Mark Reviews Movies: LUCE

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Review by Mark Dujsik | August 1, 2019

"Everything's fine," a couple of characters say at different points in Luce. Maybe, it appears that way. Probably, it isn't anywhere approaching "fine." Either way, there's a tendency for most of these characters to dismiss what could be or what obviously are problems. The lie is easier and more comfortable in the moment, but no matter how many times a person may say it to others and oneself, a lie never becomes the truth.

That's at the heart of this film, a smart and complex drama about equally smart and complex characters. Co-writers J.C. Lee (adapting his play) and director Julius Onah approach an assortment of in-the-moment issues here, from race to accusations of sexual crimes, but they're not here to make any kind of definitive statement. Everything in the film falls back on its characters, gradually but steadily revealing who they are, what they want, why they want it, and how they're going to get it.

By the end of the film, we have a firm understanding of what has happened, as a promising student and his teacher get into an escalating conflict, and why it has happened. While there's a clear resolution to that conflict, it only opens up even more questions about how matters were allowed to get to that point and, more importantly, what kind of future is in store for people who refuse to address or even to acknowledge that there's a problem in the first place.

The eponymous character is high school senior on the fast track to becoming the school valedictorian and to attending just about any university of his choosing. A great student, he's also a star of the school's track team and a persuasive member of its debate team. The film opens with him giving a speech, during which parents, students, and faculty members alike are enthralled with his words and presence.

Based on the first seven years of his life, though, Luce (Kelvin Harrison Jr., outstanding as an existentially distressed, chameleonic character) would seem a most unlikely candidate for such current and future success. He was born in the African country of Eritrea, where he was orphaned by conflict and became a child soldier.

A white, American couple named Amy (Naomi Watts) and Peter Edgar (Tim Roth) wanted something different in terms of a family, so they adopted the African boy, whose original name was too complicated for Amy to pronounce. Looking at and listening to the teenager now, 10 years later, one would never guess his origin, the resulting trauma of his childhood amidst conflict, or the years of therapy that he went through to come to terms with the violence he suffered and inflicted.

Just about everyone likes and/or admires Luce—not only because of who he is, but also because of what he represents. One person, though, seems somewhat skeptical. She's Luce's government and history teacher Harriet Wilson (Octavia Spencer, great as always), who calls Amy in for an impromptu meeting. The teacher reveals that, for an assignment in which the students were instructed to write in the voice of a historical figure, Luce selected a pan-African revolutionary, who argued that violence against oppressors was the only way of obtaining change. Citing safety concerns and the teen's past, Harriet searched Luce's locker and discovered a bag filled with illegal fireworks. She isn't certain what it means, but she is convinced it means something.

The rest of the story follows these central characters as they deal with the fallout of Harriet's vague and unofficial accusation. Matters become complicated rather quickly, as Amy would rather the issue didn't exist, since she has no idea how to confront her son and fears that the teacher might be right about some sinister motive, and Peter would prefer to take a more direct approach, if only to clear up an obvious misunderstanding without any unnecessary conflict. What's fascinating about the structure of Lee and Onah's screenplay is how the parents, whose reactions and debates are so vital to the drama of the first act, eventually fade to the backdrop. By the end, they have become outsiders of sorts, because whatever is happening with their son is, perhaps, beyond their ability to understand.

The core of what we're to take from this tale exists in the conflict between Luce, who becomes aware of his teacher's suspicions but plays ignorant, and Harriet, who becomes more convinced that Luce is a potential danger either now or in the future. In following Harriet, whose sister Rosemary (Marsha Stephanie Blake) suffers from mental health issues and puts a lot of stress on her, we see the possibility that the teacher might be exaggerating her concerns in her own mind. In following Luce, who has mastered the ability to put on a big smile and affable demeanor on a dime, we realize that he is up to something, although the details remain fuzzy until the finale.

Through it all, a bigger picture—with questions that are far more complex and answers that are even more evasive than the mystery of what Luce is doing—emerges. This isn't just the story of whether or not Luce might be defined by his past. It is, more importantly, the story of how the teen and others react to Luce as a concept—of an outsider who comes to embody the American Dream, of a young man from whom much is expected, of a black kid who, in his and others' minds, confirms certain racial stereotypes by not fitting into them.

The initial stakes of Luce seem high, but they mount as this picture reveals itself. Here's the story of a young man, defined by society and others, realizing that his story is not and may never be his own. The lie is untenable, but it's all he has.

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