At it's heart, a story as old as time - deep, unbreakable bonds of love - but viewed through the prism of an African American experience that has been replayed a thousand million times: racially motivated police brutality and a system stacked so far against them as to be impossible not to fall foul of.
Exquisitely sensual - at times almost overpoweringly so - there is a sense of the unreal, the mythological, about Beale Street. It relies, largely, on delicately nuanced body language and subtle facial expressions, rather than physical action, to portray emotion. Long takes allow the viewers to immerse themselves in each scene, to soak up the atmosphere - the clothes, the details of the interiors, the colours - and every shot is carefully composed down to the smallest detail. The cinematography is exquisite and the score elevates the visuals to something almost ethereal. Key scenes relieve what might otherwise be an almost suffocating, lotus eater-like experience and whilst here and there a jarring note might sound, overall Beale Street is achingly beautiful. Sublime. Heartbreaking.
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