Rebecca Hall’s first feature film, starring Thompson and Negga, brings to life an important conversation that’s often been ignored and exasperated by Hollywood.
**Part of Commander Shipp’s 57th Annual Chicago International Film Festival coverage**
I will admit as a black film critic and as someone who’s been highly critical of Hollywood’s handling of diversity issues, I was more than slightly concerned about Rebecca Hall, who I love as an actress, tackling the book Passing (written by Nella Larson and published in 1929) as her first project. In this story, two childhood friends, Irene and Clare reunite after a chance encounter and start to realize that while both of them can pass for white in society, Clare has taken that idea to an extreme, building a life built off of that lie, that could collapse around her. Racial dynamics aside, it seemed like a lot for a first-time director to properly handle.
Fortunately, I was able to hear Hall’s reasoning this past week at The Chicago International Film Festival 57 (CIFF 57) as she presented her film there (while also picking up an Artistic Achievement Award from the festival)…and I’ll explain that a bit more towards the end. However, I realize there are several readers who may have no idea what “passing” even means, so let’s give a brief explanation before proceeding.
What Is Passing?
The simplest definition – in regards to race – is whether or not a person can “pass” or be assumed as another race, taking on whatever advantages or disadvantages that may come with the perceptive of that race. Throughout American history (though this idea certainly exists in other cultures), there are countless examples of skin tone differences between house and field slaves, and the intermingling of white slave owners with their slaves, that created mixed-race children who didn’t look as dark as their parents. This would create generations down the line that would have an ability – with a lack of tan, the right makeup, or how they moved through society – to be perceived as white.
In recent popular culture, we’ve seen this happen many times, though now it’s occurring in the opposite direction: Ariana Grande (who is Italian-American) naturally has a lighter skin tone but has been accused of benefiting from her spray tans – given how much blackness or darker skin is appreciated today compared to the 1920s when this film and book were set. Effectively, Ariana’s racial ambiguity can be of great benefit to her because she can cross back and forth at ease – gaining the positives of whichever race she’s passing for when it suits her.
However, these issues can also catch well-meaning, or earnest people in the crossfire as well. I think the best example is Bruno Mars. He’s definitely a performer who benefits from his racial ambiguity and background, but his interactions with black culture (at least in my estimation) seem born completely out of: his background as a musician, where he grew up in Hawaii, and specific artists like Little Richard, that his father exposed him to. Mars may pass as black, but I never get the impression that’s he lying about his race or that’s he doing anything intentional to mislead people.
Clare and Irene’s First Scene
That leads us into the first meeting of Clare (Ruth Negga) and Irene (Tessa Thompson) where we see this ambiguity at play first-hand and the layers of complexity that passing entails. Irene is much more careful, keeping large portions of her body covered, keeping her head down as she walks in stores, incredibly hesitant around chauffeurs or doormen, wondering who might suspect her. Whereas, when she’s seated across from Clare, she’s taken aback at how openly her friend operates within the same environment. Clare is sporting blonde hair, she doesn’t hide her face under a long hat and is generally much more comfortable in a white space.
This scene emulates a similar scene from the book, which was set in Chicago, but as Hall explained, she kept everything in NY for ease of shooting/narrative purpose (though the hotel name where they meet is still a nod to Chicago). Seeing it brought to life by Thompson’s expressions, conveying a great sense of nervousness, and legitimate fear of what could happen if she’s caught juxtaposed with Negga’s carefree and frenetic energy in the same space sets the stage for an incredibly tense conversation which serves Hall well as she shoots more of these moments between Irene and Clare.
Thompson and Negga
Ruth Negga and Tessa Thompson are simply perfect in their roles and I routinely try to avoid using that phrasing, but it’s simply true: they play off of each other so well, they create tension easily, and communicate so much on their faces and deliver that complexity, even more, when the camera closes in.
Hall told the CIFF 57 audience that while she had originally envisioned Negga playing Irene, that when Negga read the script, she was adamant to play Clare. She definitely brought a bubbling energy to the social high-life moments where Clare would captivate a room. Having never met her in real life, I suspect the real Ruth Negga can do the same, and anyone would believe it after a performance like this. Whether it was a party in Irene’s home, dancing in a Harlem nightclub, or a variety of other situations, she embodied Clare’s spirit so well.
It also communicated a hidden desire that Clare expresses in her first letter to Irene and subsequent meeting, that she felt that a part of herself or her blackness had been hidden away by passing in white society. The way she engages with Irene’s husband, at the nightclub, and various black social gatherings all read like a black person making their way back home, who’s able to let their guard down. Sure, there’s tension in that first scene with Irene because Clare is incredibly brazen in a white space. But that also communicates who Clare is at her core and that when she’s not hiding, she can be even more of a firecracker in spirit.
Thompson’s portrayal as Irene embodies a different version of the black experience. One that understands the dangers in front of her and stands in stark contrast to Clare’s carefree nature. Her experiences give her the courage to use her ability where she can effectively, but she doesn’t flaunt that ability or want to live in that space as Clare does. However, her fears also extend to the people around her, in how she interacts with her fellow black community members as one of the more affluent black elite in her neighborhood. In the same way, Clare lost part of her blackness existing in a white space for so long, the way Irene interacts with her community raises a similar question: has Irene lost part of herself by behaving as a model black person (straying into the model minority myth)?
This conflict is demonstrated well in her arguments with her husband Brian (André Holland). Brian oscillates between wanting to leave the country to avoid the racial violence of America or staying and being more proactive (which Irene attributes to his time spent around Clare). Especially when it comes to their two young boys, Brian tries to initiate a conversation with his children – that so many black fathers have unfortunately had to have with their children – only to be shut down by Irene. Irene has become so comfortable with the status quo that she doesn’t want her children to worry about how they might be perceived in society, whereas Brian wants them prepared for the brutal truth. If it weren’t for the questions we already have about Irene, we could have chalked this up to a parenting difference, but it’s much deeper than that, and the film gives us no right answers on it either.
4:3 Format Excels
Earlier this year, I watched Ben Sharrock’s Limbo, which was shot entirely in 4:3 format by cinematographer Ben Cooke, and I had forgotten how much I miss this format. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, I don’t blame you. 4:3 used to be pretty standard on television but it’s been a while since televisions shifted to the widescreen 16:9 format.
To be clear, I really love widescreen formats, especially for sprawling epics where you want the landscape and scenery to wash over you. However, a taller image can allow for great shots of cities and the people moving through them, heighten objects in the background, or really allow the audience the opportunity to absorb the atmosphere of a room or a performer’s reaction.
Especially in a film like this – which relies on the same location over and over again (Irene’s house) as the primary place for dialogue and plot movement – this format lends itself well to seeing the top and bottom of classic Harlem houses, even though we never get to see the rest of the neighborhood. It makes walks with Clare and Irene seem more lived in, as Hall adds in different sounds of the street, without zooming out to a wide shot to show us more people.
Going back to Irene and Clare’s first meeting in the film, it definitely adds to that tension whenever we get a close-up of either character, the frame settles in nicely around them, and you have no choice but to focus on their face and their voice. Given how tense that scene already is, it adds a level of claustrophobia and subsequent tense moments near the finale.
The Ending
A combination of effects throughout the film telegraph the ending… and are so technically brilliant that I simply must talk about them. However, if you haven’t seen this film or read the book, skip this section until you have.
**Spoiler Start**
The combination of 4:3, the piano motif, and the dropping of objects all work together to create this tension that needs to be resolved. As I’ve noted repeatedly, since Irene ran into Clare, there’s uneasiness between the two that’s building and never goes away. The format helps us see this on their faces, and it also works well on cutaways – like the moments when the flower pot drops or Irene dropping the teapot – this relieves the tension momentarily, but the audience knows from the reaction shots that it’s not over yet.
Musically, the piano never really gives any relief either, because while it’s fitting for the neighborhood walks between Clare and Irene, the fact that it never turns bubbly or joyful, adds to the film’s necessity for something to change or break under the strain.
Before Clare’s final moment, the long shot of the staircases, stretching onward, communicates a finality: that this is the end of the road. That rolls beautifully into the claustrophobic moment with herself, her husband John (Alexander Skarsgård), and Irene all in the frame near the window, all demanding something to give, something needs to break. For context, in the book, we don’t know how Clare falls out the window. And at our CIFF 57 screening, host Brenda Robinson asked Hall’s opinion on what happened in that scene, or rather does her film give a definitive answer, to which Hall replied:
“She jumped and she fell, he pushed her and she fell, she pushed her and she fell”
Rebecca Hall
And when you watch that scene, again and again, it’s well-choreographed and edited to not betray that ambiguity, leaving you to wonder and answer for yourself.
**Spoiler End**
Rebecca Hall’s Mother
Before we go, I need to circle around to Hall’s comments at CIFF 57 and my initial weariness. Now, I should caveat and remind my readers that black perspectives and experiences are not a monolith and what I say here doesn’t mean everyone will be okay with Hall taking on this subject matter, especially as a white director…with mostly white experiences.
However, on her press tours for this film and at CIFF 57, Hall talked about initially not understanding her mother’s heritage and eventually realizing how her own lineage was a direct result of the same issues presented in Passing. Racial identity is tricky and complicated; many black families with lighter skin know they must have white family members in their family trees. Yet, due to the taboo nature and horrific circumstances of slavery, those details are lost to history or willfully ignored by some.
I definitely wouldn’t have guessed any of what Hall said on my own. Upon seeing photos of her mother Maria Ewing, it immediately made me think about the same issues on my mother’s side of the family, how our great-grandmother was well-known where she grew up for not quite fitting into black spaces due to her skin tone – being known in the family for her ability to pass, and how that her skin tone lives on with my mother, aunts, and uncles as they are all fairly light-skinned for Black Americans.
Again, it’s perfectly valid to be concerned about who is telling black stories. In this instance, Hall did her homework, executing this script from a place of vulnerability and based on her life experiences. For that, I am eternally grateful and hope this film can spark a conversation for many who don’t deal with complex racial identities.
Conclusion
In her debut feature film, Rebecca Hall demonstrates a handle on material that would have befuddled or been out of reach for several more seasoned directors. With duo sensation Tessa Thompson and Ruth Negga, they both shine in a way that will have them in serious award conversations going forward. And in doing so, these three bring to life a short novel that so many families are going to resonate with – and I’d argue need to wrestle with, either with the racial complexity of their past and/or confronting the mixed-race identity or colorism issues of today.
Score: 9.5 out of 10
Editor’s Note A previous version of this review’s explanation of passing used an example of Awkafina’s Queens accent, but upon consultation with one of our writers Sangdi Chen, we don’t feel that it’s a great example of this issue, especially considering how much nuance has been lacking regarding regional accents vs AAVE in particular, so we decided to cut it out.
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