Medicine for Melancholy

It's hard to talk about Barry Jenkins's Medicine for Melancholy without talking about race. The subject pervades the film from start to finish, mostly in its dialogue. But to boil Medicine for Melancholy down to simply "the black indie film" does the film more than a bit of disservice. Jenkins, his small cast--basically just The Daily Show's Wyatt Cenac and newcomer Tracey Heggins--and crew have crafted a fine, dialogue-based film that should shame the proponents of the mumblecore mini-movement. Those films are supposedly about talking, but there's nothing that's really said.

Medicine for Melancholy begins with Mycah (Cenac) and 'Jo (Heggins) waking up together after an alcohol-fueled night in a San Francisco apartment. Though 'Jo is content to never know her bed partner's name, Mycah prods the reluctant woman into breakfast, then a trip to a museum, and so on. Awkward silences begin to move into a spirited push and pull, though 'Jo is frequently ready to bolt. But a warm chemistry pervades their interactions, even as their differences--Mycah is consumed by issues of race, while 'Jo dwells less on this aspect of her identity--become ever more obvious.

Medicine for Melancholy has the feel of a Before Sunrise or a In Search of a Midnight Kiss; there's unease and sweetness and reality in the way that Mycah and 'Jo relate, and it's tough for the audience not to root for them to end up together. But while most similar films focus solely on the will-they-or-won't-they aspect of the central pair, Medicine for Melancholy is about more than just this could-be couple. Race figures prominently, of course, but so do issues of class and housing. One scene stands out: the director captured the conversation between city residents at a housing rights forum. At first, this moment seems out of place, but the dialogue here fits nicely with the idea that San Francisco itself is a character in the film, and one that's in danger of being irrevocably changed as a result of gentrification.

Jenkins's film also distinguishes itself with its look. Other films that are this small frequently sacrifice style for dialogue, but Medicine for Melancholy is gorgeously shot. D.P. James Laxton earned a nod at the Spirit Awards for his cinematography, and he and the director desaturated the film in post-production, giving it a perfectly muted look that separates this from other warmly hued films about the West Coast City. Even at first glance, Medicine for Melancholy isn't quite like other films in its subgenre, and a closer look reveals that Jenkins has set his film apart even further with its authentic-seeming dialogue that feels like you're overhearing two intelligent people who are just discovering each other.