Mark Reviews Movies: MONSTERS AND MEN

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Review by Mark Dujsik | September 27, 2018

In Monsters and Men, three men, living in Brooklyn, are affected in similar but distinct ways by the shooting of an unarmed black man by the police. The men live and come from the same area, and there are things that most definitely unite them. Two are African-American, and one is Hispanic. They all have had or, by the end of the film, will have unnecessary and degrading run-ins with the police. Writer/director Reinaldo Marcus Green's debut feature begins with one of those moments, as one of our protagonists, a black man, is driving and listening to music, only to suddenly see the familiar lights flashing red, white, and blue from behind him.

Before the cop arrives, the man pulls his shirt down, over the piece of metal by his hip. He places his hands on the steering wheel. "I'm on the job," he tells the officer asking for his license and registration. Despite the code, the cop still goes back to his car to check on things. He returns and lets our man go. In the man's lap, there rests a badge from the New York Police Department.

Even the man's status as one of New York's finest doesn't prevent this occurrence from happening regularly. Later in the film, when it switches back to his perspective, Dennis (John David Washington) asks his partner, a white woman, how many times she has been pulled over this year. The answer, of course, is zero. For him, the number is six, and "It's only June," he adds.

The confrontations with the police for these men are a depressing given, even for the one who's a cop. It's worse for Manny (Anthony Ramos), whose story starts the film after that initial prologue, and for Zyric (Kelvin Harrison Jr.), whose story ends this triptych of injustice and figuring out what you're going to do about it.

Manny is a Hispanic man, hoping to get a job as a security guard at a downtown office building. He lives with his girlfriend Marisol (Jasmine Cephas Jones), who's pregnant with the couple's second child. Manny doesn't get into trouble, but he eventually finds it—even though it shouldn't be trouble for him. On the night of the shooting, he's walking past the corner store like any other day or night.

Outside, people can usually find Darius Larson (Samel Edwards), known as "Big D," who sells loose cigarettes and helps the local kids out with a buck or two for treats. Everybody in the neighborhood knows or at least knows of Darius, a military veteran, and his easy, friendly way with everyone. On this particular night, Manny takes out his cellphone and records Darius being accosted by six police officers. Something happens, and a gunshot rings out in the night. Darius is dead.

Manny's story begins a recurring theme for all of these characters: the notion of keeping one's head down as a way to avoid trouble, even if there's no rationale for any trouble to happen. That's Manny's conflict, played out with subtle, agonizing internal debate. Even though the particulars change, Green's trio of tales all follow that pattern—both in terms of the conflict and the delicate, compassionate way that inner struggle is potrayed.

For Manny, the question is whether or not to post the video of Darius' killing online. A pair of plainclothes cops, who were there the night Darius was shot and tried to keep Manny at a distance from what was happening, start following him. They more or less threaten him with terrible consequences if that video shows up on the internet. Manny has a family and now has a good job to support them. Marisol insists that Darius would want her boyfriend to focus on them, not on what happened.

The results are sadly inevitable, and they lead to the police station where Dennis works. With the haunting image of a two-way mirror, as two of our protagonists stare at each other but are unable share any real connection, the film moves back to Dennis.

His struggle is the most complex of the three—a dedicated police officer who knows that the cop who shot Darius was in the wrong. He also has a loving wife (played by Nicole Beharie), an adored and adoring son, and a career, which he truly believes is right, about which to worry. At some point, all three of these central characters watch Manny's video. Dennis is the only one who turns away before the shooting, a move that implies he both knows the cops were in the wrong (well before the gun was fired) and would rather have some sort of plausible deniability about it—if only for his own conscience.

Green has abundant sympathy for the man, whose ultimate action runs antithetical to what is clearly the filmmaker's goal with the film. That level understanding for these men, though, is key to the film's success. It's not simply about doing the right thing from one point of view. It's in realizing that, for each of the men, the right thing is different.

Figuring out the right thing is central most especially to Zyric, a promising young baseball player who's on track to making it to the big leagues. He walks by the corner store every day, just like Manny, and after he's stopped and searched by those plainclothes cops for no reason, the video of Darius' shooting inspires Zyric to do something. He volunteers to help a local protest, organized by Zoe (Chanté Adams).

His father (played by Rob Morgan) disagrees with his son's decision, having become pragmatic about the way of things for black men in America to the point that his words sound like cynicism. It's better for Zyric to keep his head down, to ignore his fellow white players' mocking of the shooting, and to find his way out of the neighborhood. Zyric's choice, a powerful merging of personal fulfillment and activism, is particularly poignant in this age of sports-related protests.

Whether Green or we agree with them or not, we can understand the positions of all of these characters. Monsters and Men doesn't judge how they feel or what they do, because there are far greater things that need to be judged at the moment.

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