Rebecca Hall, a British actress, is now a director and writer, and she has no right to be so talented at any of these things, to cut a long story short.
She is adapting Passing Afdah, a story about two 1929 black childhood friends who meet in New York City after marrying and establishing a family. One is our main character, Irene (Tessa Thomson), who lives in Harlem with her doctor husband (Andre Holland) and their two children. She is surprised to flee with her old friend Claire (Ruth Nega), not least because she is now permanently living as a white guy, a white, racist man (Alexander Scarsgard), who is actually married to a strangled woman. The location of the repulsive husband).
Irene first despises Claire; it is implied that she may pass if she likes, and she does so occasionally "for convenience," but she eventually discovers that it is a deception. Claire, on the other hand, is more refined and admirable in a sophisticated and respectable sense than the average 1920s flapper, and the two soon revive their old acquaintance as Claire spends most of her time in Harlem returning to join the Glass.
Then you'll see how the passing narrative isn't about Claire's passing as white - just one scene is set in white culture - but about her passing as black again: she's attempting to revert to her former habits. Not as a wealthy white woman, but as a black woman in her community. The novel delves deeply into the topic of whether people can accept it, or whether it is possible to be one thing while pretending to be another, frequently via the emotional lives of the two characters.
Edward Grau's classic black and white picture is just not appropriate for the setting. This is a feature of the film in and of itself: black and white, in addition to being beautiful and brilliant, serves to blur the difference in skin tone, giving the sense of passing a deeper, cultural significance. Meanwhile, the 4: 3 aspect ratio proved to be a blessing for unprecedented creativity. Already in its first appearance hall, this film demonstrates a remarkable sense for the geometry of a shot, with one unique camera line after another set up from beginning to end.
And, of course, I couldn't go without mentioning Thomson (who appears to be falling behind in his period plays after Sylvie's love), who portrays innocent conversation while communicating numerous contentious thoughts and sentiments. Can, and Nega, who is nearly unknown not just because of their roaring twenties hair and cosmetics, but also because of their irresponsible conduct. When she portrays Claire, you can always see that her veil of bliss is twitching at the edges; there is darkness just outside her eyesight, which she nervously attempts to bring out.
