the city’s push for gentrification are many of the things people love most about the city, suggesting the character of the city is changing.  When Micah envisions how “few of us there actually are,” Jo doesn’t really want to have that conversation, choosing to see individuals as individuals first, and not as members of an ethnic group, where the film captures the ebbs and flows of their experience.  A peculiar aspect of the film is how it’s continually seen through a white perspective, despite the central focus on two black characters.  We learn Jo has a wealthy white boyfriend, while Micah’s former girlfriend was white, while both are involved in an independent art and cultural scene dominated by white people, as Jo’s boyfriend is a museum curator, while Micah is connected to San Francisco’s indie music scene that is almost exclusively white, Medicine for Melancholy Soundtrack (13 tracks).  This mirrors the prevailing view of Barry Jenkins as an independent filmmaker, a field dominated by whites.  One of the earliest scenes is watching Micah peer out the large windows, finding himself inside a luxurious house in an affluent white neighborhood.  As they take a cab, they don’t really connect, finding themselves at a loss for words, but she accidentally leaves her wallet, with Micah tracking her down afterwards.  A major question the film asks is whether the end of the film is really the end, or actually a new beginning?  What’s most impressive is the very ease of their dialogue, how believable they are as these two characters, offering a degree of warmth and intelligence rarely seen in television or films, using the city of San Francisco as a backdrop to the film, with Micah openly hating the city while loving the beauty of it, the hills, the fog, suggesting beauty should have nothing to do with privilege, “It just is, and you shouldn’t have to be upper middle class to be a part of that.”

Among the better date movies, this relaxed and low-key film follows the next 24 hours of their lives, condensed to segments that are shot pretty close to real time, that have a relaxed and at times romantic air about them despite the fact she’s already in a relationship, where there isn’t a hint of condescension or artificiality, yet their moods veer all over the place, sometimes hot, sometimes cold.  To its credit, the film doesn’t feature any snarky intelligence of trying to over impress or be too hip, where a first time director might be inclined to overwrite certain scenes, looking for a way to stand out.  Instead the film largely impresses with its sense of restraint and good taste matching the personalities of the characters who show a surprising degree of respect for one another.  Where the film doesn’t go is into the deep emotional terrain, more fertile Cassavetes territory, where gut-wrenching drama (Gena Rowlands) lights up the screen.  These are different kinds of characters who aren’t about to plunge headlong into broken heart territory as they’ve only just met, instead they scratch the surface searching for a variety of interests, pretty much checking each other out all day long, having playful moments together while also taking seriously matters like race, where they both see their identity from completely different vantage points, gentrification, disparities in wealth and displacement of the poor, where he claims blacks comprise only 7% of the city’s population, suggesting she’s probably the only black person living in the Marina district, but also kidding around about music and personal tastes, while also finding time to simply relate together, featuring inventive musical choices throughout.  Taking a walk through the Yerba Buena Gardens, the camera pans and tracks their movement to the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial, entitled Revelation, featuring a large waterfall tucked behind stone blocks for seating, where there is a tunnel walkway behind with photographs and famous quotations, with the film allowing plenty of space for contemplation.  The film literally shatters any conception of a monolithic “black” point of view, as the divergent viewpoints that divide the two of them couldn’t be more pervasive, examining the effects of their unique differences, yet there’s a personal dynamic that continues to pull them together.  Perhaps most surprising is a visit to an all-white indie dance club, as there’s an everchanging sensory experience that each feeds off, continually providing nuance and shades to their cultural and racial consciousness, which seems continuously in flux.  Yet there’s an openness to this film that invites viewer participation and challenge, as the two characters explore hidden corners of the city while also finding themselves in an albeit brief love affair, finding inspiration from the Claire Denis film VENDREDI SOIR (2002), an impressionistic, near wordless film that follows two lovers meeting by chance in a brief encounter that accentuates the present, driven purely by desire, turning into a tone poem of visual texture, exploring the interplay between light and shadow mixed with sound, borrowing a Dickon Hinchliffe musical track Le Rallye from the film, Medicine for Melancholy (2008) - 'This is a one night stand' YouTube (3:55).  But Jenkins adds emotional complexity to his two characters, where romanticism coincides with black identity, dealing very directly with race, with young people having to navigate their way around a social environment heavily shaped by segregation and racism, with the audience sharing in their search for black love, something that’s been growing between them, like a meeting of lost souls.   

Shadowed by cultural, historical, and spacial tensions, one of the earliest after-party scenes shows the two of them walking over a hill to get to a breakfast café in the nearby Noe Valley section of the city, offering panoramic views of the entire city, a view that contrasts mightily with Micah’s miniscule Tenderloin studio apartment, where the bed takes up nearly all the living space.  However, the poster on the wall in his apartment links the film to the politics of urban renewal and gentrification at the heart of James Baldwin’s historic visit to San Francisco in the spring of 1963, producing an obscure, rarely seen historical documentary, Richard O. Moore’s TAKE THIS HAMMER (1964), James Baldwin: TAKE THIS HAMMER: -1963 YouTube (1:03:16), where he angrily exposes the “polished veneer” of San Francisco as a liberal cosmopolitan city, revealing how systematic racism that has long pervaded in this country was also driving and sustaining a deeply segregated city.  Jenkins revisits the same urban terrain, creating an abstract mosaic of black and white, remaining a study of contrasts, framing new questions about cultural experience, extending far beyond simple classifications, yet both remain elusive in the minds of viewers.  The film questions what it means to be black, whether being defined by race is in any way limiting, while the carefully chosen musical soundtrack defies “the black experience,” normally grounded in R & B or hip-hop culture, rooted in the cultural politics of Civil Rights, feeling more like a musical travelogue through the white indie film experience, yet it drives the film, assuming the role of tonal narrator, making this uniquely different.  When one speaks of freedom, the euphoric liberal all-inclusive view contrasts mightily with a black perspective, where freedom always comes with a heavy price.  Still, Jo questions the need for the poster critiquing the redevelopment plans in San Francisco, suggesting that’s not something he’ll easily forget, with Micah believing it’s not so much about forgetting as remembering, feeling the need to remind himself every day as a necessary means of survival, remembering the many communities that have been lost, where his species is slowly becoming extinct.  The conversation flows around the historical relevance of memory, a point not easily articulated, as the black identity is constructed upon the backs of others who came before, where a modern emphasis is on paying homage, though not everyone agrees, as some simply want to live their lives unencumbered by history.  This is not a movie that’s going to blow anyone away with action sequences or escapist entertainment, preferring a more thoughtful approach featuring ideas and energy over action, both high and low, not afraid to leave spaces unfilled, accentuating intimacy and vulnerability, using words, gestures, looks, wit, risk, charm, listening to what the other person says while also accentuating moments where they simply want to let loose, loving every minute of being alive where the loud, pulsating beat drives the film.  Initially released at the South by Southwest Fest, it also played at San Francisco (audience favorite of course) and Philadelphia before playing at Telluride.  Had it played at Sundance, it might have generated the kind of interest BALLAST (2008) and other award winners have, but you never know, since this indie style of filmmaking simply isn't being made much anymore, one of the reasons to truly treasure seeing it.  This is a real diamond in the rough, though, a small film with big ideas and large aspirations, surprisingly heartfelt and relevant, yet always down to earth, placing these characters within the realm of people we know, perhaps even ourselves.