#slaps Soul this one can fit so much religious self harm in him

[randaccidents]

TBH I'm kinda a little in love with the variant of religious Soul I ran with for my drabbles.

Like.

Soul who is religious. Who believes that they are all sinful for not being able to form Whole. Soul who worships dutifully daily. That's pretty normal.

Soul who sees the arguing as an ongoing sin. Soul who is so scared of some perceived judgement or punishment from Harmonia for their inability to get along. Soul who is so worried for and cares so much for his Heart and Mind that he actively punishes himself in some form of collective repentance for them. Taking on their sins as his own and bleeding for them.

Soul as a jesus figure in his own right, paying for Heart and Mind's failure to work shit out in blood and tears. If they won't repent, someone has to save them.

His blood for their eternal salvation.rand.hc

[ryanmeft]

If Beale Street Could Talk Movie Review

After I saw If Beale Street Could Talk, I finally got around to reading some James Baldwin. As I write this, I’m immersed in a book collecting several of his works, which mostly deal with ordinary life. There’s not much in the way of melodrama in Barry Jenkins’s adaptation of his novel. There is a man behind bars for a crime he didn’t commit, his fiance who is pregnant, their families who must try to free him, the woman he is said to have raped, the racist and ignorant white cop. Not a bit of this is the stuff of potboilers; there is no thought of histrionics, and even when the jailed man cries, he tries to hold it in. This is just the life of African Americans in 1974, and tears will avail him not.

The man, Fonny, is played by Stephan James and the woman, Tish, by KiKi Layne, and each character is a study in the contortions anyone who is discriminated against must endure simply to live. The couple has trouble finding housing, with landlords citing imaginary deficiencies in the very souls of black people. They are eventually rented an under construction loft by a Jewish man (Dave Franco) who respects love wherever it is found, and they seem enthusiastic about this, because they are. If the world will not offer them a place, after all, they might as well make one. High drama could never capture the subtle emotions at play when Fonny and their new landlord pantomime moving their belongings into their future home. The film is told in a non-linear structure, so we already know that Fonny is in prison. He drew the attention of a white cop (Ed Skrein, who can play a side of beef but does not here) when he forcefully stopped a man from harassing Tish, in another one of those terrible moments where a black man is supposed to stand by and let a white one do whatever he wants or be arrested. He is defended by a white shop owner, but the cop later makes a point to coerce his identity out of a rape victim, even though the evidence doesn’t add up.

Now look at how Jenkins handles these things. Eventually, the victim (Emily Rios) is tracked down in Puerto Rico, and not at any point does she outright say that her identification of Fonny was coerced. She does not have to. It is in the look in her eyes, the set of her shoulders, the unspoken reason she went to Puerto Rico in the first place. Do we hurt for her because she was assaulted, be angry at her because she is willing to punish an innocent man to spare herself pain, or a mixture of both? This ambiguity is also present in Tish and Fonny’s attempts to get him freed. They know the truth: that they cannot prove his innocence because the white officer will be believed regardless of the facts. They cannot speak it, and when one of them does they instantly regret it. Why even state the inevitable? To crush all hope?

On most levels the film is about two ordinary people living under an extraordinary system. For the system is extraordinary in the truest sense of the word: a remarkably efficient and successful engine geared toward the single goal of punishing human beings for being black. On another level it is about that system and the entire plight of a race. This other level is handled with what seems like Baldwin’s own words, put into the thoughts of Tish as she reflects on their situation. Unlike Spike Lee’s BlackkKlansman, which broke into scenes of beatings and injustices with the invoked fury of a sun, Jenkins and Baldwin’s interjections are languid, even calming, a sure and simple reminder that the world is unjust and that it will take a long time, and a long fight, until it is not. Go Tell It On The Mountain, the Baldwin book I am reading, is less concerned with the big picture than with the small, personal details. Perhaps it is because he knew that is how big pictures are made.

Witness the scene in which a divided family comes together for the revealing of Tish’s pregnancy. Her mother (Regina King) is her rock, solid and steady, while her sister (Teyonah Parris) is her champion, fiery and fighting. Her father (Colman Domingo) is less sure how to react, and fearful of what his daughter faces as a single black mother in New York in the 70’s, but it is fear borne of love. Fonny’s mother (Aunjanue Ellis) is another case, a religious fanatic both hateful and self-hating, one of those people who uses God to appear holier to others while playing at false humility. Yes, I realize her character can be seen other ways, but no, I do not feel I’m being unfair. Just because a person is themselves hurting does not mean they are worthy of compassion, and it takes a monster to condemn an unborn child which has no say in coming. The scene of the two families meeting can make blood boil, and yet it does not feel forced, for as we know there are such people in the world. She causes so much harm with words, and is ready to cause far more to prove her righteousness, that when her ex-husband (Michael Beach) finally rises and slaps her, it’s impossible to feel she hadn’t earned it. It’s a small but daring role on Ellis’s part. When a character’s entire job is to be hated in an unrealistic, movie-screen manner, we get over it quickly, but Ellis’s job is to play a perfectly realistic terrible person. That there is no screenwriter’s resolution to this---that we must assume this woman remains her terrible self, for we do not see her again---fits with the movie’s message that justice is far from certain. Other family moments, such as Tish’s parents dancing in front of a mirror or the two fathers discussing their roles over drinks, are not there to advance the plot, but just to show us a family being a family.

The film is not backed so much as carried gently along in a masterful, haunting score by Nicholas Britell; the hypnotic theme “Eden (Harlem)”, a loaded title, and the track “Agape” were heavily featured in trailers. The camera of James Laxton, who has worked on all three of Jenkins’ films, paints Harlem in earthy, fall colors, a soft contrast to the racism that plagues the city and the solid, imposing prison glass between Tish and Fonny. Witness his work in the scene of the family meeting, and as the vile stepmother is being led out. The way he frames expressions has been a key component of every film I’ve seen of his, and is vital frequently throughout this picture. 

In the rush by white people to gain liberal points for praising black cinema, attention is almost always laser focused on popular entertainment---action films like Black Panther, horror films like Get Out, things anyone can find at the local multiplex and which do not require long thought. It is considerably more difficult, and therefore rewarding, to appreciate a movie like Beale Steet, which does not condense its message into simple talking points. I suspect it will quickly be ignored in the discussion, just as Moonlight’s existence is ignored by those who wish to push a certain narrative, and just as Fruitvale Station is ignored by the same people who make a big show of loving Coogler’s more populist Marvel film. This isn’t exclusive to black cinema: movies that take their time and do not cater will never be as popular as those that do. It’s a shame. Beale Street is a film we need right now, a gentle yet somehow pointed reminder that in every game of oppression, most are unwilling players, and simply want to live quiet, happy lives with their families. That the film almost trails off rather than stamping punctuation on the end is truer, and braver, than any grand speech could ever be.

Verdict: Must-See

Note: I don’t use stars, but here are my possible verdicts.

Must-See

Highly Recommended

Recommended

Average

Not Recommended

Avoid like the Plague

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