Fresh off his big Oscar-winning success with Moonlight, director Barry Jenkins is back with some more art house fare-this time based on James Baldwin's 1974 novel of the same name. Jenkins is pretty faithful to the novel but Baldwin's flowery prose doesn't always translate that well to the big screen.
Part of the problem is Baldwin's 19 year old protagonist Tish, whose narration is way too omniscient for a teenager. It becomes pretty obvious that it's really Baldwin's voice we're listening to but on the big screen her voice seems out of place.
Worse yet is Jenkins' reverential attitude toward both Tish and her 22 year old boyfriend Fonny, whom she's attempting to extricate from the prison system, after he's been falsely accused of raping a Puerto Rican woman. Jenkins puts Tish and Fonny on complementary pedestals where both actors Kiki Layne and Stephan James end up having little to do.
Fonny in particular is a poorly developed character as we find out so little about him-all we know is that he's an aspiring sculptor who feels so underappreciated by his boss (a furniture manufacturer), that he steals the tools at the workplace so he can set up his own studio and impress the world with his wood-working masterpieces.
Jenkins keeps reminding us just how wonderful this couple is and presents their love-making scenes like a beautiful Hallmark Greeting card. There is a reason of course why Jenkins refuses to present a more realistic "warts and all" portrait of his modern-day Romeo and Juliet-and that of course is the more they appear as saints, the uglier those who are attempting to destroy them (i.e. a racist society), will appear.
Baldwin makes it clear that his is a pessimistic vision of race relations in America especially when he writes in "If Beale Street Could Talk," "The kids had been told that they weren't worth sh** and everything they saw around them proved it." Jenkins takes this sentiment and amplifies it: not only in elevating his protagonists to virtual sainthood but inserting historical still photos (e.g. southern chain gangs) linking the excesses of the past to the present. The main antagonist, the racist cop who frames Fonny, is also a bit too reminiscent of the kind that shows up in some of Spike Lee's polemical spectacles.
In Jenkins' world, the deck is stacked against African-Americans: not only is Fonny caught in the spider's web where a corrupt district attorney's office has rigged things so that his trial is delayed (meaning more attorney's fees for the family), but both Tish and Fonny's fathers must resort to grand larceny down in the garment district to pay for the anticipated added attorney expenses. Fonny's friend, Daniel, who can provide his only alibi, is unable to do so, having been newly arrested, with a prior conviction, based solely on trumped-up charges.
Now of course there is a long history in this country of people (particularly African-Americans) of being falsely accused in the justice system (and believe it or not, other ethnic groups and even whites, being framed by corrupt cops). But in watching "Beale Street," one might come away believing that in most cases members of minority groups are incarcerated merely due to being victims of racism. If this truly was the case, just about any incarcerated individual could use the past claim of racism to excuse their conduct and be released. It's understandable how incidents (such as the one depicted here) are assumed to happen more than they do-in reality, most criminals are incarcerated due to their own nefarious deeds.
While his supporting players are certainly more interesting than his principals, Jenkins still exaggerates Baldwin's descriptions and turns Fonny's mother and sisters into shrill martinets-stereotyped religious zealots who are roundly condemned by the other side of the family. Only Regina King as Sharon, Tish's mother, has the best part in the film as the affirmative family crusader--in a futile quest to change the mind of her son's accuser.
One wonders if Jenkins really believes that he can trust the audience he is beholden to-the white establishment that buys the tickets and gives out the awards. Despite his talents (including his great knowledge of cinematography and ability to extract fine performances from his actors), there is something very insecure about a person who feels he must proselytize (as well as perhaps intimidate) in order to cultivate approbation.
One wishes Jenkins' writing could rise to the level of say noted African-American Pulitzer Prize winning playwright/screenwriter August Wilson. In Wilson's masterful drama Fences, his protagonist is done in by his own hubris, despite facing years of racism in his personal and professional life. Jenkins' (and Baldwin's) Fonny has no such fatal flaw.
In the end, Jenkins' current captive audience of those who crave melodrama over tragedy will eventually begin leaving in droves-when it's finally discovered the emperor has no clothes!
Part of the problem is Baldwin's 19 year old protagonist Tish, whose narration is way too omniscient for a teenager. It becomes pretty obvious that it's really Baldwin's voice we're listening to but on the big screen her voice seems out of place.
Worse yet is Jenkins' reverential attitude toward both Tish and her 22 year old boyfriend Fonny, whom she's attempting to extricate from the prison system, after he's been falsely accused of raping a Puerto Rican woman. Jenkins puts Tish and Fonny on complementary pedestals where both actors Kiki Layne and Stephan James end up having little to do.
Fonny in particular is a poorly developed character as we find out so little about him-all we know is that he's an aspiring sculptor who feels so underappreciated by his boss (a furniture manufacturer), that he steals the tools at the workplace so he can set up his own studio and impress the world with his wood-working masterpieces.
Jenkins keeps reminding us just how wonderful this couple is and presents their love-making scenes like a beautiful Hallmark Greeting card. There is a reason of course why Jenkins refuses to present a more realistic "warts and all" portrait of his modern-day Romeo and Juliet-and that of course is the more they appear as saints, the uglier those who are attempting to destroy them (i.e. a racist society), will appear.
Baldwin makes it clear that his is a pessimistic vision of race relations in America especially when he writes in "If Beale Street Could Talk," "The kids had been told that they weren't worth sh** and everything they saw around them proved it." Jenkins takes this sentiment and amplifies it: not only in elevating his protagonists to virtual sainthood but inserting historical still photos (e.g. southern chain gangs) linking the excesses of the past to the present. The main antagonist, the racist cop who frames Fonny, is also a bit too reminiscent of the kind that shows up in some of Spike Lee's polemical spectacles.
In Jenkins' world, the deck is stacked against African-Americans: not only is Fonny caught in the spider's web where a corrupt district attorney's office has rigged things so that his trial is delayed (meaning more attorney's fees for the family), but both Tish and Fonny's fathers must resort to grand larceny down in the garment district to pay for the anticipated added attorney expenses. Fonny's friend, Daniel, who can provide his only alibi, is unable to do so, having been newly arrested, with a prior conviction, based solely on trumped-up charges.
Now of course there is a long history in this country of people (particularly African-Americans) of being falsely accused in the justice system (and believe it or not, other ethnic groups and even whites, being framed by corrupt cops). But in watching "Beale Street," one might come away believing that in most cases members of minority groups are incarcerated merely due to being victims of racism. If this truly was the case, just about any incarcerated individual could use the past claim of racism to excuse their conduct and be released. It's understandable how incidents (such as the one depicted here) are assumed to happen more than they do-in reality, most criminals are incarcerated due to their own nefarious deeds.
While his supporting players are certainly more interesting than his principals, Jenkins still exaggerates Baldwin's descriptions and turns Fonny's mother and sisters into shrill martinets-stereotyped religious zealots who are roundly condemned by the other side of the family. Only Regina King as Sharon, Tish's mother, has the best part in the film as the affirmative family crusader--in a futile quest to change the mind of her son's accuser.
One wonders if Jenkins really believes that he can trust the audience he is beholden to-the white establishment that buys the tickets and gives out the awards. Despite his talents (including his great knowledge of cinematography and ability to extract fine performances from his actors), there is something very insecure about a person who feels he must proselytize (as well as perhaps intimidate) in order to cultivate approbation.
One wishes Jenkins' writing could rise to the level of say noted African-American Pulitzer Prize winning playwright/screenwriter August Wilson. In Wilson's masterful drama Fences, his protagonist is done in by his own hubris, despite facing years of racism in his personal and professional life. Jenkins' (and Baldwin's) Fonny has no such fatal flaw.
In the end, Jenkins' current captive audience of those who crave melodrama over tragedy will eventually begin leaving in droves-when it's finally discovered the emperor has no clothes!