Mark Reviews Movies: NEPTUNE FROST

Neptune Frost, Kino Lorber

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Review by Mark Dujsik | June 9, 2022

There's little that makes logical sense in Neptune Frost, despite its existence as a piece of science-fiction about a messiah-like figure who develops an intimate awareness of technological systems and debates the best way to start a revolution using those skills. That's the extent of a plot here, as put forth by composer/co-director Saul William's screenplay, and yes, he's credited as a composer here because the movie is also a musical. It's doing a lot more than just communicating a story, although that also means Williams and co-director Anisia Uzeyman's movie isn't focused enough to make a clear point.

Some of that, of course, is intentional. If the movie doesn't make logical sense, it's almost not supposed to. The story and the world here come, in part, from Williams' past work, primarily the 2016 album MartyrLoserKing, which features a good number of the songs that are performed here. Williams began his career as a poet, and in a way, that knowledge dictates how one should approach this material.

It's better to look at this loose and sometimes ungainly movie less as a vessel to communicate a plot and more as a capsule of ideas, put forth in varied mediums. It's akin to poetry in that way—how we might have clear visuals and tangible concepts in front of us, although their purpose as literal things, people, and storytelling conceits doesn't matter too much. It's what's beneath that we need to uncover and feel.

There's an argument to be made, though, that the literal nature of a movie—especially one that does possess a straightforward (albeit inscrutable and somewhat inconsequential) plot and relies so much on the concerns of the modern world as this one does—might not be the most accommodating primary medium for a project with such poetic ambitions. Watching this story—with its concerns about modern-day forms of corporate colonialism and how technology is a double-edged sword, which causes actual harm but could be capable of making change for the good—within this approach—with its blending of the grounded and the fantastical but presentational—doesn't immediately or intrinsically put one's mind into the realm of metaphor.

For all of its musical numbers and dream sequences and almost magical transformations, the movie presents itself as, not actual reality, but certainly a specific kind of reality. The filmmaking is strong enough that we might buy into that reality well before the actual purpose becomes clear. When it does, the more enigmatic method of telling this story and presenting these ideas feels a bit anticlimactic and shallow, as compared to the depth of possibilities established by the world.

We initially meet our two central characters, both of whom are impacted by death somewhere in Rwanda. Neptune (Elvis Ngabo) attends a funeral and is later approached by a local minister, who attempts to seduce our protagonist. After killing or injuring the priest, Neptune goes on the run.

After arriving at a village, some locals perform a ritual that transforms an unconscious Neptune, who is now played by Cheryl Isheja. The movie never makes it entirely clear if Neptune has always been intersex or becomes magically transgender in that moment. While it's an important difference when one takes into account the various political aims of the movie, the movie itself doesn't seem to consider it much of a distinction. To be fair, it has a lot of other things on its mind.

The other central figure is Matalusa (Kaya Free), who works at a coltan mine with his brother. The brother, who possesses some connection to the mineral, is killed by a foreman, and after some interdimensional or dream traveling, Matalusa—soon to be known as "Martyr Loser King"—finds himself at a camp for societal outcasts and revolutionaries (Each of them has a fairly loaded name—such as Memory, played by Eliane Umuhire, and Psychology, played by Trésor Niyongabo).

When Neptune finally arrives at the camp following some dreams of a prophet-like figure, our protagonist's ability to hack into any system could be used as a tool or a weapon. There's the local strife of police attacking protestors at a university, but there's also the exploitative practices of stripping the country of its natural resources. Something has to change, and the only question is how this group will go about attempting to enact that change.

With this much plot, it's up to the dream sequences—washed out in terms of color, compared to the blue or magenta aura that permeates some of the other scenes—and the songs to do much of the thematic lifting. Williams' music and lyrics are diverse in terms of form and genre, from almost tuneless spoken-word pieces above a hypnotic synthesizer, to the driving rhythms carrying forward more traditional rap, and to repeated refrains within a simple melody. Here, the bulk of the ideas come forth, and they're far more convincingly presented than during later scenes, when Williams' script tries to plug the poetry into the realm of the plot, leading to dialogue that doesn't say much in terms of either.

The ambition of Neptune Frost is admirable, and indeed, some of its execution, particularly the visuals and the music, is, as well. Too much of this feels like a battle between poetry and plot, and the only victor is uncertainty.

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