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Exhibiting Forgiveness (2024)
Life Doesn't Frighten Me: An Exhibiting Forgiveness Review
It's difficult to see the bigger picture from inside of the frame. Exhibiting Forgiveness, Titus Kaphar's brilliant work of difficult truths creates a cutout of shared emotional burdens for audiences to insert themselves into- it pulls back the rug on all of the familial things we thought we healed from, reminding us that healing isn't linear. Exhibiting Forgiveness is a thoughtfully scripted and delicately executed vision of shared emotional experiences where the through line runs across a range of emotions that make perfect sense and no sense simultaneously.
"Some things can't be worked out on canvas."
Tarrell (André Holland) is father to Jermaine (Daniel Michael Barriere) and husband to Aisha (Andra Day) in a way that husband and father hadn't been taught to him by his father La'Ron (John Earl Jelks). And with as much love as there is between him and his mother Joyce (Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor), she also didn't provide much of an example for the life he creates for himself, against all odds. The comfort of his carefully curated life is upended when his well-intended mother attempts to jumpstart a journey to reconciliation between father and son that neither is prepared for.
Tarrell is pressured to forgive moments of his and his father's shared past without repentance, while the burden of the memories he both wants to let go of and needs to remember were real, sits on his chest night after night, inhibiting his breath.
This film explores themes of grief repressed versus grief revealed, love versus fear, forgiveness, anger, generational trauma, emotional boundaries, as well as drug abuse, domestic violence, nurtured violence, casual cultural abuse masked with humor, and how trauma weighs against the attempted lift of creative expression. It uses abstract imagery to fuse bitter memories with the beautifully painted expressions that derive from his inability to shake the past.
Tarrell struggles with his mother's faith, and aside from explicitly stated qualms with his inability to reconcile religion and relationship, Christian symbolism is embedded in the picture in moments of bold subtlety. This can be seen in the junkyard scene when a young Tarrell (Ian Foreman) jumps off of the flatbed of his father's truck and onto a rusty nail. The nail in his foot, the expressed agony, and subsequently being forsaken by his father who thought ignoring the medical emergency was somehow a favor to his child's masculinity- the entire scene feels reminiscent of the crucifixion of Christ. Similarly, the dialogue between Tarrell and Joyce where he recalls the story of God asking Abraham to sacrifice Isaac, his only son- the parallel drawn between God (who seems reflective of JaRon) requiring a sacrifice from Abraham (reflective of Tarrell), and that sacrifice being his only son, Isaac (reflective of Jermaine) illustrates the layers of distrust for what feels required from both God and JaRon.
Holland is a vision in this layered depiction of masculinity that is so carefully constructed around the presence of the dehumanizing experience that is the shared truth of many black men. It's a depiction of masculinity that understands the presence of pain in joy. Day is a scaffolding of grounded womanness, whose ethereal voice creates transcendence wherever it's embedded. Ellis-Taylor's characterization of stuck is a cautionary tale of faith without works, coupled with that of Jelks' embodiment of hopeless and helpless. Foreman tugs at the audience's heartstrings with an incredibly emotional performance that is the antithesis of Barriere's depiction of Black boy joy.
Exhibiting Forgiveness creates a roadmap for navigating the difficult truths of Black manhood while nodding ever so lovingly at the Black woman as the flawed mothers, fortified wives, lovers, and fighters they are- while also acknowledging some of the many ways they die for the sins of (their) men.
Origin (2023)
A Single Mass: An Origin Review
The delicate coating of truths outlined in Origin, Director Ava DuVernay's adaptation of Pulitzer Prize winner, Isabel Wilkerson's Caste, gives life to the notion that "race is not where the line is drawn." Wilkerson's work weaves together the atrocities imposed on Jews at the hand of Nazi Germany, the plight of India's Dalit, and the lives of descendants of Africa in America in a way that we've never it seen done before. DuVernay gives visual life to these truths that we've all known, in a way that will be branded in our hearts and minds forever.
Where the retelling of historical truths usually seeks to divide us, grading one tragic campaign against humanity higher than the next, Origin tethers us together in a single mass. It stretches the boundaries of our empathy, forcing us to see ourselves and each other, beyond the scope of race.
The layering in of Wilkerson's own boundary-defying love and the loss she endures is the antithesis of the caste systems she worked so brilliantly to highlight, creating a proof positive example of what love without boarders makes possible. Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor and Jon Bernthal champion the relationship between Isabel and Brett, creating a palpable iteration of love that is diametrically opposed to the essence of the systems they sought to expose. Their union is a picture of what you get when you're inspired to look beyond the 'worn grooves of routine and expectation.'
The visual representation of the late Trayvon Martin is a brief balm for the grief of a death we mourned publicly without the pleasure of having seen the life that existed prior to his untimely end-still with the stark reminder of what precipitated his loss. Similarly, the depiction of Al Bright in 1951 being humiliated at the pool-as a child without the frame of reference for the moment he was made to maneuver, as the privileged looked on-illustrates the forced coming of age Black children have and continue to endure in America. The addition of Bhimrao Ambedkar's journey from untouchable child to his heralded return home, creates a parallel between cultures that further proves that race is not where the line is drawn. The depictions of incidents decades apart, and cultures removed-equally dehumanizing at their core, brandishing the stunted growth of our respective nations' humanity, against the backdrop of a world similarly stunted prove that these injustices cannot simply be packaged as racism.
The cinematic shifts from Trayvon's life-altering moment, to Al Bright's, to August and Irma's, and even Betty and Allison Davis' tells a story of its own-the lens through which we see the injustices of our world sharpens as time moves and inevitably pushes the true core of the isms into focus. As our clarity unfolds, so should our reflections of the times.
The imagery of Trayvon Martin's final moments overlapping the slaying of the Jewish woman, fading into the Dalit man emerging from the excrement, and cutting to the visual of bare Black bodies stacked together like fish caught in a net creates a provocative through line for our understanding of our shared experiences of inhumanity. It echoes the grief we feel for the plight with which we feel most closely connected-creating a single mass of undifferentiated bodies in a new way. A way that shows us that without the blinders of race, we can and should feel that same grief for others.
Origin is a film layered with defiance: Trayvon's defiance of where he was supposed to walk and how he was supposed to respond to the manifestation of caste that he was presented with; Isabel and Brett's defiance of their boundaries in love while championing social justice; The defiance of the Dr. Allison Davis and his wife, the African American anthropologists studying in Berlin as the divide threatened their work and their lives; and August Landmesser's defiance of his Nazi pledge, traded in for his forbidden love, Irma Eckler-a defiance that allowed him to see her humanity, beauty, and love above all else.
While "caste is not simply hatred," the defiance we see is born out of a love made pure in sacrifice-a force more powerful than fear. In the end, the only thing truly untouchable is that love and the light it continues to inspire.
Ava's direction of Origin masterfully adds to the brilliance in direction of Isabel Wilkerson's Caste, creating an experience so saturated in introspection that one cannot justify sitting on the sidelines of any humanitarian crisis. When any of our freedoms are in threatened by 'symbols of hate and diets of violence,' all of our freedoms are in peril.
No Hard Feelings (2023)
"I'm Not Touching You" A 'No Hard Feelings' Review
We all remember the obnoxious little thing we did with our siblings and friends as kids. The thing that happened just as some game ended with someone being upset about something- just before a parent got called. The victim of childish misdeeds would ask to not be touched but in an attempt to save face and rebel against being reprimanded by a peer, the offender would hover their hand just near enough to be annoying and say, "I'm not touching you."
Gene Stupnitsky and John Phillip's "No Hard Feelings" starring Jennifer Lawrence and Andrew Barth Feldman play this game of "I'm not touching you" with sexual impropriety. I dare not use the p-word, lest this becomes an allegation. Nevertheless, despite the chance to see our forever Katniss Everdeen in her most hilarious role since "Don't Look Up" we were made to grimace at all the scenes where our writers and director bring us to the brink of what, in our real world, would be a sexual misconduct case, and then says, "I'm not touching you," in that same mischief-ridden way we did as kids before we knew better.
As I watched, I fought the temptation to find something on my phone to focus on. I began to obsess about how old the actor who portrayed Percy was in real life because maybe he was a young-in-the-face 30-year-old, and maybe that would make me feel less complicit in the normalization of inappropriate relationships for sporadically laughing.
I fought the idea of being that person who couldn't just see something and let it be what it is without turning it into something it wasn- and that's when I realized it. It wasn't me turning it into something it wasn't. It already was that something.
In recent years, men in the industry have caught hell (rightfully so) with the Me Too Movement, where their misdeeds caught up to them in staggering numbers of people speaking out about the discomfort and straight-up pain they've been made to feel in their work environments.
The one true error in the movement was all of the women who weren't called to the carpet for their crimes because young men are socialized to wear attention from older women as a badge pinned to the sash of their manhood.
What I expected from this film was a fresh take on 2006's showdown between Sarah Jessica Parker and Matthew McConaughey in Failure to Launch.
What I got was; "let's forcefully deflower an awkward, traumatized teenager. But let's make it be because his parents are asking," so that I'm not touching you.
"And then after she fails to sexually assault him properly, he'll start to like her, then it will be consensual," so still, I'm not touching you.
"and then let's make sure they never actually do it because that would actually be improper and probably get us canceled" I'm definitely not touching you.
"But it's cool if they get naked in his childhood bed with his parents in the other room, then he'll actually attempt to do the deed but it won't count because, in his inexperience, he didn't realize it was just her thigh" haha I'm not touching you!
Let's do the thing where we reverse the roles. Had it been a 30+-year-old man and a 19- year-old high school girl, phones would be ringing, think pieces would be written, and everyone behind the project would be proverbially chased by an angry mob.
The thing is if I told you the story of 32-year-old Maddie Barker and 19-year-old Percy Becker without the lights, cameras, and the Oscar-winning actress, you'd cringe. Love to the comedic stylings of Jennifer Lawrence but, why does the big screen loosen our scruples?
Ferrari (2023)
Eve of War: Ferrari
The vintage of Italy meets the vintage of history in Ferrari. The story of Enzo Ferrari unfolds under the direction of Michael Mann and takes audiences behind the scenes of the glory of what the Ferrari brand has been, by way of what it has suffered.
The transformation of Adam Driver, one of Hollywood's most unsuspecting stars, into Enzo Ferrari leaves little to be desired. Driver takes on the age of Ferrari with unexpected delicacy that satisfies the role. He delivers a thoughtful portrayal of the famed motor racing driver and entrepreneur, offering nuances compatible with the blurred lines of stoicism and unrelenting fear.
Penelope Cruz's portrayal of Laura Ferrari is the personification of grief in many of its forms. Cruz becomes the embodiment of a grieving mother whose sense of loss competes with the knowledge that there is still more to live for. Cruz gives each scene, each character a force to reckon with in her depiction of strength that is ready to succumb to its weariness at any moment.
Shailene Woodley's Lina Lardi is a little more vague and docile than one would hope for. Though the role of Lina, in the lives of the Ferraris, is captured at a time when she and her son Piero are a little less in focus in the big picture of Ferrari's life, the emotions associated with being a secret shame in the life of an international brand are lost on Woodley. Where emotions for her son's looming identity crisis would reserve room for impassioned responses, there was none.
Though Patrick Dempsey's portrayal of Piero Taruffi didn't hold significant screen time, his real-life relationship with racing is noteworthy. Dempsey Racing was founded in 2006 with a mission to cultivate new talent.
The cinematic quality of Ferrari mirrors that of the classic air of Italy as well as the tone of history. The wash of the scenes heightens the luster of the race cars, but reduces the crispness and faux edginess you find in films like Gran Turismo, giving the full production an honest feel and allowing audiences to trust the unfolding of the story. This element is what allows the jaw-dropping crash scenes to stun viewers into silence.
The racetracks of old don't hold the same high-octane excitement that we've grown accustomed to. The flashiness of the tracks, the cars, and drivers, the vibrant uniforms of pit crews somehow heightens the adrenaline of viewers, minimizing the shock of on-screen crashes in comparison. In Ferrari, even with the vroom of the vehicles, there's a lull you're snapped out of when a car is sent flying.
While the film merely glimpses into the personal lives of a few of the drivers, their relationships to races were portrayed similarly to that of soldiers on the eve of war. The potential of imminent death weighed enough to warrant goodbye letters to their loves but not enough to risk losing the race for extended pit stops.
All in all, there's a somberness inspired by the unfolding of Ferrari's story. The pride that comes before the fall doesn't always look like a blatant disregard that warrants humbling. It layers the presence of pain and fear. It highlights the nuances that shouldn't be ignored when unpacking history. Where some might see an egomaniac -Saturn devouring his sons- others will see stages of grief battling the need to create and build and win out over a sense of loss that won't allow anything to feel like enough.
Brother (2022)
"My Gift to You": A Powerful Story
The shadows have received a reputation as an undesirable place to be. We want only what the light touches. It's only in those moments when we stand toe to toe with an enemy, a fear, or the uncertainties of life and big brother's shadow envelopes us, stepping up to take on all that we can't, that the shadows signify peace and rest. What happens when Big Brother goes where you can't follow? What happens when Big Brother's shadow is no more? Brother, written and directed by Clement Virgo tackles the subjects of identity, family, safety, and security from the lens of masculinity and to a soundtrack of Toronto in the 90s.
Michael, the quiet and observant young man played by Lamar Johnson is coming of age behind a brother, Francis, played by Aaron Pierre, who is groomed to be a protector and helper despite his own silent struggles. The dynamic of Michael and Francis mirrors the quintessential big brother/ little brother relationship. Francis paves a path and Michael follows. Francis teaches and Michael learns in all things from how to use adult magazines to how to comply with the police while being arrested. Ruth, their overworked and sometimes overbearing mother, portrayed by the powerhouse that is Marsha Stephanie Blake, unwittingly drives a wedge between the brothers when her interactions with Francis push him further and further away.
The build-up of Francis' pain can be heard, felt, and seen as he transitions from becoming "one less mouth to feed" to taking on the task of seeing about groceries for his estranged family. At what age do young Black men stop feeling like their mother's children and begin to picture themselves as burdens? Aaron Pierre delivers a stoic Francis, from boy to man. His performance culminates in a weathering that shows signs of the same uncertainty he highlights in his brother.
Michael transitions from almost voiceless and observant to finding the strength in his words, though they've become calloused and still unsure. As he journeys through his moments to become the man his brother's shadow grooms him to be, he witnesses a decline in the stature of his brother- the mighty shadow waning before his eyes. He finds his courage in love, building around the complications in his life with Aisha, played by Kiana Madeira. Johnson's portrayal of Michael is gentle, cautious, and unready for the truths of the world, and his life.
Ruth's observation, decidedly too late, that her son wasn't safe, adds to those things she survived. There are layers of a foregone life that are alluded to but never seen. Layers of a life that belonged to Ruth, whose glimpses lead us to believe that she was happy once. These layers serve as reasons for the perpetual air of exhaustion around Ruth's coming and going. Blake's depiction of grief, ranging from anger to immense sadness and what appears to be a mental break makes it clear that her behavior in the events leading up to those final moments was also representative of grief. It asks the question, how do we grieve the loss of love and does it look or feel any differently when what we're grieving is a loss of hope?
The film's structure, drifting in and out of the characters' present moments and memories from their pasts, sets us up for questions asked and questions answered. We get to see Ruth's sons in snapshots of their childhood- how the big brother's shoes suited Francis in his youth and how Michael benefitted from the stature of the man that Ruth's misery pressured Francis to create for himself. The beautiful color and composition of each scene add a visual layer of melancholy to the already heartbreaking story.
"My gift to you", hauntingly unfolds in the story of the lives of Michael and Francis. In the end, what was gifted but a breaking of the dilapidated scaffolding of a family structure that cycled through loss without ever processing the pain.
"Ne me quitte pas," sung by Nina Simone, seems to be the soundtrack of Francis' life and is passed on to Michael, just like the wisdom, just like the pain -"don't leave me."
Stream Brother now on Netflix.